Rodney’s favorite films of 2011
My hair and makeup are in the final stages of completion. My Armani tux is back from the tailor. My driver has brought around the limo (the black one, not either of the other two). My stunning date has been CGI’d. It’s just about time for me to walk the red carpet.
I should apologize ahead of time for this review. I am in a snit, a tizzy, a bit of a funk and maybe even a little jealous. It’s all because I watched The Tree Of Life as the final missing link in my Oscars viewing. That’s two hours and nineteen minutes of my life that are gone for good, evaporated.
If you happened to be glancing up at the sky in Westland yesterday and noticed a suspicious helicopter buzzing around in circles, don’t worry. It wasn’t a cop chopper searching for nefarious evil-doers. It was just a goofy photographer and a very lost pilot, using their iPhones, GPS and the Metro Airport tower trying to find their way.
Haven’t we learned over the years that insurance companies know best? Why, just today I received a phone call from my doctor saying Blue Cross wasn’t allowing me to take a drug she prescribed. I’m glad that a faceless person in a call center somewhere denied me my medicine. Obviously they have access to all the most advanced medical technology in the world and can judge, far better than my doctor, what’s best for me.
There are no mountains.
That’s the first thing I notice around here at The Mountain Workshops, the absence of mountains.
Hills, sure. Ridges, you bet. One could even argue there are crags, escarpments or even bluffs. But mountain may be pushing it a bit. Not that I’m one to talk. Coming from the decidedly flat suburbs of Detroit, our biggest “mountains” are converted garbage dumps that developers covered with dirt and ski lifts then waited for snow.
But the term Mountain Workshops adds a sense of majesty, purple and above fruited plains. That sort of thing.
I wasn’t in the mood, a few weeks ago, to show a movie on the side of our house. I’ve done so a few times in the past, born from a crazy notion that bored into my brain while mowing our lawn. The last time we did the “drive-in” movie was moments before I found out about my cancer. We were also shut down by the authorities, the buzzing mosquitoes which dive-bombed our ears and any exposed skin they could find.
But my daughters kept pushing me to “do the house movie thing,” so I agreed and told them to invite their friends. Read More