“If you love a person, you can forgive anything.”

The Movie: The Letter, 1940 (Howard Koch, screenwriter, from the play by W. Somerset Maugham; William Wyler, dir.)
Who says it: Herbert Marshall as rubber plantation owner Robert Crosbie
The context: Crosbie has just learned that his wife, Leslie (Bette Davis) tried to seduce his colleague, killed the man when he refused her advances, and has now bankrupted her husband in order to escape a murder conviction.
How to use it: Love is blind.

Getting the car back wound up being more of a production than it should have been, but I did get it back -- and drove it from Cambridge to Gardiner -- and then drove it from Gardiner to Portland this morning, in a snowstorm. The snow made me miss my plane, but I did eventually make it to Virginia Beach, where I am now. All is well.

And I had lots of reading time in transit. This week's list includes two books I liked a lot, one book I thought was well-done but not my cup of tea, and one book I hated real hard. In reading order:

Joseph Finder, COMPANY MAN. This corporate thriller is well done, if a little humorless. Nick Conover, CEO of a large but struggling furniture manufacturer in Michigan, takes desperate measures to protect his family and save his company. Dogging his footsteps is Audrey Rhimes, an African-American homicide detective whose husband was one of the employees Nick laid off. I’m not the audience for this book; John Grisham fans will love it, especially those who find Mr. Grisham’s politics too liberal.

Rex Pickett, SIDEWAYS. I’m glad I saw the movie first. If I’d read the book first, I probably wouldn’t have seen the movie, and I loved the movie. The movie’s very faithful to the book’s plot; the difference is that Alexander Payne, Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church manage to do what Pickett can't, which is make the characters of Miles and Jack, having one last fling in wine country before Jack’s wedding, sympathetic. Also, some editor should have told Pickett that the best word for “said” is always “said.” Instead, Pickett’s characters implore, console, plead, smirk, advise, and at one point, even “decrescendo.” “Decrescendo”? And don’t even get me started on the profound misogyny at work here.

Olive Higgins Prouty, NOW, VOYAGER. I haven’t seen the movie; the book is a reprint by the “Women Write Pulp” imprint of the City University of New York’s Feminist Press. Charlotte Vale, recovering from a nervous breakdown, throws off the chains of society’s expectations and her mother’s disapproval. Extremely entertaining, and it feels modern even today.

Bill Fitzhugh, HIGHWAY 61 RESURFACED. Fitzhugh’s second Rick Shannon PI novel is – yes – a cat mystery! Of course, the cat’s a vicious, rheumatic kitten named Crusty Boogers… and the book is a loving tribute to the history of the blues, as Rick investigates two murders rooted in a 50-year-old crime. The Rick Shannon series, which started with last year’s RADIO ACTIVITY, is high-quality crime fiction, although neither book ever reaches the inspired levels of lunacy of Fitzhugh’s standalones.

Sideways and Now, Voyager are available in trade paperback; hardcovers of Company Man and Highway 61 Resurfaced are due out in April. Support your local independent bookseller!

"Feed me, Seymour!"

The Movie: Little Shop of Horrors, 1960 and 1986 (Charles B. Griffith, screenwriter; Roger Corman and Frank Oz, dirs.)
Who says it: In the two different movies, Charles B. Griffith and Levi Stubbs as the voice of the carnivorous plant, Audrey Jr./Audrey II
The context: Seymour (Jonathan Haze/Rick Moranis) is reluctant to provide the meat Audrey really wants.
How to use it: To make an unreasonable demand.

I'm off to Cambridge this morning to pick up my car. Anna's taking me to Portland, where I'm catching the Concord Trailways bus to the South Station in Boston, then taking the Red Line to Harvard Square, where I catch the bus to Hi-Tech Auto Body. At least I'll get some reading done.

It is unreasonable to see the car as anything but an inanimate object... an inanimate object that I own, dammit... everybody just say a prayer to St. Christopher for me, okay? I don't care if the man is mythical.

Tomorrow's blog posting will be late, because I'm leaving for Virginia Beach before dawn. The good news: more reading time!

“Happy premise #3: Even though I feel like I might ignite, I probably won’t.”

The Movie: Bowfinger, 1999 (Steve Martin, screenwriter; Frank Oz, dir.)
Who says it: Eddie Murphy as neurotic movie star Kit Ramsey
The context: Kit is having a “therapy” session at the headquarters of Mindhead, his Scientology-like cult.
How to use it: To remain calm.

For better or worse, I was a highly suggestible child. (Okay, for better or worse, I'm still a highly suggestible adult.) I think I was 12 when the first Book of Lists came out, and I read most of it at a neighbor's house while I was babysitting -- parts of it were much too racy for me to read at home.

It was the supernatural stuff that fascinated me most: stories of hauntings, alien visitations, mysterious disappearances, and -- especially -- spontaneous human combustion. The fact that I've always been afraid of open flames just increased my fascination.

Spontaneous human combustion and reincarnation share a spot in my system of beliefs; they're things I can't believe in, but really, really wish were true. It's natural to want reincarnation to be true, but spontaneous human combustion would be real evidence that it's still a world of wonders.

Not that I need it.

“Your work is ingenious… there are simply too many notes, that’s all. Just cut a few and it will be perfect.”

The Movie: Amadeus, 1984 (Peter Shaffer, screenwriter, from his play; Milos Forman, dir.)
Who says it: Jeffrey Jones as Emperor Joseph II of Austria
The context: The Emperor praises the work of his court composer, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Tom Hulce).
How to use it: When you’re criticizing something you know absolutely nothing about.

This line -- based on historical fact -- sums up the life of an editor. I often wonder whether I'm not just as big an ass as Emperor Joseph.

My clients fall into two broad categories. The first category are people who know what they want to say, but either don't know how to say it or don't have time to do it themselves. They hire me to perform a service, I do it, and emotions rarely come into the picture. I charge these clients my usual rates.

The second category are people who have poured their lifeblood into an artistic project, usually a novel or a screenplay, but suspect that this project is not yet ready to face the world. They come to me for help, but they also come to me for affirmation; they might say they want suggestions for changes, but their secret fantasy is that I'll say, "No, really. It's perfect just as it is. You're a genius."

This is where things get emotional. I can say, without reservation, that all of these clients are geniuses -- and this is not like all the children of Lake Wobegon being above average.

Someone defined genius as being able to do well something that ordinary people can't do at all... so maybe "hero," in this instance, is a better word than "genius." It takes passion, commitment, and courage to transfer a vision onto paper and actually finish something, especially if you suspect it's not as good as you want it to be. I myself am still wrestling with a novel I should have finished two years ago.

So what these clients are doing, when they hire me, is asking me to perform plastic surgery -- sometimes pretty radical plastic surgery -- on their babies. My role in this process is to be an advocate for the work, which is not always the same as being an advocate for the author. No matter how diplomatic I am, or how open-minded the author is, sometimes this process can't help becoming adversarial.

But it's also a privilege, which is why I usually wind up giving these clients pretty good discounts off my usual rates. And since this second category of client generally takes up a good bit more of my time and attention than the first category, the business model is totally unsustainable.

And that's one reason I live in central Maine instead of Los Angeles.

“Laughter. Tears. Curtain.”

The Movie: Topsy-Turvy, 1999 (Mike Leigh, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Timothy Spall as actor Richard Temple, playing The Mikado
The context: Temple grieves over Gilbert’s decision to cut his big song, “A More Humane Mikado,” from the show. (Later, of course, the song – a classic – is restored.)
How to use it: To accept a reversal with equanimity -- or as a eulogy.

I don't know which of yesterday's three celebrity deaths shocked me most. Sandra Dee's, maybe, because I had no idea that she was still alive, or that she was still so (relatively) young. John Raitt had a good, productive life, and lived to a ripe old age. And Hunter S. Thompson's life had been an act of will for at least the last 40 years.

But I'm a little angry at Dr. Thompson, too, as I often am at suicides. He was done with all of us, and it didn't matter to him at all that we might not have been done with him. That pisses me off, though it speaks directly to the central theme of a project I'm currently working on: what is the obligation of the artist to his/her audience? None, says Raoul Duke with a bang. Catch you on the other side.

That said, his final column is as brilliant as anything he ever wrote... and makes me wonder whether his death was suicide, or some grotesque accident. (I say it all the time: I always worry that my last conscious thought will be, "Whoops.")

On that topic, it's snowing hard, and it's very cold. My feet shot out from under me this morning when Dizzy and I were walking around the block, and I whacked my head hard on the sidewalk. I have none of the WebMD symptoms of "serious head injury" -- in fact, all my symptoms fall under their description of "minor" -- but it's just as well that today's a holiday for most of my clients.

“Well – er – that explains a lot.”

The Movie: Shrek, 2001 (Ted Elliott, Terry Rossio, Joe Stillman and Roger S.H. Schulman, screenwriters, from the novel by William Steig; Andrew Adamson and Vicky Jenson, dirs.)
Who says it: Michael Myers as the voice of the ogre, Shrek
The context: Princess Fiona (Cameron Diaz) has revealed herself to be under a spell that makes her an ogre every night.
How to use it: When you understand a mystery.

Days are noticeably longer now, which means that Dizzy wakes up at 6:30. By afternoon the sun makes the temperature seem warmer than it really is, but the sun's not very strong at 6:30.

I'm not at my best at 6:30 in the morning -- who is? -- so yesterday, when I walked outside to the overwhelming smell of sour milk, I thought that my housekeeping really had reached bottom at last. But as we walked away from the front door, away from the building, and around the block, the smell didn't go away.

I wondered whether I'd spilled a carton of milk on my coat, maybe, and forgotten about it. I do occasionally sleepwalk, but that seemed extreme. And Dizzy didn't seem to notice anything.

"Ah," said Anna, when I mentioned it later in the morning. "That is a very Maine occurrence."

"What is it?" I asked.

"It's the smell of a paper plant," she said. When the air is particularly clear, and the wind is just right, she said, you can smell that odor anywhere in Maine -- even though many of the paper factories have closed. "If you go to Westbrook on the wrong day," she said, "you can't even breathe."

“The point is, ladies and gentlemen, that greed, for lack of a better word, is good.”

The Movie: Wall Street, 1987 (Stanley Weiser & Oliver Stone, screenwriters; Oliver Stone, dir.)
Who says it: Michael Douglas as investment banker/corporate pirate Gordon Gekko
The context: Gekko addresses the investors of a paper company he plans to take over.
How to use it: Ironically – please – to comment on financial activities.

