The Manchurian Candidate

Last night, I watched The Manchurian Candidate on
(which has become my favorite movie channel). I have of late been remiss and
reluctant to sit down and blog. The sense of inertia has been great. But I
just got done googling the movie title, wondering, and not being sure, when it
was made. If it was made in 1964, that would be one. If it was made before
1963, that would be quite another. 1962. The book was published in 1959.


I had never seen the whole movie. I knew it was difficult. Dorothea had agreed
to watch it with me. She made it to the first shooting, and left. The
children, including a school friend of Madeline’s and now neighbor, were
downstairs watching DVDs of episodes of the
The OC. So I brought the
old, portable TV up, plugged it in to the cable extension that usually lays
coiled up under the couch, and set it on a chair. The movie was from 1962, the
couch from 2000, the TV from 1989, the chair from 1936.


The parallel that I draw is between the movie’s line, delivered by the Angela
Lansbury character, something to the effect that the security state that will
come into being will make that would make
seem like
The Wikipedia
on the book refers to the

–McCarthyism. I suppose that the first Red Scare is that after the First
World War.


And I cannot help but juxtapose this with The New York Times editorial on the
current inaccurate use of the term Commander-in-Chief for President Bush. Bush
is not my Commander-in-Chief, because I am not in the military. But it is the
creep of sloppy language that gives him, and the government, more authority,
or the appearance of more authority, then they have or deserve. So, while the
The Manchurian Candidate has spooky parallels to the
Kennedy assassination, it continues, 45 years later, to have spooky

I realized yesterday that I missed the memorial service for a Friend’s mother.
And I skipped the Adult Education about Vocal Ministry today. I did get
greeted in the hall after Meeting by Sandy, who had emailed me earlier, after
I got an email from Anne who was (happily, for me) indignate that I hadn’t had
a welcoming ceremony. There was a welcoming for Bob last week. He’d
transferred his membership from Minneapolis. They had cake and ice cream for
him. I told Sandy, in response to her query as to what I would like, that I
“am a middle-aged, over-weight, pre-diabetic” man who doesn’t really need any
cake or ice cream. What I would like is singing. So, maybe on February 18th,
the next third First Day, we can have a singing at the Meetinghouse.

For some unknown reason, the Google Document post to blog function didn’t work. So I copy/pasted into the Moveabletype editor. So, don’t be surprised to see a duplicate of this entry. The html was suprisingly clean.

Another thing that we did yesterday was Dorothea, Yuna, and I went down to Harriet Island, into the midst of the Saint Paul Winter Carnival festivities, although, in stark reality, there was nothing festive. The temperature was bitterly, wind-chilly cold, and there just wasn’t that much going on. We have some snow, but not much. Just barely enough to say that we have snow. There was a pathetic mound of snow for sledding. Melted ice sculptures. No ice maze. And, Will Steeger and the sled dogs–we missed them. They were at noon, not 3:00 PM as we expected. We did find the sleddog truck, and touched noses with the two dogs that were in there. One actually looked pretty intense. The other, big (I mean BIG) and white seemed mellower.

Afterward, we went to The Happy Gnome. As it turns out, gnomes are a big deal in Brittany. Who knew? We were there for a beer. They have something like thirty different beers on tap. They are so into it that they don’t have Guiness, because it is too common. When I ordered a half-and-half, they made it with Murphy’s and Summit.