On Douglas Adams, James Burke, and the People Who Taught Me to Notice.
This essay started the way so many of mine do. With an observation that leads to one of my patented wandering conversations.
On Douglas Adams, James Burke, and the People Who Taught Me to Notice.
This essay started the way so many of mine do. With an observation that leads to one of my patented wandering conversations.
A dance recital, a middle school ceremony, and the brief gift of childhood.
So this series finally comes to a close. It's been some journey. It was, for me anyway. I always find the best way to work through things is by writing about them. This time it actually led to an interesting discovery. I'll try not to do that again.
What makes us go back to our enjoyments, our enthusiasms, if you will, of the past over and over again? Every time I use the word enthusiasms I am reminded of the movie The Untouchables with Kevin Costner, Sean Connery, and Robert De Niro. The scene where Al Capone has his capos around a table, making a speech. "A man becomes preeminent, he is expected to have enthusiasms, enthusiasms. What are mine? What draws my admiration? What is that which gives me joy? Baseball."

In You've Got Mail Meg Ryan is writing an email (via AOL, speaking of old roads. Though to be fair, the UI looks more like an IM than an email, but it's been decades and I could be wrong.) and she writes "So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?" It probably should be the other way around, but I know, for myself, that so much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, or saw in a movie.
Some films are favorites. Others become places we return to. For me, one of those places is the 1977 animated The Hobbit.