Most people remember this line as just "Greed... is good." It's supposedly based on a real speech Ivan Boesky gave. I could make a compelling economic argument for the truth of this statement, but that wouldn't change the fact that the idea fills me with horror.

I'm going over to Tarren and Anna's this morning for a seminar on setting up a personal corporation. It probably makes sense for me to do this, but even listening to the explanations is going to cause me serious anxiety. 2005 needs to be the year I get over my money phobia.

I considered using another of Gekko's lines from this movie: "I create nothing. I own," because I was part of an exchange yesterday with a woman who collects books for their potential financial value. The Mystery Bookstore survives, at least in part, on its trade in rare and collectible volumes -- but I've never been comfortable with the idea of collecting for financial gain.

This is a little hypocritical, I admit, because I have a decent collection of first editions -- but these are books I bought because I liked reading them, not because I think they'll be valuable. When they're signed, they're generally signed to me, as a memento of a place and time -- and inscriptions make them worthless to the serious collector, unless I ever get famous in my own right.

What bothers me most about the secondary market in signed books -- or signed anything -- is that it's pure speculation, just like the Beanie Baby craze of ten years ago. The sellers add no value, but trade on the popularity of writers who may not derive any benefit (I'm thinking specifically of the spike in "value" after an author or a celebrity dies).

The great Cal Ripken has his own solution to this issue: he signs everything. There is no secondary market in Cal Ripken's signatures, because they're not scarce; he's signed thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of baseballs, bats, gloves, photographs, programs, anything a fan asks him to sign (okay, not personal checks). It's an extraordinary level of generosity to his fans, but it also short-circuits any parasite economy that might exploit his fans or him.

Man, I miss Cal Ripken... but that's another post for another day.

“Books can be misleading.”

The Movie: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, 2002 (Steven Kloves, screenplay, from the novel by J.K. Rowling)
Who says it: Kenneth Branagh as Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, self-promoting crusader against the dark arts
The context: Harry Potter (Daniel Radcliffe) and Ron Weasley (Rupert Grint) expect Professor Lockhart to be able to help them fight the evil in the Chamber of Secrets, because he wrote so many books about his encounters with vampires, hags, and other monsters.
How to use it: You can’t believe everything you read.

A dozen or so years ago, I broke up with someone (Anna and Sue, you remember him as The Iron Lung) -- or, I should say, he broke up with me -- and in that final, unforgivable conversation, he said, "You read too much."

Well.

More recently, I overheard a friend say, "We can't all be like Clair, arranging our lives around our reading schedules." I started to protest, until I realized it was true: I do arrange my life around my reading schedule. And I've even found ways to get paid to read, which was my fantasy from earliest childhood. (I blame the Virginia Beach Public Library system, which gave kids McDonald's gift certificates for reading the most books in their summer reading program; this set up a books = food cycle I'm still trying to break.)

This isn't a literary blog -- there are good ones out there, and this blog is something else entirely. But a couple of friends have asked for book recommendations recently, so I'm going to make Fridays "What I've Read This Week" Day.

This week's selection includes three books that fall into the "crime fiction" category -- showing just how broad that category is -- and two extraordinary books of poetry. In the order I read them, they are:

Ian Rankin, Fleshmarket Alley. It bugs me that the U.S. publishers felt the need to rename this book for American readers (it's Fleshmarket Close in the U.K.), but never mind. My friend Linda says she'd date John Rebus if a) he wasn't fictional, b) she weren't married, and c) Rebus didn't (fictionally) drink so much. In this outing, Rebus investigates the murder of a refugee in an Edinburgh housing project, while his partner, Siobhan, tracks a missing girl whose disappearance may be tied to the parole of a rapist. Fleshmarket Alley feels less sharp than most of Rankin's other novels; I always like spending time with Rebus & Co., but at points felt like I was just slogging through this book. I highly recommend the series, though, and if you can't start at the beginning (Knots & Crosses), start with Resurrection Men.

George Pelecanos, Hard Revolution. I don't know why I didn't read this when it came out last year; it would have made my 2004 Ten Best list, for sure. It's a beautiful, harrowing novel about the 1968 riots in Washington, D.C., told from the perspective of Pelecanos' series character, Derek Strange, who was a young District police officer at the time. Beyond that, though, it's a book about love and loyalty -- to family, to community, to city, to race. It blew me away.

Alexander McCall Smith, The Sunday Philosophy Club. I love McCall Smith's Precious Ramotswe series, set in Botswana; this is the first in a new series, based in Edinburgh (a different Edinburgh from Ian Rankin's, to be sure). The slightest of plots is just an excuse for a character study of Isabel Dalhousie, a divorced woman in her early 40s who edits the Journal of Applied Philosophy. Whether you like the book depends on whether you like Isabel, and I did.

Susan Kinsolving, Dailies & Rushes and The White Eyelash. I spent most of last week with Susan and her husband, William; I had owned and read these books before I met her, but went back to them this week with new appreciation. (I love it when writers I admire turn out to be wonderful people. It happens more often than not, fortunately.) Susan's poems are clear-eyed, direct, sometimes funny, often heart-breaking. One of the poems in The White Eyelash, "The Obligation of Avoidance," addresses exactly what annoys me about so much of modern poetry, with a hilarious image of an octopus playing a piano.

All of these books are in print... support your local independent bookstore!

“Love is the morning and the evening star.”

The Movie: Elmer Gantry, 1960 (Richard Brooks, director and screenwriter, from the novel by Sinclair Lewis)
Who says it: Burt Lancaster as salesman/con man/evangelist Elmer Gantry
The context: This is Elmer’s all-purpose seduction line, for both individuals and groups. It’s not till the end of the movie, though, that he understands what it really means.
How to use it: To acknowledge your own hopeless romanticism.

Today's quotation is a minor atonement for the Valentine's Day posting -- not that I take any of that back, but I acknowledge dissenting views. And I wish a very happy (belated) anniversary to Mary and Jerry Maschino, who celebrated their 42nd yesterday.

It seems to me -- speaking only as an observer, not as a player -- that "love" as a noun and "love" as a verb have at least two distinct meanings. The noun is that feeling of affection, pleasure in the person's company, wonder, appreciation, admiration. The verb means acting for the benefit of that beloved object, which is a great deal more difficult than just having the feeling, and a major undertaking over any extended period of time.

Freud said that human happiness lies in true love and useful work. I can't argue with this; it's my standard toast -- but the trick is recognizing them, because neither true love nor useful work ever takes quite the form you expect.

“Don’t fight it, Miles, it’s no use. Sooner or later, you’ll have to go to sleep.”

The Movie: Invasion of the Body Snatchers, 1956 (Daniel Mainwaring, screenwriter, from the novel by Jack Finney; Don Siegel, dir.)
Who says it: King Donovan as writer Jack Belicec
The context: Jack has been taken over by the pods, and urges his friend Miles Binnell (Kevin McCarthy) to give up, too.
How to use it: To predict inevitable defeat. It might also make a decent political slogan, for the right candidate.

I'm supposed to go to Cambridge today to pick up my car, but I'm going to have to postpone it. The sniffles I had in Florida have turned into a sinus infection, and there's just no way I can make a three-hour drive this afternoon. In fact, I may sleep for most of the rest of the day.

Dizzy was so glad to see me yesterday that he ran circles around the vet's lobby, and right into a boot-scraper that cut his nose. He seemed completely unbothered, but it's scary to see a dog bleeding. I'm not sure why it disturbs me so much more than seeing a human bleed, but it does.

It's an interesting phenomenon. Los Angeles is full of people who seem far more interested in animal welfare than in the welfare of their fellow human beings -- and I felt self-righteous about that, until I thought about it. I watch violent films and TV shows all the time; I've even been to a boxing match; but you'd have to put a gun to my head to make me watch a dogfight. I don't even like to watch those Serengeti documentaries, although I'm grateful for the food chain.

Maybe it's just because we assume that humans have the ability to make independent decisions about their welfare, and can defend themselves in most situations, and animals often can't. George Pelecanos' new novel, Drama City, explores this beautifully -- its main character is an animal control officer, and Pelecanos draws clear parallels between the ways bad men treat humans and the ways they treat their animals.

If I feel bad about an animal's injury, there's at least some hope that I'd be sympathetic to an injured human; if I ignore it, there's no hope for me at all.

“So anyway, back to me.”

The Movie: The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, 1994 (Stephan Elliott, director and screenwriter)
Who says it: Guy Pearce as Felicia Jollygoodfellow (aka Adam Whitely), a drag queen
The context: Felicia, Mitzi (Hugo Weaving) and Bernadette (Terrence Stamp) share confidences on their bus, Priscilla, as they travel to Alice Springs.
How to use it: To acknowledge your own narcissism.

It's been a while since I've seen this movie, but Felicia says this immediately after either Mitzi has revealed that he has a wife and child or Bernadette mourns the loss of her husband. The line is both mean and funny, and it's one of the reasons I love the movie.

Last week was the first real vacation I've taken in a very long time, and the longest I've been away from a computer in almost six years. I'm sure it was good for me, but I also think that I'm not really the kind of person who takes vacations. In many ways, my entire life is a vacation: I don't go to an office, I rarely have to sit through meetings, and I wear stockings only at weddings and black-tie functions. But I also work every day, at all hours of the day or night, as deadlines and my obsessive-but-lazy nature demand.

It's a lifestyle that feels natural. When I had an office job, I overslept almost every day; I dreaded the alarm clock, and was still perpetually late to work. Now I never set an alarm clock, but wake up on my own (or with Dizzy's help) much earlier than I used to get up in Washington.

This is why I can't get terribly worked up about the debate over Social Security, too. I don't expect to retire; why would I need to? I do worry about health care coverage, because I'm underinsured, and would be in serious trouble if I developed a chronic illness. But I can't imagine a time when I wouldn't be working, not just because I need to but because I want to. What else would I do with my time?

“The only love that lasts is unrequited love.”

The Movie: Shadows and Fog, 1992 (Woody Allen, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Lily Tomlin as a prostitute
The context: The prostitute comforts a female sword swallower (Mia Farrow), who has just walked in on her husband (John Malkovich) having an affair with the strongman’s wife (Madonna).
How to use it: Happy Valentine’s Day.

Ah, the one day a year calculated to make everyone feel truly lousy about the relationship they're in, the relationship they're not in, and the ideal relationship they COULD be in if only that relationship did not require the participation of another actual live human being. And it's only appropriate, because it commemorates the death of a martyr who supposedly died for performing Christian marriages.

