A Whole New Way to Watch Westerns
Saturday, 11 June 2005 17:12:26

The "What Westerns do you like" question has been asked again. It's an old topic, but I like that it keeps coming around on the threads. It gets people to thinking about the olden days and bringing the names of good old unappreciated western classics to light. [QUOTE]Originally posted by BrownCoat1: [B]I lean more toward the classical westerns like [i]Stagecoach, The Searchers, Fort Apache, Rio Bravo, and The Undefeated[/i]. [/B][/QUOTE]I just saw "The Last Command" and discovered an actor named Sterling Hayden this morning. I wouldn't say it will be a favorite, but it got me curious about the actor. While I was watching it, though, I also discovered that I have a new way of watching westerns... I'm finding lately that there isn't a western made that couldn't be improved with a space ship or touches of technology in the Firefly 70/30* format. Take [i]Rio Bravo[/i], for instance. It is probably my all-time favorite because it shows several different facets of quiet strength, and because the first time I watched it all the way through was with my Dad who also loved it. I used it in a Typography project and re-did the movie poster. This was before my Firefly obsession fully kicked in. But what if ... ... Pat Wheeler's wagon train had instead been a cargo ship. ... When Nathan Burdett came into town, he did it on a hover skiff. ... What if the hotel had various holographic amenities in the dining room and an automated bartender that had a tendency to break down and that's why Feathers got hired. Although I would hate to lose Carlos and Consuelo, what if the comedy relief owners and operators of the hotel were fiesty Chinese instead of high-strung Mexican? Leaving out the robot bartender... does that sound like a Firefly episode to you? *70/30 - 70% real, 30% fantasy

MEN!
Saturday, 11 June 2005 20:51:26

I had to get up early today to help put a roof on a house with a group of people from my church. Correction: a group of [i]men [/i]. So I met up with them at this dirty spoon they like to meet at for breakfast. I can't stand this place, personally. I don't like those big, greasy, fatty, bacon, eggs and grits style breakfasts, but these men LOVE it. One guy ordered pancakes, and they were as big as the plate. HUGE. Anyway, we get to the house we're working on and get set up. I'm the only woman and there are about 8 men. Most of them go to my church, and I have a very good rapport with them. Now, I think it's important to point out at this point that I've been working with groups like Habitat for Humanity for about 12 years. I know a few things about how to build a house, and I've put on more roofs than I can remember. If someone told me to take a group of people that have never shingled a roof before and teach them how, I'm pretty sure I could do it. So it's not like I'm some blonde getting in the way, not knowing which end of the hammer to hold. I know what I'm doing. But right from the beginning, these men-all of them-start hen-pecking at me. Nagging. You didn't pop the chalk line hard enough. You popped it too hard. The nail needs to be a little more to the right. The left. Up. Down. Put these shingles over there. Don't step there. Watch that wire. Watch that wire. Watch that wire. Don't step on the cord. Move the tape measure over here. Over there. No, don't use that, use this! Be careful! Watch that wire! Now, I can handle constructive criticism, I have no problems learning from people who know more than I do. But 8 men, all telling me what do do at once! They were driving me crazy! I finally told them that I already had a mother, and she wasn't here. They got the hint, we got to work and got the roof done. And we had a pretty good time doing it. I go to leave and have to do a turn around in the yard we were parked in. I pull forward and manage to hit a hole in the ground I couldn't see because it was covered, like the rest of the yard, by tall grass. I back up out of the hole and hear this awful tearing sound. I park my car and jump out, thinking I've killed my car. Turns out there was a small cypress stump in the hole and it got caught under my bumper and when I backed up, my bumper tried to stay with the stump. I have a plastic bumper and all it did was pull the side loose and pull one of the wires out of the little running light. Not a big deal, but of course I was upset. Well, the one guy that had been aggravating me most that day (partly because he reminds me of my best friend's husband, whom I despise, and partly because I couldn't tell if he was flirting with me or just being really obnoxious-I hope it was the latter) pulled out this little toolbox from the trunk of his car, soldered the wire back into the light thingy (socket? I dunno, he fixed it) with this little portable solder (who carries those around?!?) and got my bumper put back on. It took him all of 20 minutes. And when I thanked him, he just shrugged and said "It's what I do. I fix things." So, what's the moral to my little tale? I have no idea.