Wednesday, June 6, 2007

100

Okay, making good 'Ambersons' progress. For those of you who don't know, or just have vague ideas of Orson Welles being furious, it's about the decline and fall of the midwestern monarchy in the face of the industrial revolution. Among other things. The main character, George Miniver, is prince of the town and a spoiled brat who runs wild in his pony cart and roundly abuses everyone.

I've already done some annotating; I underlined the following passage, an encounter between Georgie and a man he's driven off the road with his cart.

"Georgie, without even seeming to look at him, flicked the long lash of his whip dexterously, and a little spurt of dust came from the hardware man’s trousers, not far below the waist. He was not made of hardware: he raved, looking for a missile; then, finding none, commanded himself sufficiently to shout after the rapid dog-cart: “Turn down your pants, you would-be dude! Raining in dear ole Lunnon! Git off the earth!”'

Awesome, no?

I went for a walk a minute ago (incidentally, in tightish jeans, although nothing remotely resembling a halter top) and since I was passing the local bookstore, I figured I might as well pop in and pick up a copy of 99 (The Ginger Man) just to have it in the on-deck circle. In the grand tradition of independent bookstores, this one is rather inclined to smug superiority for no very good reason, and there was a guy in Birkenstocks shelving very self-importantly right in front of "DU-" who sighed audibly and acted very aggrieved whenever I tried to peer around him for my title.

"Git off the earth, you would-be dude,' I thought.

I went up to the information desk where a girl was on a personal call and seemed irritated by my presence.

"We don't have it, but we can order it," she said at length. I didn't want to; I'd much rather have just gone to Barnes and Noble; but I was weak.

"Okay," I said reluctantly, and filled out a call slip. Theoretically I'll have it in two days.

Another thing about Ambersons - the love interest, Lucy, is a year older than George. Reassuring, that, as I have a date with a 25-year-old this week and was feeling like a cradle-robber.

3 comments:

Johnny said...

I've always really liked this description of a young Georgie:

"The incongruous fact was that a fringed sash girdled the juncture of his velvet blouse and breeches, for the Fauntleroy period had set in. Not only did he wear a silk sash, and silk stockings, and a broad lace collar, with his little black velvet suit: he had long brown curls, and often came home with burrs in them.

"Except upon the surface (which was not his own work, but his mother's) Georgie bore no vivid resemblance to the fabulous little Cedric. A month after his ninth birthday anniversary, he had already become acquainted with the toughest boys in various distant parts of the town, and had convinced them that the toughness of a rich little boy with long curls might be considered in many respects superior to their own."

Ha!

Craft Punk said...

"Git off the earth, you would-be dude." I LOVE that as an insult,
I'm definitely going to start using it. So good.

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