No, I'm not bitter; I just really do think Valentine's Day is ridiculous, even for people who are in happy relationships. Who could possibly meet the expectations for such a holiday?

A million thanks to Tom Ehrenfeld for filling in so ably during the past week, and happy birthday to a few people I missed while I've been traveling: the fabulous Linda Brown, on (I think) February 9; lobbyist extraordinaire Buz Gorman, on the 10th; my oldest friend, Adrienne Lakadat, whose birthday was February 12; and my always-and-forever baby brother James, whose birthday was yesterday. And happy birthday today to Eileen Consey-Heywood, in the wilds of Yorkshire.

I'm on my way back to Maine today, and although I've had a lovely week in the sun, I will be very, very glad to get back to Dizzy. For Dizzy, every day is Valentine's Day.

“I shall stay until the wind changes.”

The movie: Mary Poppins, 1964 (Bill Walsh, screenwriter, from the book by P.L. Travers, Robert Stevenson, dir.)
Who says it: Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews,) the practically perfect person.
The context: Jane and Michael Banks ask her how long she’ll remain their nanny.
How to use it: to say that things are over when it is time for them to be over.

Thanks Clair, for letting me play in your yard this past week. But…hello, I must be going. (I’ll stay a week or two, I’ll stay the summer through, but I am telling you: I must be going.) This short time was a learning experience for me by the way:

First of all, I spend a lot of self-obsessed time about how overworked I am. Jeez. I remind me of med students in college, who, if they spent a bit more time working and a bit less grousing, would be about twice as effective, and have more free time to boot. Note to self: shut up already. (Second note to self: remember to use that line from Moonstruck next time around.) (Third note to self: some of us are getting confused with your wierd sentences and inconsistent narrative voice, and so am I.)

Second, I find that my concerns these days are more limited in number but deeper in commitment. Work, family, friends, movies. (Not to mention that pitchers and catchers report to spring training this week.) Yeah, there’s more, like poetry, Macs, Ginger my beloved Bulldog, etc…but I didn’t post about ‘em.

Making a commitment to post every day is daunting and a pain in the butt to actually do; but making it through a week without missing a day is a pretty good feeling. Not every post is great; sure. But tomorrow is, as they say, another day. I stopped posting on my own blog, bout six months ago. I guess I’ll have to resume over there….

I hope to return as a guest host in the future. In fact, Lucy already has a post in mind (I can’t give it away!) And I’ve still got, oh, a few more lines to share.

Thanks again, and welcome back Ellen. And if my time here has disappointed anyone, well, I can only cite the greatest closing movie line ever written (and hey, it can still be used in the future.)

Nobody’s perfect.

“I’m funny, how? I mean, funny like I’m a clown? I amuse you? I make you laugh?”

The movie: Goodfellas, 1990 (Martin Scorsese and Nicholas Pileggi, screenwriters, Martin Scorsese, dir.)
Who says it: Tommy Devito (Joey Pesci), one crazy gangster criminal whacko.
The context: During a raucous night out, Tommy suddenly turns this amusing query into an intimidating challenge to his friend Henry Hill (Ray Liotta.)
When to use it: to keep someone on their toes.

I’m reminded of this line—and movie since, last night, I read almost all of the new book On the Run by Gregg and Gina Hill—the children of Henry. (Goodfellas is based on his story.) I picked this book up once before and had trouble, since the first 30-40 pages read like a novelization of the movie Goodfellas. Having seen the movie once or twenty times, the book could never live up to the pictures in my head.

But then the kids start talking about what happens after the movie ends: how they tried to set up new lives in the witness protection program, but that in each place they went their past followed them. This was not simply a matter of the mobsters that Henry ratted out being so good at tracking them down. The book becomes compelling by showing how while everything changes nothing changes, that even after going into witness protection, Henry could not wash away his sins, could not rid himself of the violent, criminal, and dishonest ways. In several towns his behavior called such attention to the family that their cover was blown, or at least appeared to be. And so, to the kid’s dismay, the moment they felt that they at least blended into some foreign suburb they would have to leave, immediately.

Right now I’m at the point where they move to Redmond Washington around the early 90s. Here's a thought. There’s been more than a few movies about the witness protection program, none of which were particularly good, in my book. How about a movie in which a family gets moved to a town like Redmond, where the mom takes a job as a secretary in a 23-person company named Microsoft? Fast forward about 8 years (assuming of course that they haven’t blown their cover), and suddenly they got hundreds of millions of dollars—giving them the power to play straight, or to buy out their enemies, or what have you—the coins in their pocket to stop running, hiding, and needing the help of programs and such. And I like the idea of at least a few of the Microsoft millionaires having an interesting past.

"Those aren't pillows!"

The movie: Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, 1987 (John Hughes, screenwriter, John Hughes, dir.)
Who says it: Neal Page (Steve Martin), a very uptight adman, to Del Griffith. In bed.
The context: After a series of disastrous travel mishaps, the two wake up sharing a bed, which they had planned. Del’s hand, which is nestled between Neal’s buttocks, was not. Hence the cry of alarm.
When to use it: either to comment on a trip that doesn’t play out as planned—or as a running gag with those who like the line.

One of the reasons I’m so frazzled is that I’m trying to complete a ton of work before Lucy Hayley and I go on vacation next Wednesday with a big big group: my father and his wife (my stepmother), my sister and her family, and the families of two of my step-sisters. Many children and grown-ups down in Florida. Okay, I’ll admit where: Club Med. There. I said it. I’d never choose such a place myself, but if invited I guess I’ll serve. And the thought of waking up in a warm, sunny, vacation place has its appeal.

But why do we have to arrive at the airport two hours early for a domestic flight? This means waking up at like 5 in the morning? I can see all kinds of ways this can play out.

And about this line. This movie is actually very very dark, and in many ways uncomfortable to watch. It’s also not consistently ‘funny.” Even the setup is pretty standard (ooh—these two straight guys wind up cuddling in their sleep.) But, and this is kind of the point, when it happens, it’s just funny. You can talk about funny, you can explain funny, but the great thing about really funny things is that they just are that. Funny.

"And two hard-boiled eggs."

The movie: A Night At the Opera, 1935 (George S. Kaufman and Morrie Ryskind, screenwriters, Sam Wood, dir.)
Who says it: Otis B. Driftwood (Groucho Marx) to the ship steward, as he adds yet another item to a long food order
The context: each time Groucho finished ordering something we hear Fiorello (Chico), stowing away in Groucho’s stateroom with Tomasso (Harpo) and Ricardo (Allan Jones), adding two hard-boiled eggs to the order. And then Harpo honks his horn and Groucho says, "make that three."
How to use it: to indicate yet another couple items on an improbable list.

Late with this post—sorry Clair and faithful readers! (Reader?) My day has been one of those dozen hard-boiled eggs, what with multiple client projects nearing fruition and each one seeming to need mucho attention today. It’s a good thing, I suppose: I’m nearly finished editing a book that my client is publishing independently (not “self-published” please,) I am rolling up my sleeves to edit a book manuscript for a client that will be a big fall business book, and, well, there are all sorts of myriad other things. Then on top of that I had to quickly deal with accounting problems (don’t even ask!) that had to be resolved today.

And so it’s 8pm (8:30…) and I’m just posting. Ahh. But nota bene Ellen: I am not complaining about having to post. I loves the blog. It's an honor to add my two hard-boiled eggs. Tomorrow I'll see about having them for breakfast rather than dinner though.

It’s snowing here in Cambridge, a wet and heavy flurry that still feels more like a reminder than a real hassle. A couple of weeks ago we had the real thing, a storm so great I made a sledding hill in our front yard. We’ve had warm weather for the past few days, which has almost created enough space on our small city street to allow everyone to park. Now that we almost have parking spots again this wet snow conspires to cover them back up.

"You don't sing, Georgia. You can't sing."

The movie: Georgia, 1995 (Barbara Turner, screenwriter, Ulu Grosbard, dir.)
Who says it: Georgia (played beautifully by Mare Winningham) to her sister Sadie (Jennifer Jason Leigh)
The context: Georgia, a famous and successful singer, releases years of pent-up jealously, resentment, and bitterness at her younger sister wanna-be, who craves Georgia’s approval more than anything else in the world.
How to use it: Hopefully, never. It’s the thing you say to someone when you mean to let the air out of their heart, to use a mixed metaphor.

Recently a handful of manuscripts have come my way from folks who want to write business books. Some are promising and some aren’t. Thank goodness I’m not an editor any more, since you spend so much time rejecting people. And it’s never fun. Sometimes when I read something that’s neither very good nor very bad I wonder whether it makes more sense to encourage the person to work really really hard on this not-so-thrilling idea; or to be overly discouraging so as to prevent them from working really hard only to end up with something that they still can’t sell, or which just isn’t great.

Of course there’s another dynamic here to consider. The person passing judgment always has something at stake. Mare Winningham as the movie’s title character Georgia is just devastating when she hits her sister with this assessment. It’s partly true—Jennifer Jason Leigh plays Sadie as a car wreck on stage, albeit one who takes the risks her safe yet Angel-voiced sister doesn’t. But at the same time, she hits Sadie with this charge because she’s tired and fed up and at some place in her heart jealous of her, and this simple assessment carries the weight of a blow.

We all have some kind of source for these judgement. I may have a few years of experience in this writing game, but hey, I’m just as eager for validation of a few projects I’ve got in the works. I try to read material with a careful eye towards what’s there on the paper—what can be plainly seen as working, and not-working. What the text promises, and how well it delivers. I try to avoid judgements (unless of course the work is fabuloso.) I wish for the same from readers of my stuff.

"Stop playing your Chinese food mind games!"

The movie: Dude, Where's My Car?, 2000 (Philip Stark, screenwriter, Danny Leiner, dir.)
Who says it: Jesse (Ashton Kutcher), to the disembodied fuzzy-speaker Chinese women on the loudspeaker
The context: The heros of our movie cannot complete their takeout food order, as each time they say the last thing, the voice asks, "And then?"
How to use it: to drive my older daughter crazy. (Okay, or simply to have fun with an insanely stupid but lovable moment.)

