Lured (1947)

If you know me, even a little bit, you know that not only am I a sucker for classic movies, but I'm a fiend for those that just so happen to fall into the classic mystery/noir genre. I'm by no means an expert on the subject as I know there are hundreds of really good movies I've never even heard of, let alone watched. What I am, is a lover of these films. I've been know to binge 4-6 new to me movies in a day; I get so entranced by them. Thank everything holy for the streaming services that have brought so many of them back into the light of day. Kanopy, which I have through my public library membership, has an abundant catalog of them. If you have a library card, I would implore you to see if your public library partners with them. If you like movies, you will love this service. 

I was browsing in Kanopy the other day and came across a movie with the general description of a serial killer stalking the streets of London, luring and killing women through the use of personal ads. When an American dance hall girl figures out her friend is missing, she takes her concerns to Scotland Yard, and is quickly roped into going  undercover to catch the man who has already claimed the lives of too many innocent women. 

That description alone sold me on giving it a go. The fact that Lucille Ball plays the aforementioned dance hall girl and George Sanders is a nightclub owner who she gets involved with, was just icing on the proverbial cake. I don't need to state how brilliant Lucille Ball was in this, because that should be obvious. It actually makes me wish she had done more of this type of movie. Yeah, she was a born comedian but she had the chops for tense drama as well, and that shines in Lured. George Sanders was not a typical Hollywood heartthrob with the looks of a Cary Grant, but that man's screen presence and his voice more than made up for that. It was impossible not to fall for him, even when you know all along there's a chance he's the killer. 

I'm not going to spoil anything about the story's twists and turns, but I would strongly recommend you discover them for yourselves. This was a delightful caper that's guaranteed to thrill even the most die hard mystery fans. For an extra treat, be on the lookout for a deliciously over the top performance by Boris Karloff.

Strange Houses by Uketsu

Unatural layouts, trap doors, and windowless rooms - a sinister conspiracy is concealed within a house's warped and unsettling floor plans. 

I'm an impulse buyer. When I go grocery shopping, I'll end up with fifteen things I never planned on getting. I've tried an abundant amount of chip and Oreo flavors this way. As I've aged, I've tried to get those impulses under control to limited success. With bigger items, say a coat that looks like a watercolor of a birch forest, I'll walk away to ponder things over for a day or two. For the record, I wear that coat a lot. 

It should come as no surprise that my lack of impulse control isn't constrained to the grocery store, put me in a

book store and all the samplings start looking like the newest flavor of Lays. It's why I'm trying my damndest to stay out book stores as much as I can. Long story short, I saw Strange Houses by Uketsu on a cute little side table in the east side Barnes & Noble and knew instantly that I needed to take it home. 

Don't get me wrong, when I see a blurb touting how sensational a book is, I'm always a little skeptical. Nevertheless this little guy came home with me and I loved every second of it. I wasn't sure what to expect, but what I got was a fiendishly clever murder mystery that had me second guessing myself a couple of times. 

Our narrator is approached by a friend who while shopping for a new home for his young family comes across a house that despite its attributes, left him feeling off. With the help of a draftsman friend, our narrator dives into the mystery of the house and the sinister reason behind its design. 

There isn't a lot I want to divulge regarding the nature of the mystery or the way it plays out, mainly because I think it's best for readers to discover it for themselves. What I will say is I enjoyed the heck out of the journey and I'm really looking forward to reading more of this author. 

Hello

 

A few years ago I made a decision to let this blog die. I made up a lot of excuses in my head about why that was a good idea. I told myself I didn't have the time. I convinced myself that nobody was really reading it anyway. I lied to myself that I wouldn't miss it. Even when I knew I would miss the people I met and grew close to over the years. I even started a FB page that I planned to use as an extension of the blog, and in many ways it's worked out for me. But it's not the same. 

I miss sitting down and really putting my thoughts down on paper, typos and all, or in this case on screen. I miss the interactions and the discovery of books I never would have heard about, let alone read without the blogging community. I know blogs aren't the "cool" thing anymore. I know Instagram and TikTok have taken up a lot of the space that blogs used to dominate. And there again, all I can say it's not the same. I've seen some great content creators in those spaces, and I applaud them. Yet, I miss curling up in bed, going through my blog roll, and catching up with my favorite bloggers. I miss the interaction that always felt personal and connecting. 

