Tell them Boris sent you

So the ‘rents and I are dining on some fried chicken purchased from Publix for lunch this afternoon, and my Mother makes mention of the fact that she and Dad went to the National Guard Armory today to get flu shots.

“They have a drive-thru, you know,” she informs me.

Slight pause from me.  “You mean…you drive up, stick your arm out and…”

“That’s how they do it now,” she reaffirms.

“Good thing you weren’t there for a tetanus shot,” I responded, getting back to my chicken.  A three-minute pause, then the two of them begin to cackle like hens, having just got the joke.  (Just more evidence to add to the already voluminous pile of verification that I was adopted.)

Anyway, some eBay-related business (okay, I had packages to mail) kept me getting anything accomplished today (like watching something for the blog), so I thought I’d direct you to a nifty little feature at Laughing Gravy’s In the Balcony entitled “31 Days of Boris Karloff”.  Every day this month, the Gravymeister is watching some of Mr. Karloff’s finest (and…well, not-so-finest) films and reviewing them in his own inimitable style.

I mention this partly because I have nothing prepared, and partly because I loaned him my copy of The Walking Dead (1936), which I dubbed to DVD from a VHS recording (in the good old DirecTV days) two years ago.  Someone asked Gravy if he needed any more Karloff films and he mentioned that there were one or two that he had not yet seen, including West of Shanghai (1937).

Now…don’t tell him this…but I had this on VHS—except that I chucked it out two weeks ago.  I couldn’t remember why I recorded it (I got it confused with Lon Chaney’s West of Zanzibar—which I already had) and tossed it in the bin…then realized my error only after reading a short list of the Karloffs he had not yet seen.

D’oh!  Stupid getting-older-memory…

There’s no place like home

Okay, it’s a bit clichéd—but in this case, it’s also a completely accurate way to describe “the Luthersville experience” of the past few days; it’s always good to get back to your familiar stomping grounds…particularly if you’re a forty-two year old man who’s having to sleep on a futon.  (The ‘rents’ accommodations were a bit more comfortable: they opted to crash at a Hampton Inn in nearby Newnan.  I offered to use my La Quinta connections to snag them an employee rate, but Mom is trying to rack up enough Hilton Honors points before next year’s Shreve reunion…an event that the thought of which makes me break out in a cold sweat.)

But the title of this post is also accurate because my niece—affectionately known as the Peanut—watched The Wizard of Oz on DVD during our stay; the first of what I hope will be many visits to the Emerald City to come.  Her mother, sister Deb, experienced some trepidation over letting her view this American film classic, particularly due to its high Wicked Witch-winged monkey content.  (Deb has a tendency to be a tad overprotective at times; she reminds me of a woman in a Robert Klein routine who screeches at her son: “Don’t touch that!  You’ll get cancer!”)  But her daughter insisted that the darker elements in Oz would not bother her (she kept repeating “I’m brave” in a mantra-like fashion whenever Margaret Hamilton did her thing onscreen) and for the most part, she dug the movie up until the final ten or fifteen minutes.  When I asked why she was so fidgety, sister Deb explained that she had already seen the ending during a showing at her church.  The Peanut did, however, watch Disney’s Peter Pan with rapt attention and enjoyed the heck out of it.  Her mother, on the other hand, was not amused when I explained to her daughter just why the crocodile was constantly following Captain Hook.

Other Peanut-related activities included taking her swimming (she breathlessly informed her father via phone about how she jumped off the side from the four-foot end and touched the bottom!) and to the Mall of Georgia, where she was disappointed at the lack of a play place (there may or may not have been one, we never got the opportunity to see) but settled for a ride on a merry-go-round at the food court.  On the way home, Mom decided to drive around Deb’s alma mater, Oglethorpe University, and as Deb pointed out to her daughter the various buildings I heard an audible sigh from the back seat that seemed to say “Why did we get off the Interstate to see this?  This is cutting into my play time!”  Long treks are an anathema to my niece; we took a trip to Athens to scope out the house that her Aunt Kat will be moving into come mid-August and it was difficult for her to shake off the “Are-we-there-yet?” syndrome.

To address Pam’s query, the only equine-related activity during our stay involved feeding some leftover corn-on-the-cob to the horses—Peanut was much more stoked about a tiny litter of kittens that was dumped onto my sister by persons unknown.  Except for the sleeping arrangements, I enjoyed every minute of my vacation—though the old adage of “It’s never long enough” certainly applies here…plus, it’s difficult to shake off a night auditor’s sleep pattern in such a brief span of time; I found myself rising early enough to catch Green Acres and Gunsmoke reruns on TVLand.