Driving Lucy home the other day, we were listening to the Buffy musical in the car, and ended up singing the Xander/Anya number, each of us playing a part. Silly, yes, cheesy, perhaps, and absolutely a moment of joy for me. While there’s an element of “one of us/one of us” (see: Freaks entry) to this, I confess that being able to share that moment with Lucy marked a kind of initiation, a moment in time proving that she has yes gone through a stealth growth phase and become oh so much more a grown-up than I’ll ever want to admit. This moment of sitting together perfectly aligned in our pleasure, simply enjoying this without explaining it, marked a moment that could never be planned or commemorated but which nonetheless was a milestone.

It reinforced to me how powerful the secret language of families (in all their definitions) really are. Sure, Philip Larkin, misery may deepen like a coastal shelf, but, at the same time, so do these same tidal flows bring deep joy as well. And who else to share this with but an intimate circle of people, who, like you, get the same joke, who share at an upspoken and unprovable level a shared love.

In our family I like to think of it as a high-low love. The girls know their Shakespeare (at eight Hayley can recite the last Puck monologue from Midsummer's Night Dream,) but at the same time, they know their Spongebob too.

"He's got gnomes"

Movie: The Full Monty, 1997 (Simon Beaufoy, screenwriter, Peter Cattaneo, dir.)
Who says it: Dave (Mark Addy,) about the lawn ornament of his former boss Gerald (Tom Wilkinson)
The context: A bittersweet moment where Dave is both contemptuous and wistful about Gerald's bourgeois trinket, meant to show that he's fled a middle class life.
How to use it: to seek humor in the things we acquire and what they convey.

I've been wasting a bit of time on eBay lately. When Ellen visited several weeks ago (here's a good way to mark it on your calendar--around the day of her last auto mishap), she helped me pick out some useful mysteries from the basement. Hetchen worked at Kate's Mystery Books many years ago, and in fact that's where we met. So we have a bunch of old mysteries, not to mention some other clutter I've found (old Spy Magazines, Nancy Drew books, and other truck.)

But in the past few weeks I confess that I've spent as much time cruising around eBay, finding out what things sell for, discovering how "collectibles" attract so much currency, and thinking constantly about whether I really need to sell some of these items. In fact, the money would be useful, but this does dredge up very mixed feelings. Also, if I were to analyze how much I could actually be earning if I simply recovered the wasted time and used it for work I charge to clients, I'd probably break even...

"Yeah, you blend"

The Movie: My Cousin Vinnie, 1992 (Dale Launer, screenwriter, Jonathon Lynn, director)
Who Says It: Marisa Tomei in her Oscar-winning performance as Mona Lisa Vito, the very Noo Yahk girlfriend of the title character played by Joe Pesci
The Context: Vinnie and Lisa have just arrived in the heart of Alabama from the heart of Brooklyn, and he tries to convince her that he fits in more than she does. Her response is a bit sarcastic.
How To Use It: To indicate when a person sticks out just a bit

If you haven't figured out by now, this is Tom writing as ersatz-Ellen, hoping desperately that I'll "blend." But I know that for one, the typos will be a certain giveaway. Otherwise, there's no difference!

Here in Cambridge everyone is preparing for the Super Bowl. For us, the allure of the day is having our French neighbors over to eat nachos, chile, onion dip, and pigs-and-blankets while waiting for the half-time show. It's kind of a special bonus that the locals are so darn good. I've already experienced sports fan bliss. I'm a lifelong Sox fan, and, well, need say no more. All winter long I've had people ask "So now how can you live in the world? You can't complain about the Sox curse anymore, can't define yourself as a perenially-suffering soul, can no longer wallow in that pain."

I'm not having all that much trouble, to tell the truth.

It is somewhat inspiring to see a team like the Patriots excel. They play beautifully as a team, and there's so much to be admired. When the Sox were losing (that is, before 2004), I would take some solace watching the great Celtics teams, cause you knew that they would ultimately find a way to win. But for me there's only one team that's ever mattered at a very deep level--the Red Sox.

I guess there's just certain categories of people. You're a baseball person or a football person. Dogs or cats (dogs for me.) Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard (Nantucket). n'Sync or Backstreet Boys. (Tell me why/ain't nothing but a heartache....)

"I simply cannot do it alone."

The Movie: Chicago, 2002 (Bill Condon, screenwriter, from the musical by Bob Fosse and Fred Ebb, from the play by Maurine Dallas Watkins; Rob Marshall, dir.)
Who says it: Catherine Zeta-Jones as murderous showgirl Velma Kelly
The context: Velma is trying to recruit fellow murderess Roxie Hart (Renee Zellweger) to become part of Velma's sister act.
How to use it: To get some assistance.

Even the Answer Girl needs a break once in a while. I'm traveling for the next week, combined work and vacation, and my Internet access will be unreliable. Therefore, with this posting, I'm turning things over to my old friend and colleague Tom Ehrenfeld. Tom is a business writer and consultant who is the godfather of this blog (see the earliest posting for details), and I trust him to bring you excellent quotations during the week ahead.

Tom and I have been friends since doing a production of The Diviners together in the winter of 1984; I played Norma, the fanatically religious shopkeeper, and he played Gus, the philosophical farmer. Tom's one of the very few people who call me both Ellen and Clair, which confuses everyone but us. He and his wife, Hetchen, and their kids, Lucy and Hayley, have helped make me feel welcome to New England.

So please return the favor, and make Tom feel welcome here -- and Tom, thanks, we'll add this favor to my tab.

“Is the atomic weight of cobalt 58.9?”

The Movie: Ghostbusters II, 1989 (Harold Ramis and Dan Ackroyd, screenwriters; Ivan Reitman, dir.)
Who says it: Harold Ramis as Dr. Egon Spengler
The context: Dr. Ray Stantz (Dan Ackroyd) asks Egon whether he thinks the river of slime coursing through New York City has anything to do with the world-domination plans of Vigo the Carpathian.
How to use it: When the answer to a question is obviously “yes.”

So the other day I walked downtown and got my hair cut at The Crow's Nest, which is run by a very nice woman named Norma McDonough. Besides styling hair, Norma is a Maine humorist and gives psychic readings. (This collection of skills seems to affirm my lifelong philosophy: "If you can't change your life, change your hairstyle.")

Anyway, Norma knows Gardiner. She filled me in on the plans for developing the downtown area, and was able to answer a lot of my questions about the town and its history.

I've already mentioned that I live across the street from the old Gardiner Paperboard factory, which has been closed and vacant since 2001. Before it was Gardiner Paperboard, it was the Yorktowne Paper Mill; it seems that there's been some kind of paper factory on that site since the mid-1800s.

A local history buff told Norma that during the Civil War, when the paper factories could not get cotton from the South, the mill owner imported a shipment of Egyptian mummies, to use the wrappings as rag content for paper. According to the story, factory workers unwrapped the mummies, used the rags for paper pulp, and threw the human remains into the Cobbossee Stream, where they were swept into the Kennebec River and ultimately out to sea.

You can imagine how fascinated I am with this story. In my non-existent spare time over the past couple of days, I've tried to find out how much truth there is to it, if any -- and I'll keep looking, but it seems that this may be a vintage urban myth. Still, it's true that mummies were sold in wholesale quantities for all kinds of commercial purposes during the 19th century -- Mary Roach discusses this in a chapter of her excellent book, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers. So this story is plausible, though I can't imagine anyone would admit to it now, even if the records still exist somewhere.

It captures my imagination. During the Civil War, the able-bodied men went off to fight, so the factory workers would have been women, children, and old men. I love the idea of them unwrapping these mummies, discovering amulets and scarabs within the wrappings, trying to convince themselves that because these were old and Egyptian they weren't human beings just like themselves.

“Who the hell cares! Let’s go shopping!”

The Movie: Dawn of the Dead, 1978 (George A. Romero, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Ken Foree as Peter, a SWAT officer and refugee from zombie attack
The context: Peter and his partner Roger (Scott H. Reininger) have managed to get into the shopping mall besieged by zombies, but don’t know whether they’ll be able to get out.
How to use it: When you’re shirking your responsibilities to – uh – go shopping.

I'm on deadline today, but I'm also leaving for Florida on Saturday, so Anna and I are making a shopping run to Freeport and Portland. Too much to do, too little time, too short a blog posting today. Sorry, I'll make it up tomorrow. I have a really great story to pass on from the woman who cut my hair, and it's all about mummies.

You'll just have to check back tomorrow.

“I’ll give you a winter prediction: it’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be gray, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.”

The Movie: Groundhog Day, 1993 (Danny Rubin and Harold Ramis, screenwriters; Harold Ramis, dir.)
Who says it: Bill Murray as TV weatherman Phil Connors
The context: Phil seems doomed to repeat the events of Groundhog Day in Punxsutawney, PA, for eternity.
How to use it: Greetings of the season.

Today is the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox; it's also Groundhog Day, Candlemas, and the birthday of my pal Rachel Jacobson. Party on, Rachel.

In case you haven't already heard, Punxsutawney Phil did see his shadow today. Six more weeks of winter... although, as Prince says, sometimes it snows in April. But temperatures here got above freezing yesterday, and the bright sunshine makes me feel a little cocky about getting through the rest of the winter.

Candlemas is another one of those holidays that I could swear used to be a holy day of obligation, but isn't any more. Maybe it was just that the school I attended in first and second grade was run by the Religious of the Sacred Heart of Mary, and this was a special feast day for them; but I vividly remember grumbling about having to go to church two days in a row, February 2 for Candlemas and February 3 to get our throats blessed.

My church here does the throat blessings, so I'll probably head over there tomorrow. My spiritual beliefs walk a fine line between faith and superstition.

"Mr. Bond. You appear with the tedious inevitability of an unloved season.”

The Movie: Moonraker, 1979 (Christopher Wood, screenwriter, from a story by Ian Fleming; Lewis Gilbert, dir.)
Who says it: Michael Lonsdale as evil billionaire Hugo Drax
The context: James Bond (Roger Moore) has shown up, once again, to foil Drax’s plans.
How to use it: As a greeting.

Thanks for this quotation to my friend Dan Freedman, writer, performance artist, and chronicler of Dr. Who. Dan sent me an audio file of the line, but I don't know how to upload it to the blog.

I'd thought about saving this line for April 15, but it works equally well for the first day of February, a.k.a. The Month of Doom.

It might just be me -- it probably IS just me -- but doesn't it seem that the worst things always happen in February? Not to say that February doesn't have plenty of good things -- birthdays for my brother James and half a dozen of my friends, wedding anniversaries for my parents and my sister Kathy and her husband Adam.

But I associate February, unfortunately, with bad luck and misery. Terrible weather, short tempers, ridiculous holidays (Groundhog Day? "Presidents' Day"? and we won't even talk about the ulcer on human emotions scheduled for February 14).

