Butch aka Travis

Continuing on from a while ago. I have found another actor who I admire, and although he is now dead, he is someone I really enjoy watching.

Lloyd Bridges

He is most famous for his role in High Noon, and to a later date as his role as the Admiral in Hot Shots. The latter aint much of a film, but i find his character in the film as one of the funniest characters I have ever seen. He gives an awesome deadpan delivery to some of the most absurd lines in the film.

He is also the father of Jeff Bridges, another great actor.

Well its 2:30 in the am, and I am on the turn again. My old friend, my black dog seems to have returned, despite chemical attempts to chase him away, he still returns.

He doesnt do anything particularly, its not as if he gnaws me at the shins, he more or less hangs around me, just accompanying me. In some strange way i find his presence almost comforting, I am never alone whilst I have my black dog with me.

Depression, there is nothing more dabilitating to an already emotional person, I have no option in the matter, I am the son of a Bi Polar Woman, and a Man with a very troubled background, the grandson of an alcoholic, an (eventually) mentally disabled woman, a manic depressive and an eccentric and axiety suffering man. As the Dr said. I was predisposed.

Every now and again I get this, it comes in waves, I find myself holding back tears, for no particular reason. Relationship troubles and mass alcohol consumption have left me like this, and here I fear I shall remain for the next few days at least.

Leonard Cohen and Neil Young are the perfect audio companions in this situation, both are very public sufferers of depression, as was another luminary of particular note, Mr W. Churchill.

I have and remain to think that there is no such thing as depression, and sufferer’s of the supposed disease are nothing more than weak minded individuals, it leaves me wondering if I am exactly that.

And of course the customary train of thought kicks in, why am I even around, I dont seem to offer anyone anything. I am disapointing to everyone I touch, just once I would like to have someone tell me that they appreciate me, yet in the same way I do not wish the attention.

I also wish I could stop craving affection…………

I watched the remake of the Italian job on TV the other night, although I wish I hadnt, i must admit I enjoyed my femme compatriot Charlize Theron, who I would take down like a rabid werewolf in full moon at midnight.

There was something in this dreadful film that worried me, and no it wasnt that only 10% of the film was set in Italy (so therefore, I dont see why it could be called a remake or even have the same title they were so different) it was the absence of appropriate swearing, for instance, in the original M. Caine said that FINE stood for “Fucked-Up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional”, in this ‘remake’ the ‘writers’ changed that algorithm to Fragile, Insecure Neurotic and Emotional.

And the second part, by probably the fattest piece of lard to ever get his fat disgusting ass on celluloid (cunningly named Skinny Pete… the hilarity) says “I know when not to mess, and I know not to mess with mother-freaking Ukranians”

Why Mother freaking? No skinny pete, no…. mother fucking, say motherfucking, its okay, you’re a big bad gangsta, you may use words like that.

My point is, we have regressed, once upon a time, our contemporaries used film to push societies boundaries, now, they just seem happy to walk on egg shells, kind of like going bowling with those bumper things pulled out either side.

TS