Dunkirk

Though the skies were darkening up and the thunder was pounding in the distance, I shortened up the workday and headed out for supper and a movie.

Low sodium soy sauce was available at our table. Half the sodium, but one still has a tendency to use more for flavor — so maybe one doesn’t really cut back on sodium?

First stop was a Japanese Steakhouse for beef teriyaki and pork sayogoshi.  The atmosphere was peaceful and happy with gentle piped-in music.  That is, until a young kid let out a blood-curdling, Janet Leigh-worthy scream.  It wasn’t apparent where the screaming came from, but when a hibachi table burst into flames to my right, and those flames licking well above the dividing wall, the “hidden” kid let out another scream.  Kid was scared of the fire, the adults were laughing—

“No more fire.  No more fire,” the blue-capped chef assured all.  And everyone at the table laughed again.

The poster in the lobby.

With our meal finished, we walked down the street to the show.  We had advance tickets to see the new World War II film, “Dunkirk.”  I was excited to see it, as I read that it was darn good.  The film tells the true story of over 325,000 English and French troops who were penned in at Dunkirk, France in 1940 by the Germans and the small boat rescue of said troops by civilians, where the governments couldn’t produce.

I enjoyed the cinematography, and what scenes were computer generated were well done.  Yet, overall, the film left me somewhat flat; the ending just didn’t make me stand up and cheer (as some war pictures do for me) – though in real life, this rescue was what Winston Churchill called “a miracle.”

I recommend seeing the film, as the aerial dogfights are impressive and the actors overall will touch some emotion(s) in you.

It will be interesting how the rest of the movie-going public assesses “Dunkirk” when it’s released tomorrow, July 21st.

©Susan Marie Molloy and all works within.


Insect Attack, and the Juicy Deceased

Seven o’clock this morning.  The sun’s pink and yellow rays above the horizon.  Fat, puffy clouds across the sky.  At the kitchen bar.  Second cup o’ joe.  Newspaper opened.  Page turned.  Interesting story headline.  Funny photo caption:

 

First, as we see in the headline, insects are killing crops in swarms — swarms!  swarms! I tell ya — in the West.

Meanwhile, a Mormon cricket, as shown in the photograph, is —  groan — feasting on a dead cricket, allegedly killed by a car.

Allegedly, because how do we know a car killed it?

Reliable witness(es)?  Anyone?

According to the article, the crickets, when hit by a car, are juicy.  Dead Dora doesn’t look squished to me; just stiff.  More like either dead stiff or scared stiff.

Could the already dead cricket been dead by the time the Mormon cricket got to it?  It could have had The Big One, theoretically, when it saw the honkin’ size of that Mormon cricket hanging around the shoulder of the road.

And then, just look at the position of Dead Dora and Lively Larry in that photograph.  Larry may be doin’ a little CPR on the prone Dora.  After all, crossing the street with massive cars whizzing by can put a diminutive cricket in a state of shock, don’t you think?  Think of Hoppity trying to cross the street in Fleischer Studios’ 1941 cartoon, Hoppity Goes to Town.

It’s that heart-stopping.

So, it’s hard to say.

It’s hard to say which part of this story is fake.

I’ll go with the cricket being killed by a car as the fake; my ten dollar bet is that the swarming cricket crop-killers in the West is the real story.

(c) Susan Marie Molloy, and all rights reserved.


Those Little Albums

Going through envelopes upon boxes upon disorganized albums of photographs can be a formidable task. Taking it bit by bit every day makes it less overwhelming.

Once upon a time, when you got your processed pictures back from, let’s say, Skrudland Photo in Chicago on Diversey Avenue, the pictures would come bound together in a little book or album. The whole roll of developed film was neatly packaged for future viewing enjoyment. I remember little family get-togethers in days past where, when everyone was done eating, and a second round of coffee or drinks was made, it was time to look at pictures and pass them around the table.

Booklet1ClosedwithCopyright

An example of the developed photographs bound into a little album.

I remember how excited we kids were when Dad would pick up the developed film and bring it home. I could hardly wait to thumb through each picture that was crisp black and white for the most part, examine familiar people and smile at events that may have well happened months or holidays prior.

Booklet1OpenedJPGwithCopyright

An album opened, showing a random pedestrian scene near Rockefeller Center in New York City, circa early 1950s.

As I keep sorting photos and putting them in new albums (and marking each with names and dates before I forget who’s who and what was when), the conundrum of what to do with those little booklets that so neatly hold photos nagged at me.

Take them apart and put each photo in the albums?

Keep them bound together and put them in the albums?

To preserve the original presentation, I decided to keep those photos that came bound from the developer as they stand. It’s best to save history, since today photos don’t come back from the developer attached in little booklets.

Heck, we hardly take pictures with cameras anymore, don’t we?

And we usually store the pictures we take today on our smart phones or on some form of electronic medium.

©Susan Marie Molloy, and all works within.


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