I know that if I really plotted out the minor catastrophes of my life, February wouldn't have more than any other month. I just notice them more at this time of year, because I'm expecting them.

“You never know when a dead rabbit might come in handy.”

The Movie: The Trouble with Harry, 1955 (John Michael Hayes, screenwriter, from the novel by Jack Trevor Story; Alfred Hitchcock, dir.)
Who says it: Jerry Mathers as Arnie, son of Jennifer Rogers (Shirley Maclaine)
The context: Arnie takes his dead rabbit back after giving it to painter Sam Marlowe (John Forsythe), who’s courting Jennifer. Later, Arnie trades the rabbit for two blueberry muffins.
How to use it: When deciding whether to keep something that might be useless.

I admit to being something of a packrat, but I come by it honestly; you should see my dad's garage. It's occurred to me more than once that I move so often as a way to force myself to divest all the useless junk I seem to accumulate.

And yet -- what's useless? I got rid of an awful lot when I left Los Angeles, but as I unpack, I'm still surprised to find some of the things I've kept. My small stuffed Noo-Noo the Vacuum Cleaner, for example. My friend SueLin gave it to me when she was working at PBS and I was in the deepest throes of my Teletubbies addiction (I was a high-powered executive at the time; I figured, better Teletubbies than Valium).

For the uninitiated, Noo-Noo lives with and cleans up after the Teletubbies, and the Teletubbies blame Noo-Noo for all their bad behavior. This particular toy has a plastic piece of TubbyToast on a string -- pull it out, and Noo-Noo sucks it back up. The toy sat on my desk or my dresser for years, and it still makes me laugh, though I haven't watched an episode of "Teletubbies" in at least five years.

“Kindly do not attempt to cloud the issue with facts.”

The Movie: Mary Poppins, 1964 (Bill Walsh and Don DaGradi, screenwriters, from the book by P. L. Travers; Robert Stevenson, dir.)
Who says it: David Tomlinson as Mr. George W. Banks
The context: Mr. Banks says this to Mrs. Banks (Glynis Johns) as she tells him all the good things that have happened in the household since Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews) came.
How to use it: On a Sunday morning news program, or at your next press conference.

Thanks to Tom, Lucy and Hayley Ehrenfeld for today's quotation.

My cable server shut down while I was drafting the first version of this post, and I don't feel like writing it all again... it was something about the Sunday morning shows, and how I used to watch them compulsively in Washington, but gave them up in L.A., and now can take or leave them. Although I do want to say that I miss Cokie Roberts, the most beautiful woman in television. (Seriously -- if you ever see her in person, you'll be stunned. TV does not do her justice.) Also, if Tim Russert ever needs a personal assistant or a second wife, I volunteer.

I woke up this morning to an unfamiliar sound that I soon recognized as the drip of melting snow. It's all the way up to 30 degrees this afternoon, and it feels like spring. Dizzy and I took our longest walk in weeks yesterday, and we're on our way out the door again this afternoon.

“Fat man, you shoot a great game of pool.”

The Movie: The Hustler, 1961 (Sydney Carroll and Robert Rossen, screenwriters, from the novel by Walter Tevis; Robert Rossen, dir.)
Who says it: Paul Newman as Fast Eddie Felsen, a pool hustler
The context: Fast Eddie has just lost a marathon game of pool to Minnesota Fats (Jackie Gleason), the champion.
How to use it: To acknowledge that you’ve been outplayed by a master.

Late posting today, because I'm overscheduled; I have a phone interview in about half an hour, and needed to get to the gym before it closed at 11:30. But the temperature's all the way up to 19, which feels so warm I didn't even need to wear the earmuffs on my way back home.

Happy birthday today to my friend Cara King, who's living it up this weekend in New Orleans.

And happy birthday in absentia to my Grandma Lamb, who would have been 91 today. I did the math this morning -- she was born in 1914 -- and thought, "No, that can't be right. She was only 84 when she died, that's not that long ago." But it is, and this spring will make it seven years she's been gone.

It would annoy her to know I was mentioning her birthday in this blog. She was the least sentimental person I've ever known, and she never wanted people to know how old she was. When she turned 80, her children threw her a big party, and she objected, because her cronies didn't need to know her age. (In fact, I heard one of her friends say to another at the party: "Did you know Margaret was 80? I had no idea she was that old." This, from someone who was at least 75 herself.)

She worked hard, she expected much, she took no lip from anyone, and she was a really terrible cook. But she was fierce in her affection for those she considered her own, and she had a dry, unexpected sense of humor. I miss her.

“You really expect me to believe that you’re sane and the rest of the world is mad?”

The Movie: The Haunting, 1963 (Nelson Gidding, screenwriter, from the novel by Shirley Jackson; Robert Wise, dir.)
Who says it: Claire Bloom as Theo, a psychic investigator
The context: Eleanor Lance (Julie Harris) is trying to convince Theo that she is not staging any of the mysterious things happening at Hill House. Eleanor is crazy, of course, but she's also right about the house - isn't she?
How to use it: To end an irrational argument.

The Bragdons and I have mailboxes in the same column at the Gardiner post office. Anna and I went there together on Wednesday to pick up mail, and I noticed that they had gotten their new electronic toll pass, which is now compatible with all the EZ-PASS tollbooths down the East Coast. (Maine, being Maine, had previously had its own, non-compatible electronic system.)

"Oh, I need to get one of those," I said, before I caught myself and added, "not that I have a CAR."

But there's news on the car. For better or worse, the car wasn't totaled; in fact, it had only body damage, with no damage to the engine or the engine cradle, and the repair bill will be less than that for the November crash (which was half of the total for the Pothole from Hell).

So I'm getting the car back -- maybe as soon as the end of next week -- and at that point I'll have to decide what to do about it.

After the exorcism, of course. I'm seriously considering asking Fr. Sullivan at St. Joe's to bless the car. After all, they bless throats on St. Blaise's day. They bless animals on the feast of St. Francis. I don't know who the patron saint of automobiles is, but why not a blessing for the car?

“Only by forgetting can I see the place again as it really is.”

The Movie: True Stories, 1986 (David Byrne, Beth Henley and Stephen Tobolowsky, screenwriters; David Byrne, dir.)
Who says it: David Byrne as The Narrator
The context: The Narrator shows around a fictional small town in Texas on the eve of the state’s sesquicentennial.
How to use it: To remind yourself not to take anything for granted.

The entire quotation: "I really enjoy forgetting. When I first come to a place, I notice all the little details. I notice the way the sky looks. The color of white paper. The way people walk. Doorknobs. Everything. Then I get used to the place and I don't notice those things anymore. So only by forgetting can I see the place again as it really is."

Anything is interesting -- beautiful, even -- if you look at it closely enough. Margaret Bourke-White understood this, and you see it in her photographs. Cogwheels look like stained glass windows; snarls of telephone wire are mysteries of art. I don't know where the exhibit's going after it leaves Portland, but watch for it, if it comes your way.

Portland was fun, despite the crummy weather. One benefit of working at home and living alone is that I almost never get sick. One day in Portland, and I feel like I'm catching a cold.

Elsewhere on the web today, I saw an item announcing that Elvis Costello is writing a piece for the Royal Danish Opera, based on the works of Hans Christian Andersen. 2005 is the 200th anniversary of Andersen's birth; the opera will be performed sometime in October.

Elvis Costello may be the greatest Christian existentialist of the late 20th century, with the possible exception of Bruce Springsteen; "The Little Mermaid," which has very little to do with that vile, disgusting, offensive travesty of a Disney movie, is my favorite fairy tale. Elvis Costello... Hans Christian Andersen... opera... I'm checking fares to Copenhagen right now.

And finally, I know it's supposed to be satire, but this article from this week's Onion is a little too close to the reality of my life for comfort.

“All me life flashed before me eyes. It was really boring.”

The Movie: Chicken Run, 2000 (Karey Kirkpatrick, screenwriter, from a story by Peter Lord & Nick Park; Nick Park, dir.)
Who says it: Jane Horrocks as the voice of Babs, a hen who spends all her time knitting
The context: Babs has just fainted after a near-death experience.
How to use it: As a warning.

Anna and I are headed down to Portland this morning, to run some errands and see the Margaret Bourke-White exhibit at the Portland Museum of Art. It's snowing some, but there's no way of knowing whether or how much it's snowing in Portland; those 45 miles make a big difference.

Anyway, Anna has four-wheel drive, which she recommends to me on a regular basis.

And no, I have no idea what's going on with my car. Buried under six feet of snow in Cambridge, I suspect. Maybe I should just leave it there til spring.

“I’m an idea man, Chuck, I get ideas. Sometimes I get so many ideas that I can’t fight them off!”

The Movie: Night Shift, 1982 (Lowell Ganz and Babaloo Mandel, screenwriters; Ron Howard, dir.)
Who says it: Michael Keaton as Bill Blazejowski, a morgue attendant with aspirations to higher things
The context: Bill is introducing himself to his new co-worker and supervisor, Chuck Lumley (Henry Winkler).
How to use it: When you’re inspired by an idea.

Down by the river, next to Harvey's Hardware, is a shabby-looking building painted bright orange. Its sign reads, "Tigertown Discount BEVERAGE & REDEMPTION." Of course, they're talking about redeeming bottle deposits; but every time I pass it, I think how great it would be if they really were offering redemption at a discount.

Cold as it's been, three ducks were swimming against the current in the Cobbossee Stream the other day. That stretch of the stream runs fast over rocks, so it doesn't freeze, but the ducks must wear themselves out trying to keep from being swept down into the frozen zone. Where do they think all their friends went? They are either the toughest or the stupidest ducks in North America -- or perhaps, as with humans, these traits sometimes go together.

Fans of crime fiction and short stories (or crime fiction short stories) should check out Sarah Weinman's blog, Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind, today. Several authors have written short stories on a theme, and posted them to their individual blogs. And I wonder why it's so hard for me to get my work done...

Oh, and for those of you following the brain-theft scandal, here's the latest. It is very sad, and I feel ashamed that I'm so fascinated with this. Really.

“Skin that smokewagon!”

The Movie: Tombstone, 1993 (Kevin Jarre, screenwriter; George P. Cosmatos, dir.)
Who says it: Kurt Russell as former lawman Wyatt Earp
The context: Earp says this a couple of times in the movie, daring outlaws to draw their guns on him.
How to use it: To dare someone to do their worst.

