B is for…
I’m participating in the A-Z Blogging Challenge, where I post every day in the month of April (except Sundays) and each day is a letter.
My theme for the month is a series of posts about the things that shaped me.
Boondock Saints
Okay, this one not so much shaped me, but is just flat-out entertaining. Willem gets it:
Boondock Saints was just a random selection at Blockbuster Video one bored night in college. (Officially dating myself here.) I knew absolutely nothing about it, but figured, what the hey, it looks interesting.
It would be years before Norman Reedus showed up as fan-fave Daryl Dixon on The Walking Dead, and Willem Dafoe’s early filmography had not yet shown up on my film studies curriculum. I think Sean Patrick Flanery was the only actor I recognized (from The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles and Suicide Kings — if you like Boondock Saints and you haven’t seen Suicide Kings yet, DO IT).
To sum up the plot: two Irish brothers are fed up with bad people getting away with doing bad things, and take it upon themselves to clean up what the police can’t.
Some people may believe it’s full of gratuitous violence and just too many uses of the word “fuck” (246 times in 108 minutes — yes, it’s a lot). Some may call it heavy-handed and obvious in its justification of the characters’ vigilantism. Is it a great film? No. Not even close. But it’s damn good fun.
The sequel is meh (I have no idea what Flanery did to his face, it was very distracting), but I’ll watch the original over and over.
…except maybe the cat scene.
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
Of course I saw the movie first, but — me being me — I had to go find Truman Capote’s novella shortly thereafter.
I saw the film in early high school (again, TCM is the best thing on TV). But I started watching it not because of Audrey Hepburn — who I had not yet discovered — but because of Mickey Rooney.
You see, in my early years of watching old movies, I had seen plenty with Mr. Rooney — Boys Town, National Velvet, A Yank at Eton, and especially the Andy Hardy film series. For those unfamiliar, it was the precursor to wholesome television like Leave It to Beaver and The Donna Reed Show, and when I was little, I thought Mickey was hilarious (don’t judge).
I saw his name in the opening credits, so I figured, why not see what this is?
Okay, okay, okay. I get that Mickey’s role is … problematic. Or, rather, straight-up, 10000% racist.
But it introduced me to Audrey, who I absolutely adore (and yes, she’ll show up a couple more times this month).
Watching the film today, it’s hard to believe that Truman Capote thought she wasn’t right for the part. He had envisioned Marilyn Monroe, which is hard to believe — until you read the novella. It’s easy to imagine Marilyn’s breathy voice as call girl Holly Golightly when you’re reading it.
But I wouldn’t want to watch that movie over and over.
Borders
Not everything that shaped me can be found in books and movies; there’s some places and events that did as well. And one of my favorite places in the world was Borders Books & Music.
I was lucky enough to have worked at store #1, the original, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. They hired me in my in-between time, the few years after my college degree but before I headed to grad school, when it seemed I was qualified for nothing else. (I mean, I did it to myself — double majoring in English and film studies doesn’t really get you very far.)
The store was huge — two floors and a basement you could get lost in. I learned everything I could there; I became a jack of all trades, working every department, every role I could. It was there that I figured out how bored I get doing the same thing, day after day. And it was there that I decided to go to library school and thus found my path in life.
But more importantly, it was there I met some of the best people — and best friends — I’ve ever had. You always want to find a job with like-minded people, where every day is fun and you actually look forward to being there.
That was Borders. It was a job, but it felt like home.
Blood clots
And now for something a little less happy.
First, couple things to know:
- I am just on the far side of 40.
- I don’t eat red meat, and eat a decent amount of fruits and vegetables.
- I averaged 30-40 miles running a week, and have a wall full of (participation) medals for 5Ks, 10Ks, and a couple half-marathons.
- I am what most would consider a healthy individual.
So why is it that six months ago, I was rushed to the hospital with a bilateral pulmonary embolism caused by a deep vein thrombosis in my left leg?
No one knows. Apparently healthy people can get life-threatening blood clots and we may never know why.
One night I felt a lump behind my left knee. Doctor Google told me it wasn’t a big deal, a superficial clot that would either get sucked back into my body or may pop and be uncomfortable for a bit. My half-marathon was in a week, so I didn’t worry about it.
Two days later, I woke up with my calf feeling like it was in a vise, not able to put any weight on it. And when I would walk, I felt my heart pounding and pain almost like a screwdriver twisting in my chest. I kept getting lightheaded and had to sit on the floor so I didn’t pass out.
If only I’d seen this in my googling:
But no. I went to urgent care, was told it was some superficial thing and that I had a heart murmur (never heard this before in my life).
So I took my cat to the vet the next day. And passed out in the waiting room.
Lesson learned.
Please don’t be like me. I’m fine now, feeling back to my old self, but it’s super scary and I don’t wish something like this on anyone.
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