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Mus c ox, Self rage, and SMI
Feb. 16th, 2008 01:33 pmLast night went to see Casablanca on the big screen with my bf at the Music Box Theatre. Ah. Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and a host of great supporting actors who showed up in a number of other films together, including Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, and Claude Rains (who was also in Hitchcock's Notorious with Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant four years later -- another superb film, but Ingrid Bergman's character in Notorious is totally different than her role as Ilsa Lund in Casablanca). There really is nothing like seeing Casablanca on the big screen.
Even though I have the DVD and have probably seen Casablanca fifty times, I never miss a chance to see a screening of it in an actual theater. Despite some occasionally hokey and obvious back-lot studio sets, other than that, it really stands the test of time. It also has a number of quite hilarious ethnic stereotypes -- which, these days, might be considered slurs -- but since they're about white ethnic groups, no one cares or bats an eye. I've always loved how they made a distinction in Casablanca between German people and German Nazis, whom you can freely hate as the nasty villains they are.
While we were walking down Southport to the theater, I was rather amused to see that the "i" in "Music" and the "B" in "Box" were both out, so that the theater sign said "Mus c ox" instead of "Music Box." A little reminder of Fraser.
This also reminded me of another sign I see lit at night, which has some letters out. I see it when I'm driving south on Pulaski south of I-55 on my way to my night shifts at the hospital. It's supposed to say "Self Storage" but the "Sto" is out, so instead it says "Self rage". My bf took a pic of the movie theater sign with his cell phone camera, but I have half a mind to drive by there again at night with my real Canon Sureshot digital camera and take a good high-res pic of it. And of the Self rage sign, too.
What can I say. I am easily amused.
( other news regarding SMI=serious mental illness and mental health parity laws, and how they apply to me )
I had this conversation with the bf a couple weeks ago on the phone. We were talking about a mutual friend and how ridiculously drama queen-y she is, how high-maintenance, and how melodramatic she is. And I said, "I don't understand what men see in women like that, or why they stay." And my bf (rather bitterly) said, "Yeah, I know."
In the few seconds of dead silence that followed, I realized oh my god, I am that high maintenance girlfriend, too. And it was one of the more horrible, cringe-worthy moments of my life so far. Which is saying a lot (because it's not like there haven't been some seriously cringe-worthy moments up till now).
Not that he is, by any stretch, low maintenance himself. But after he said it, it hit me like a ton o' bricks -- like the insurance clerk's casual "SMI" bomb-drop. I've had high maintenance, mentally ill bfs before. It sucked. Big time. The thought that that is what I am now -- to him -- well, it's a pretty fuckin' tough pill to swallow. So, last night, the day after Valentine's day, after we saw Casablanca, after he gave me a dozen roses, I suggested we stop seeing each other. Because, I mean, why continue? Beating. Dead horse. Stop it.
Even though I have the DVD and have probably seen Casablanca fifty times, I never miss a chance to see a screening of it in an actual theater. Despite some occasionally hokey and obvious back-lot studio sets, other than that, it really stands the test of time. It also has a number of quite hilarious ethnic stereotypes -- which, these days, might be considered slurs -- but since they're about white ethnic groups, no one cares or bats an eye. I've always loved how they made a distinction in Casablanca between German people and German Nazis, whom you can freely hate as the nasty villains they are.
While we were walking down Southport to the theater, I was rather amused to see that the "i" in "Music" and the "B" in "Box" were both out, so that the theater sign said "Mus c ox" instead of "Music Box." A little reminder of Fraser.
This also reminded me of another sign I see lit at night, which has some letters out. I see it when I'm driving south on Pulaski south of I-55 on my way to my night shifts at the hospital. It's supposed to say "Self Storage" but the "Sto" is out, so instead it says "Self rage". My bf took a pic of the movie theater sign with his cell phone camera, but I have half a mind to drive by there again at night with my real Canon Sureshot digital camera and take a good high-res pic of it. And of the Self rage sign, too.
What can I say. I am easily amused.
( other news regarding SMI=serious mental illness and mental health parity laws, and how they apply to me )
I had this conversation with the bf a couple weeks ago on the phone. We were talking about a mutual friend and how ridiculously drama queen-y she is, how high-maintenance, and how melodramatic she is. And I said, "I don't understand what men see in women like that, or why they stay." And my bf (rather bitterly) said, "Yeah, I know."
In the few seconds of dead silence that followed, I realized oh my god, I am that high maintenance girlfriend, too. And it was one of the more horrible, cringe-worthy moments of my life so far. Which is saying a lot (because it's not like there haven't been some seriously cringe-worthy moments up till now).
Not that he is, by any stretch, low maintenance himself. But after he said it, it hit me like a ton o' bricks -- like the insurance clerk's casual "SMI" bomb-drop. I've had high maintenance, mentally ill bfs before. It sucked. Big time. The thought that that is what I am now -- to him -- well, it's a pretty fuckin' tough pill to swallow. So, last night, the day after Valentine's day, after we saw Casablanca, after he gave me a dozen roses, I suggested we stop seeing each other. Because, I mean, why continue? Beating. Dead horse. Stop it.