Tombstone is a great movie, but this line is pretty hilarious, especially taken out of context. I have a vivid memory of my cousin Moira saying this line, but I can't remember exactly when or why -- which suggests that it happened during one of our Thanksgiving weekends in Yosemite, whose details are a little fuzzy in my mind. (I blame the altitude.)

It worries me a little that I've heard nothing from either my insurance company or the Hi-Tech Auto Repair shop. Since Boston is still digging itself out from the weekend's snow, I don't know whether I'll be able to reach anyone this morning.

Gardiner was just above the big snow line; we got a perfectly civilized 5-6 inches. The Weatherpixie says it's -2F outside, but it feels warmer, because the sun is shining and the wind's let up.

“Braaains… BRAIIINS…”

The Movie: Night of the Living Dead, 1968 (John A. Russo and George A. Romero, screenwriters; George A. Romero, dir.)
Who says it: The zombies, risen from the dead
The context: The zombies, desperate to feed on humans, try to break into a farmhouse full of refugees.
How to use it: To express a powerful, irrational desire, or maybe just when you’re hungry.

When I announced my plans to move to Maine, my friend Dan Freedman said something like, "What about all the serial killers?" He, like many people, knows Maine only through popular literature, which can be a little dark.

I laughed at this, but the truth is that you don't need to live here very long to understand why Maine lends itself to the macabre. After all, my dog's favorite playground is the cemetery. I live across the street from an enormous abandoned paper factory, and we've already discussed the Source of Light Mailbox Club.

But in case you doubted, here's an excerpt from yesterday’s Kennebec Journal:

Policy expected on organ donation
By KEVIN WACK, Portland Press Herald Writer
Copyright © 2005 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

The Maine Attorney General's Office is close to finalizing a policy on organ and tissue donation at the state office where autopsies are performed.

The changes - a response to problems with a brain-harvesting program at the Medical Examiner's Office in Augusta - are expected to establish rules for obtaining consent.

***

The flurry of activity in Augusta follows a Portland Press Herald/Maine Sunday Telegram investigation that showed the state's one-time funeral inspector was paid more than $150,000 over several years to collect brains for a research lab in Bethesda, Md.

Earlier this month, the Stanley Medical Research Institute agreed to pay $47,500 to settle a lawsuit in which a Gorham couple alleged their late son's brain was taken without anyone's consent.

Additional families are now making similar allegations, and federal and state prosecutors are investigating the suspended brain-harvesting program.

Just to get it on record: once I'm finished with my brain, I couldn't care less what happens to it. Get some money for it, if you can.

"Klaatu barada nikto!"

The Movie: The Day the Earth Stood Still, 1951 (Edmund H. North, screenwriter, based on a story by Harry Bates; Robert Wise, dir.)
Who says it: Patricia Neal as Helen Benson, who gives aid and comfort to the alien Klaatu (Michael Rennie)
The context: Helen repeats this phrase to the robot Gort (Lock Martin), to keep him from destroying the earth. We never find out exactly what it means.
How to use it: To avert disaster, or to calm someone down.

This line will baffle anyone who hasn't seen the movie, although references to it appear in many other works (including Army of Darkness, where a major plot point uses a version of the line). The movie is great, because it's not only cheesy and earnest, but also suspenseful and thought-provoking.

The major news outlets are all shrieking about the "first major winter storm" this weekend. First? Ha ha, you weenies! The mountain of snow on my corner (formed by plows) is taller than I am. Dizzy tried to run up it last night, and couldn't figure out why it didn't feel like a real hill. This morning's temperature: -16F. And yes, that is very, very, !@%$&*# cold.

I don't know whether to give Gregg Hurwitz blame or credit for this, but I'm passing along his recommendation for the most entertaining website I've seen in a long time: the "Sitcom Star or Dictator?" game. Be prepared to waste at least half an hour. What's fun is to give the game your own information and see what sitcom character or dictator it guesses you are. It guessed I was someone named Trish from WWE, which makes me wonder whether I was too quick to dismiss pro wrestling as a career. They have a senior circuit, right?

“They’re all going to laugh at you!”

The Movie: Carrie, 1976 (Lawrence D. Cohen, screenwriter, based on the novel by Stephen King; Brian De Palma, dir.)
Who says it: Piper Laurie as religious fanatic Margaret White
The context: Margaret warns her daughter, Carrie (Sissy Spacek), not to go to the prom; later, after the prom has ended in disaster, this warning echoes in Carrie’s head.
How to use it: To mock fears of social rejection.

Happy birthday to my dear friend Joseph Mathews -- this quotation is for him, because he loves this movie. He often quotes another line from this movie (in English and Italian), but it is not appropriate for this PG-13 blog. Sorry, JoJo.

I'll rent a car this weekend, just because I will need to leave Gardiner at some point. Gardiner has almost everything I need -- post office, library, video store, laundromat, bars, churches, grocery store, diner, excellent coffee shop -- all within a mile of my apartment. But it doesn't have a movie theater.

I'm also toying with the idea of trying to go ice-skating at the rink in Augusta, because I'm not accident-prone enough all by myself. Yes, I expect everyone to laugh at me.

“You say such amusing things. I wish I could understand you.”

The Movie: Call Me Madam, 1953 (Arthur Sheekman, screenwriter, from the play by Russel Crouse and Howard Lindsay; Walter Lang, dir.)
Who says it: George Sanders as Count Constantine, foreign minister of Lichtenburg
The context: Ambassador Sally Adams (Ethel Merman) is trying to flirt with the foreign minister at a state ball, but he is not responsive.
How to use it: To let someone know that their efforts to be entertaining aren't succeeding.

It's just a coincidence that I'm using this quotation on inauguration day, I swear. But it does seem kind of appropriate, doesn't it?

We got between six and eight inches of snow here last night. It comes up almost to Dizzy's belly, but he seems to like it.

"He's happy," one of my neighbors said this morning.

"Yep," I said.

"He's the only one of us who is," she laughed, and went back to shoveling.

I have several errands to run on foot this morning, which will be an adventure. Maybe I should bring the shovel with me, and clear the path as I go.

“No, I’m not ready, I have no makeup on… but things are getting better!”

The Movie: Grey Gardens, 1975 (documentary; Ellen Hovde, Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Muffie Meyer, directors)
Who says it: Socialite Edith Bouvier Beale, Jr.
The context: The filmmakers have come back to Grey Gardens to continue filming Edie and her mother, the elder Edith Bouvier Beale, who are sinking into dementia in a ruined mansion in the Hamptons.
How to use it: To express aggressive levels of optimism in the face of disorder.

This morning's temperature: -7F. I put wax on Dizzy's paws before we went outside, and it seemed to help. Yesterday afternoon, Anna and I went out to look at some used furniture, and when we came back, the lock on my apartment door was frozen. Handy to have one's landlady along when things like this happen... we went right down to Harvey's Hardware to buy some De-Icer.

The De-Icer itself is alarming, labeled as it is -- "POISON," “BREATHING & INGESTION HAZARD,” “FIRE AND EXPLOSION HAZARD,” “DO NOT SWALLOW,” “INHALING CONCENTRATED VAPORS CAN CAUSE DEATH WITHOUT WARNING.” Nevertheless, Anna and I fearlessly sprayed my lock four times before it finally thawed and let me back into the apartment. I'm waiting now to see whether my fingers turn black and fall off.

The endless process of unpacking continues... well, to be honest, I hadn't done any unpacking in a while, so I started back up again yesterday. Happily, I found several items I thought had gone missing, all tossed into a spare wardrobe box.

Opening some of these boxes feels like being a tourist in my own life. I found one labeled "Favorite Books" -- and I couldn't wait to open it, just to remind myself what my favorite books are. In case you're curious, they include my first editions of Kate Vaiden, Fifth Business, Killing Mister Watson, and Marjorie Morningstar, and the Ben Stein novel (The Croesus Conspiracy) he signed to me when I won his money.

“It’s not good things -- it’s celebrity deaths that come in threes.”

The Movie: Tapeheads, 1988 (Bill Fishman & Peter McCarthy, screenwriters; Bill Fishman, dir.)
Who says it: Tim Robbins as ex-security guard and aspiring filmmaker Josh Tager
The context: Josh says this to rock impresario Mo Fuzz (Don Cornelius), who wants Josh and his partner Ivan (John Cusack) to make a third music video for him on spec.
How to use it: Upon the third occurrence of any event.

Three recent celebrity deaths: Ruth Warrick, who was Citizen Kane's first wife and Phoebe Tyler Wallingford on "All My Children," back when I used to watch it; Virginia Mayo, who was the beautiful girl in almost every movie made in the 1940s; and Thelma White, who played Mae, the drug pusher's moll, in Reefer Madness. You could make it four by adding mystery novelist Charlotte McLeod, who was a bestseller in her day and is now almost completely forgotten. Sic transit.

I have to say that the insurance people have been very nice about this latest car incident. The car's been towed to the Hi-Tech Body Shop in Cambridge, and I should hear today whether it's reparable. The problem with getting it fixed and then selling it, as I said to my friend Maeve yesterday, is that how could I sell this thing in good conscience? It needs a voodoo cleansing, at least.

My friends had told me that below-zero temperatures would arrive in January, and here they are. It's -3F outside right now, or a truly impressive -19 if you're counting in Celsius. Either way, it's not the friendliest weather for pedestrians.

“All right, but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine... what have the Romans ever done for us?"

The entire quotation: “All right, but apart from the sanitation, medicine, education, wine, public order, irrigation, roads, the fresh water system and public health, what have the Romans ever done for us?”
The Movie: Life of Brian, 1979 (Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones, and Michael Palin, screenwriters; Terry Jones, dir.)
Who says it: John Cleese as Reg, leader of the People’s Front of Judea
The context: Reg is rallying the opposition to Roman tyranny.
How to use it: To acknowledge that you’re biting the hand that feeds you.

I love this line, and it's why I could never be a truly committed political activist.

I recently read The Temple of Music by Jonathan Lowy, an ambitious but flawed novel about Leon Czolgosz's assassination of President McKinley. Czolgosz tried to be an anarchist, but he was so crazy that even the anarchists didn't want him. The novel sent me back to a collection of Emma Goldman's writings I read in college. Emma was such a romantic; she really believed that some people were good and some people were bad, and that removing the structures of power would reward the good people and punish the bad.