Now, I'm not saying I'm coming back to blogging full time, or that I even expect anybody to read a single post I put out there. I may be sporadic in posting. I may even decide that I have nothing to say. But, I feel that it's time to reclaim my voice and space. I hope to see you around, even if it's just me bopping in and out, catching up on my favorite bloggers. 

The Conjuring 1 & 2

 

I was planning on watching the 3rd Conjuring movie, and since it's been so long since I saw the first two, I figured I'd rewatch them before diving into the new one.

I saw The Conjuring when it first came out, but for whatever reason, I couldn't remember that much about it. The little I did remember was more along the lines of how hot Patrick Wilson looked in those form fitting pants. Last night I turned off all the lights, got comfy on the couch with a blanket, pulled up Netflix, and pressed play. I tried not to think about what I was watching, and I did everything I could to get lost in the tale. I quickly realized why I didn't remember much about it the first time around the track, it just never sunk its teeth into me. On paper, I should love it. Haunted houses are my jam. I can even objectively say it's an okay movie, just maybe not for me. I did relish the sight of Patrick's ass. Big bonus.

I wasn't deterred though. I vowed to emulate Don Quixote, and finish my quest. I just decided to go to sleep first. I also ranted on Facebook this morning, went to Dillard's to buy a few shirts, stopped in at Walmart for a few toiletries, and ate a cookie at Barnes & Noble. Once I was back home, I was resolved to keep fighting those windmills. So once again I turned off all the lights, got comfy in bed, pulled up Netflix on my tablet (thinking a more intimate view might help), and pressed play on The Conjuring 2. After the whole opening segment had run its course, I realized I had in fact never bothered to watch this one. I was actually a bit relieved. I figured since I would have absolutely no memory of it, I would probably get lost in the story easier, and I would perhaps like it more. After the first 20-40 minutes, I was sure that was going to be the case. I found myself so engrossed with what was happening to this family, that my heart was doing joyful cartwheels. Then the television crew interviewed the family, and it was filmed so oddly, that it pulled me right out of the story. And it was downhill after that.

Even with my lackluster experience, I don't consider it a waste of time. Watching the two movies back to back helped me to figure out why I seem to end up so disconnected from what I'm watching. And as much as I love Patrick Wilson's ass, I'm going to have to blame the Warrens for my ho-hum reaction. It's not as if Patrick and Vera Farmiga are turning in bad performances. They are actually quite brilliant in their roles. It's more as if I'm completely disinterested in their characters. When the families, of both movies, are the focus, I'm fully immersed in their struggles and fear. When the focus shifts to the Warrens, I start thinking about fatbergs and what book I'm going to read next.  It's like I'm watching two different movies, either of which I would enjoy, but the  combination of the two just leaves me feeling disjointed and confused. I really wish they were more like Elise in the first Insidious movie or Tangina in Poltergesit, essential to the story, but not the fulcrum the action relies upon. The Warrens are the Hercule Poirot of horror.

I'm still probably going to watch the new one, especially since it has a different director. I'm just not expecting all that much.

For the record, fatberg is not a typo. Google it if you don't believe me.

Why Pride Can Never Lose It's Protest History

Gabriel Fernandez, 8 years old

Ronnie Parris, 3 years old

Anthony Avalos, 10 years old

Giovanni Melton, 14 years old

Itaberli Lozano, 17 years old

Alireza “Ali” Fazeli Monfared, 20 years old

Amir Issa, 38 years old

And every single other LGBTQ+ child who has been brutally murdered by their own family, either for their sexuality or perceived sexuality. 

Leelah Alcorn, 17 years old

Jamel Myles, 9 years old

Justin Aaberg, 15 years old

Andrew Leach, 12 years old

Jadin Bell, 15 years old

Nigel Shelby, 15 years old

Channing Smith, 16 years old

Tyler Clementi, 18 years old

Avinshu Patel, 19 years old

And every single other LGBTQ+ child who has taken their own life due to bullying and self hatred instilled by our cishet culture. 

Matthew Sheppard, 21 years old

Charles Howard, 23 years old

Reecey Walker, 32 years old

David P., 42 years old

Sophie Váquez, 36 years old

Harvey Milk, 48 years old

Brandon Teena, 21 years old

Scott Johnson, 27 years old

Billy Jack Gaither, 39 years old

Bree Black, 27 years old 

And every other LGBTQ+ person who has been brutally killed for living their life.

For every LGBTQ+ child who has died on the streets, scared and alone. For every one of our youth who had to turn to selling their bodies to eat, who got hooked on drugs to numb the pain, who was beaten by a John, or died from hunger or disease, while laying in an alley.

The countless LGBTQ+ lives we have lost, both famous and not, during the early years of the HIV/AIDS crisis, as our government sat back and watched us die. For the countless LGBTQ+ lives we have lost since then to this virus, who are continously let down, time and time again.

As long as we are dying, Pride can never be allowed to be just a party. It has to remain a protest movement, or we will have let them defeat us.

R.I.P., Cugina

 

I haven't been doing any blogging, or really any blog reading for the last several weeks, because I've found myself either escaping into work, or movies. I haven't wanted to do a lot of anything, for several reasons. One of those is that I lost the person I was closest to in my family. Tara was born one day, and one year after I was. We were the first and second grandchildren on our mutual side of our families, and I loved her so damn much. 

I knew Tara was the one person who would always have my back, no matter what. She had her struggles, but she always rose above them. She was truly one of the strongest people I've ever known. I'm going to miss her so damn much. 

I have a lot of guilt in my soul for how little I talked to her as she was fighting her last battle with cancer. I hate that I allowed myself to be distracted as much as I was. I loathe that I wasn't able to see her before she passed. I'll get to say goodbye next month at her memorial service in WY. But, it's not enough for me. I will forever regret that I didn't get to say goodbye in person. 

Love you, Cugina. 

Leaving My Reading Comfort Zone

 

I've been pondering this whole notion of comfort zones when it comes to reading, though I think we could apply this to any sort of media that we choose to consume. At first, I didn't even want to admit that I have them. I felt embarrassed by the idea. 

After I thought about it some more, I started to look at my reading patterns. In reality you could call what I've done over the last few years as being in holding patterns. If I wanted to aim some judgement at myself, I'd even go as far as calling them ruts. What I started to question is whether or not I would equate those patterns/ruts as comfort zones. And I can admit that while both my more recent "ruts", Golden Age mysteries and M/M romance, give me comfort, I don't think they qualify as actual comfort zones, at least not in the way I choosing to interpret the whole concept. 

Oddly, it's actually my romance reading that even has me pondering this whole esoteric concept. In my romance reading, I tend to get sucked into series, more than I do standalone novels. Though I read quite a bit of those too. What I've found myself doing in certain series is the issue at hand. Anytime a book has featured a relationship that is either M/M/F, M/F, or F/F, I've skipped over those books. At first I wanted to just shrug it off to not wanting to read sex scenes that involve women, despite the fact that I skim through most sex scenes anyway. Then I decided I have to see M/F relationships all over the place in every other form of media, that I don't need to read romances about it. That really didn't explain my skipping over the other two types of relationships though. That sort of left me with no other explanation than they make me uncomfortable, so I needed to figure out why. And while some of it is the sex scenes and the fact I have heterosexuality shoved in my face on a regular basis, I had to admit something I'm not all that proud of. It's partly because as a gay man, I don't understand those types of relationships. It's the same reason I've tended to skip over M/M romance that has a transman as part of the couple. Since I don't understand how they work, I chose to not read about them. I chose to not invest my time in something I didn't understand, nor cared to.  

After I realized that, I had to take a hard look at myself. I began to wonder what other books, or even movies, I was ignoring because I didn't care/wonder about the perspective and story being told. What books were I ignoring because I don't understand the culture, religion, ethnic background, sexuality, disability, or world view that was at the heart of the story being told? That isn't something I can easily answer. All I can do is try to be more aware in my choices, and do my damndest to broaden my exposure. It's time to start pushing beyond my comfort zones, and maybe someday eliminate them altogether.

For the record, I'm now reading a F/F romance novel that is the fourth in a series I absolutely love.