But people are just people, and as my friend Joseph says frequently, "People suck." I don't endorse that point of view entirely -- as Bob Dylan says, some people are very kind. But it's human nature to protect oneself and compete for resources, even when they're not scarce, and that leads to unpleasant behavior. Government and religion, even corrupt government and bad religion, are pretty much the only checks we have on human nature.

Sorry for the dose of misanthropy, but the driver of the car that hit me swears he had a green arrow -- which he did NOT -- and no one came forward to say they'd seen the accident, so chances are good that my own insurance company is going to have to pay for these repairs, with me picking up the deductible. That doesn't make them or me very happy.

Oh, and happy birthday to my friend Kelly Dayton, who is no relation to the singer for the Sneaker Pimps.

"You never knocked me down. You could never knock me down."

The Movie: Raging Bull, 1980 (Paul Schrader and Mardik Martin, screenwriters, based on the book by Jake LaMotta; Martin Scorsese, dir.)
Who says it: Robert DeNiro as boxer Jake LaMotta
The context: Jake LaMotta has just lost a fight to Sugar Ray Robinson (Johnny Barnes), who beat him within an inch of his life but never knocked Jake down.
How to use it: As bravado, to show that you're down but not out.

A car full of teenagers ran a red light last night in Porter Square and made a left turn into my Beetle. They hit me hard, and my airbags deployed. Fortunately, no one was hurt, but the car is wrecked -- again. I don't think it's totaled, but once it's fixed I'll be selling it. There's no denying it any more: the damn thing is jinxed.

"You gotta laugh," the Cambridge fireman said to me last night. It's true, but I cried a little too. Thank God for Tom and Hetchen Ehrenfeld, who gave me a place to stay last night and a ride to the bus station this morning; for Val Wheaton, who took care of Dizzy since I couldn't get home; and for Anna Bragdon, who picked me up in Portland this afternoon.

I'm going to quit driving for a while. My Grandmother McLaughlin never did get a driver's license, and even as a child that seemed like a wise choice to me.

"What would you do with a brain if you had one?"

The Movie: The Wizard of Oz, 1939 (Noel Langley, Florence Ryerson and Edgar Allan Woolf, screenwriters, from the book by L. Frank Baum; Victor Fleming, dir.)
Who says it: Judy Garland as Dorothy Gale, tornado victim and Oz petitioner
The context: The Scarecrow (Ray Bolger) has just confided to Dorothy that he longs for a brain. In response to this question, he sings "If I Only Had a Brain."
How to use it: It's an easy insult, but you can also use it to examine the reason for any strong desire.

See what I mean about The Wizard of Oz? I could probably do a line a day from The Wizard of Oz for an entire year.

This morning I'm just waiting for the parking lot to thaw a little, then I'm heading down to Cambridge to see Kate, Mikki and the Ehrenfelds. It's a lot of driving for a day trip, but I don't want to spend any more nights away for a while.

And as for what I'd do with a brain if I had one... well, get myself into trouble, that's what.

Up the street from me is a big, ramshackle house that looks like it might even have some fire damage. Above the front door, a hand-lettered sign reads, "Source of Light MAILBOX CLUB." Dizzy and I walk by it most days, and I had never seen anyone go in or out, although I'd seen a newish-looking station wagon parked in the driveway. The house is spooky and out-of-place on its block, where most of the houses are refurbished and extremely well-kept.

I asked a few neighbors about the sign -- "Source of Light Mailbox Club"? What could that be? Maine is a notorious refuge for survivalists, and has a long history of wacko -- excuse me, creative and ardent -- religious movements. It's one of the few remaining places in the country where it's actually possible for someone with no money to live "off the grid" -- that is, without electricity or phone service or even a formal mailing address.

So, speculating with one of my neighbors, I developed an elaborate theory about the Source of Light Mailbox Club. Maybe the Source of Light was a survivalist group, even a cult. Maybe its members live somewhere out in the woods, off the grid, and don't have mailing addresses. Maybe its members give out that Oak Street address to family members just so they have a place to get some mail, even if they don't want The Man to find them. I had half a novel plotted out in my head, all about the desperate members of the Source of Light Mailbox Club and how an unwitting dog owner puts herself in danger by asking too many questions.

And then the other morning, Dizzy and I were passing by the house when someone was loading up his truck in front of it, talking to an elderly man who was shoveling out the driveway. The man loading up his truck was someone I'd seen before, walking a yellow lab and a Rottweiler, so I stopped to let Dizzy say hello. His name is Tim, and the older man was Barney.

I asked them about the Mailbox Club. "Ah, this is my house," said Barney, the old man. "It was my mother's before, she passed on a few years ago. She used to hold church services in her house, and that sign's left over. I just never got around to taking it down. I forgot it was there, I never even notice it any more."

I'm still thinking about the novel possibilities, though.

“I am not an animal!”

The Movie: Spartacus, 1960 (Dalton Trumbo, screenwriter, from the novel by Howard Fast; Stanley Kubrick, dir.)
Who says it: Kirk Douglas as Spartacus, a slave trained as a gladiator
The context: Spartacus refuses to perform in the ring like a trained animal, and embraces his destiny as liberator.
How to use it: To take a stand against degradation or drudgery.

You thought this line was from The Elephant Man, didn't you? Well, it is, but it was in Spartacus first. (There's also the Pete Townshend song, "I Am an Animal," which I figure refers to both works, but this is not a lyrics blog.) Anyway, since Spartacus was concerned with the dignity of other human beings -- while John Merrick didn't really have the energy to spare for anyone else -- I'm letting him have this line.

Happy birthday today to Art Coulson, eternal love object of my 14-year-old self.

A Maine state legislator has proposed that the state move from Eastern Time to Atlantic Time, which would put us an hour ahead of everyone else in the continental U.S. (Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands are also on Atlantic time). He says this would give us more daylight and increase business, which I don't get at all.

Sunrise today was at 7:13, sunset will be at 4:23 (thanks, WeatherPixie). Put us on Nova Scotia time and sunrise moves to 8:13. Who wants to get up in the middle of the night? Sunset would still be before 5:30, so it would still be dark when most people drive home. Where's the advantage?

Then again, since Dizzy gets up at dawn, it might get me an extra hour of sleep. That wouldn't be bad.

“Ours is the loneliest profession, Mr. Bond.”

The Movie: The Man with the Golden Gun, 1974 (Richard Maibaum and Tom Mankiewicz, screenwriters, from the novel by Ian Fleming; Guy Hamilton, dir.)
Who says it: Christopher Lee as Francisco Scaramanga, an assassin who carries a golden gun
The context: Scaramanga expresses his admiration for his adversary, James Bond (Roger Moore).
How to use it: At work, especially if you’re a writer.

The Internet is my best friend and my worst enemy. It makes my entire lifestyle possible, but it is also an infinitely powerful waster of time, attention, and emotional energy, and what makes things worse is that friends of mine keep launching blogs. At this rate, I'm going to need an intervention before the end of the winter.

Shocking, shocking news this morning, forwarded from my brother Ed: WHFS, Washington, DC's legendary alternative-rock radio station, switched abruptly to a Spanish-language format yesterday. WHFS took a turn for the mediocre several years ago, when Infinity Broadcasting bought it, but it was still the only major radio station in the Washington area where you ever had a chance of hearing Elvis Costello. It was also the station that introduced me to Too Much Joy, the Replacements, the Jayhawks, Victoria Williams, Beck, David Wilcox, and countless other artists on my CD shelves today.

I feel like someone just mugged me and stole my young adulthood.

“Before he came down here, it never snowed. And afterwards, it did.”

The Movie: Edward Scissorhands, 1990 (Caroline Thompson, screenwriter, from a story by Thompson and Tim Burton; Tim Burton, dir.)
Who says it: Winona Ryder as Kim, tragic sweetheart of Edward Scissorhands (Johnny Depp)
The context: Kim remembers her doomed romance, before Edward retreated from the world forever.
How to use it: To acknowledge the lasting effect of someone who’s gone.

"Bad weather's starting," I said this morning to Jerry the Postmaster. I don't think I'll pick up the Maine accent, but I do find myself imitating my neighbors' speech patterns -- no articles, no unnecessary words.

"I can tell by everyone coming in so early," Jerry said. It's true; I'd have stopped by the post office this afternoon, on my way home from the gym, but I can't count on being able to navigate the sidewalks later on. The snow is fine and powdery at the moment -- it gets in Dizzy's nose, and he snorts -- but it might turn to ice later on.

My friend and client Kent Harrington has launched the mini-tour for his new book, Red Jungle, and reports that it's going very well so far. With all due respect to my other clients, Red Jungle is the best book I've ever worked on -- have I said that already? I think I've said that already. Anyway, everyone should read it, and you can order it from The Mystery Bookstore by clicking here.

I've been reading a little too much lately, as strange as that sounds. I've read eight novels in the last six days, plus a screenplay and a friend's manuscript, and the effect is similar to having eaten an entire quart of ice cream in one sitting. The best of all this reading was Ken Bruen's The Magdalen Martyrs, the third in his Galway-based Jack Taylor series. Bruen's books are deceptively simple, spare novels that incorporate an extraordinary body of literature, from Emily Dickinson to Thomas Merton to Van Morrison. People call Ken Bruen a "writer's writer," but he's actually a reader's writer, because the more you've read, the more you get out of his books.

“I take all the drinks I like, any time, any place. I go where I want to with anybody I want. I just happen to be that kind of a girl.”

The Movie: The Blue Dahlia, 1946 (Raymond Chandler, screenwriter; George Marshall, dir.)
Who says it: Doris Dowling as Helen Morrison, unfaithful wife (and truly dreadful mother)
The context: Helen defends her lifestyle to her husband Johnny (Alan Ladd), who has just returned from the war.
How to use it: To brazen out bad behavior. (Be warned, though: Helen, like most 1940s femmes fatale, meets a bad end.)

Who'd have thought I'd be escaping from Los Angeles to Maine just to get better weather? But today's bright and sunshiny in Gardiner, and God only knows when they'll see the sun again in L.A. I had to dig my car out from about five inches of snow, and my parking lot's a little treacherous, but it sure is pretty.

It's been a lot of traveling in a short period of time, and I have no sense at all of what time or what day it is. It'll be good to be home for a while.

“I wonder whatever happened to me.”

The Movie: Duck Soup, 1933 (Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby, screenwriters; Leo McCarey, dir.)
Who says it: Groucho Marx as Rufus T. Firefly, leader of Freedonia
The context: The inept spy-turned-informer Chicolini (Chico Marx) has just answered Firefly’s telephone again without letting him know he had a call.
How to use it: When you’ve been away for a while.

Happy birthday today to Tod Goldberg, award-winning author, columnist, and writing guru. The fact that your birthday comes two days after Elvis's really does make you more like him, Tod. No, really.

It was nice to be at the bookstore yesterday, and I stocked up on advance reading copies in case I get stranded en route again today. My car, parked in an outdoor lot at the Portland airport, is now under 5 inches of snow -- so getting home will be an adventure, even after I land in Maine. If all else fails, I'll bring some matches so I can burn the books for warmth if I need to.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'd never burn a book just for warmth... the headlines would read "Local Woman freezes to death, surrounded by combustible material."

“I was born when she kissed me. I died when she left me. I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”

The Movie: In a Lonely Place, 1950 (Edmund H. North and Andrew Solt, screenwriters, from the novel by Dorothy B. Hughes; Nicholas Ray, dir.)
Who says it: Humphrey Bogart as screenwriter and murder suspect Dix Steele.
The context: Steele is quoting a line from his screenplay to his girlfriend, Laurel Gray (Gloria Grahame); later, she quotes it herself, in a different context.
How to use it: If you ever have an opportunity to use this line, you’ll know.

The book that inspired this movie is the topic of this afternoon's Crime Club discussion group at the bookstore. Both the book and the movie explore the psyches of violent men, but they turn on opposite plot twists. It's clear to anyone who reads the book and sees the movie that a woman wrote one and a man wrote the other. Both are masterpieces, in their own ways, and both have been tremendously influential (on more than just the Smithereens song).

Yesterday turned out to be a weirdly Elvis-related day. Ann Marie and I went with Gary to look at a painting he's thinking about buying, a large, vivid montage that includes a view of Elvis's funeral cortege. The artist, Mark Hobley, has a small shrine to Elvis in his studio, and the candles were lit there yesterday afternoon.

My cousins Kathleen and Mark had the Los Angeles branch of the family over for dinner last night, so I got to meet their new daughter, Lucinda. I've only been gone for three months, but they've been an eventful three months.

“Thank you. Thank you ver’-ver’ much.”

The Movie: Bubba Ho-Tep, 2002 (Don Coscarelli, director and screenwriter, from a story by Joe R. Lansdale)
Who says it: Bruce Campbell as Elvis Presley, aka Sebastian Haff, the inmate of an East Texas nursing home.
The context: This is the last line of the movie, after Elvis has joined forces with Jack (Ossie Davis), a fellow resident who believes himself to be John F. Kennedy, to send an ancient Egyptian mummy back to hell.
How to use it: To express appreciation in a way that honors the King of Rock & Roll.

Don't ask me why I know this, but today is Elvis Presley's birthday. I was never that big a fan, until my brother Ed and I visited Graceland on our cross-country odyssey in the early 1990s. We expected it to be cheesy, and it was, but it was also profoundly moving.

The house gives you a real sense of what the man was like, and how he spent his whole life trying not to disappoint the people who loved him, even if he didn't know them. He seemed to need to atone for his success, and despite the excesses of his lifestyle, I didn't get a sense that he had ever really enjoyed it. Sad.

"Sanctuary! Sanctuary!"

The Movie: The Hunchback of Notre Dame, 1939 (Bruno Frank, screenwriter, from the novel by Victor Hugo; William Dieterle, dir.)
Who says it: Charles Laughton as the hunchback, Quasimodo
The context: Quasimodo desperately seeks protection for himself and the beautiful gypsy, Esmeralda (Maureen O’Hara), as villagers storm the cathedral.
How to use it: When seeking refuge.

My flight from Philadelphia left at 7:45 this morning and landed a little after 12:30 local time, for a total of about eight hours in the plane. We had to land in Kansas City to refuel, because of major headwinds and bad weather at LAX.

And what bad weather it is. I didn't even try to rent a car; water is four inches deep on the roads in some places, and no one (including me) knows how to drive in Los Angeles in the rain. I used to think it was some collective incompetence or neurosis, but the truth is that the accumulation of dust and oil on the roads makes them unusually slick in the rain, and the roads don't drain, especially on the west side of town.

But I got to Gary's, where there was a fire burning in the fireplace, and a soy latte and a peanut butter sandwich and two joyful dogs. It's weird to be here without Dizzy.

“Sorry I’m late. There was this big problem… and I’m late because of it.”

The Movie: The Sure Thing, 1985 (Steven Bloom & Jonathan Roberts, screenwriters; Rob Reiner, dir.)
Who says it: John Cusack as Walter “Gib” Gibson, a college freshman in pursuit of The Sure Thing (Nicolette Sheridan)
The context: After being stranded on the highway and having to hitchhike across most of the country with a classmate he hates (Daphne Zuniga), Gib finally meets the girl of his dreams at a frat party.
How to use it: When you’re late, and you have no good excuse.

The good news is that I no longer have to worry about dying alone and being eaten by my dog before anyone realizes I'm missing. Sheesh, man, miss one day of blog posting and people send out the search party... thanks to the friends who sent concerned e-mails.

The bad news is that I've been traveling all day, and have managed to make it only as far as Philadelphia, where I'm stranded until 7:45 tomorrow morning. The snow started falling just as I crossed the Portland city line, and I sat in a plane for four hours with 69 other unhappy passengers on the runway in Portland before we were finally able to take off.

I'd hoped to call my old roommate Leigh, but of course I don't have her phone number... and it's already after 10:00 p.m. here, a time when I understand many civilized people have already gone to bed.

Good thing I have the computer, some headphones and a stack of DVDs.

“There’s always work at the post office.”

The Movie: Hollywood Shuffle, 1987 (Robert Townsend and Keenen Ivory Wayans, screenwriters; Robert Townsend, dir.)
Who says it: Robert Townsend as aspiring actor Bobby Taylor
The context: The last line of the movie, underlining its moral: success shouldn’t have to require abandoning your self-respect.
How to use it: When contemplating the costs and benefits of your own job.

It'll be next week before I feel back to full speed on anything, including work. Dizzy and I have both slept past 8:00 a.m. for the last two days, which is unusual for both of us.

My experience of freelancing is that it's feast or famine, in terms of both workload and income -- but that may just be my own nature. I only really like sports that alternate bursts of frenzied activity with stretches of hanging out (sailing, baseball). If I can even things out a little this year, that would be good.

“The future’s all yours, you lousy bicycles.”

The Movie: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 1969 (William Goldman, screenwriter; George Roy Hill, dir.)
Who says it: Robert Redford as Harry Longbaugh, the Sundance Kid
The context: Sundance has just crashed on his new-fangled bike.
How to use it: To express frustration with new technology.

Yesterday's trip: 615 miles, 1.5 tanks of gas
Stops: Rising Sun, MD; Bristol, CT

Maine does feel like home -- I felt so comforted last night when I crossed the border, and as I passed the signs on 95 and 295 -- Scarborough, Portland, Falmouth, Brunswick, Gardiner. Most of the snow has melted, though we got a dusting overnight. Dizzy was thrilled to discover that no one had stolen his toys, and I expect he'll sleep all day today.

Here's a mystery, though. All of the trash cans have disappeared from the Gardiner town common. "Homeland security," Mom said when I told her, and that might be the reason, as absurd as it is to think of terrorists blowing up the Gardiner town common. Maybe they took them away for New Year's Eve, or maybe they routinely remove them for the winter. In any case, I'm calling the town office to ask, because the absence of trash cans seems to have given people the idea that they no longer need to pick up after their dogs.

I'm coming home with an awful lot of Christmas loot, of which the most extravagant item is a Sony PS2. Ashton & Joseph are upgrading to the new model, so gave me their old one, with the idea that I can hook it up to my cable modem and we can all play "Dance Dance Revolution" together. (Yes, our average age is very close to 40. Got a problem with that?) Anyway, I haven't even figured out how to hook up my DVD player through my cable box yet, so I may need to hire a high school student to come over and set this whole thing up.

“Some folks call it hell, I call it Hades.”

The Movie: Sling Blade, 1996 (Billy Bob Thornton, screenwriter and director)
Who says it: Billy Bob Thornton as Karl, a disabled man released from a hospital for the criminally insane
The context: Karl is explaining to his young friend Frank (Lucas Black) why he never seriously considered suicide, because of the prospect of eternal damnation.
How to use it: To comment on any miserable place.

So this morning I'm packing up the car and the dog, and headed back up 95 to Maine... I'm varying my route a little this time, taking the Tappan Zee instead of the George Washington Bridge, so maybe it won't be so bad. And this time I'm not making the detour to Newport.

It's not such a misery, really; I like long car trips. After this one, though, I think I'll have had enough for a while. And I know Dizzy feels the same way.

“If you’re just operating by habit, then you’re not really living.”

The Movie: My Dinner with Andre, 1981 (Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn, screenwriters; Louis Malle, dir.)
Who says it: Andre Gregory, as himself
The context: Gregory is extolling the virtues of living without a net.
How to use it: To defend your decision to break with tradition.

The thing about not operating by habit, though, is that it's exhausting. Most freelancers I know compensate for their lives' lack of external structure by creating fairly rigid routines for themselves. That's something I haven't done yet in Maine, and I need to. It's much easier for myself and my clients if we all know that I am walking my dog between 7:00 and 8:00, at the library from 10:00 to 2:00, available by phone from 3:00 to 5:00.

So that's one of my new year's resolutions. I also said, a couple of days ago, that I'd like to hop around a little less in 2005 -- not keep jumping to Washington or Tidewater or Los Angeles or New York, but take some time to settle down in Maine... but I am already making tentative plans to go to New York in February, Los Angeles in April, and Europe sometime this fall, before my 40th birthday.

My favorite theory is of an infinite number of parallel universes, in which an infinite number of parallel selves live the lives we didn't choose in this one. In one of those universes, surely, my parallel self lives an orderly life.

“I would like to start over. I would like to be new to you… I want to be ‘Mr. New.’”

The Movie: Singles, 1992 (Cameron Crowe, director and screenwriter)
Who says it: Campbell Scott as Steve, a 20-something transportation engineer in Seattle
The context: Steve is drunk and on the floor of a club’s phone booth, talking to his ex-girlfriend Linda’s (Kyra Sedgwick) answering machine.
How to use it: To ask for a second chance – or a third – or a twentieth.

Over the years, it's become less important to me to stay up until midnight on New Year's Eve than to get up early on New Year's morning. Every January 1 offers the promise of a better year, and maybe even of a better self... at least until tomorrow.