On Location

 

Point and Shoot, FL (YU)—The SI was a martinet.  And a brownnose.

      The PI had a pop-up camper, he towed behind the Land Rover.  He bought it with a grant, when he bought the Land Rover.  It was pretentious, and stupid, like a trailer for the star on a movie set, on location.  The PI and the SI slept in it.

      They talked about the loneliness of command.

      The caste system.

      It isn’t easy being green.

      On the way in to the site, the crew would whistle the theme from the Mickey Mouse Club.

      A-R-C, H-A-E, O-L-O-G-Y.

      The PI didn’t know they were being ironic.

      He didn’t know what they were whistling.  As they carried the shovel box, like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  Like Walt Disney and a Disney Animation Contract.

 

 

Many of the employees had given Disney large quantities of free overtime during the drive to complete the 1937 Snow White, and despite the fact that Snow White was an enormous success, "instead of getting the bonuses they had been vaguely promised, they were faced with a string of layoffs....  The salary structure remained crazy-quilt, and the only general wage increase Disney granted in those years was self-serving:  he brought a number of workers up over the forty-hour-a-week level, at which point, under the Wagner Labor Relations Act, they ceased being entitled to time-and-a-half for overtime.

 

 

      Richard Schickel, The Disney Version.

      Sometimes they whistled, “Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”

      During the day, the crew ran themselves.  The PI and the SI would go off in the Land Rover to eat bear claws in a diner and drink coffee with the deputy sheriffs and flirt with the waitresses and lady realtors, in their designer scarfs.  Their polyester pants suits, wrapping their big wide housewife asses.

      The Stepford Wives.

      Who’s minding the children?

      Mama, don’t let your daughters grow up to be archeologists.  They end up grit-tempered.

      Now, when I read something like The Hunter, it seems mannered, like Point Blank did, but that may be because of the influence it had on writers who came later.

      I always liked Lee Marvin.

      I thought he did a better job, as Hickey, in The Iceman Cometh, than Jason Robards, Jr. did.

      And I thought he stole The Wild One out from under Marlon Brando.  No mean feat.

      Jim Jarmush belongs to a club called The Sons of Lee Marvin.

      I liked Dead Man.

      Based on The Drop Edge of Yonder.

      I liked The Drop Edge of Yonder.

      When Marvin won an Oscar for Cat Ballou, he said his horse deserved half of it.

      When I read in Sarasota, and nobody came, and the two pyramids of books that were selling were a Michael Jackson coffee-table picture-book and Jane Fonda’s exercise tie-in jogging-clothes and video-book, I thought, I have seen the future and it sucks.

      I had seen the future and it sucked.

      Actually, Scrib should have seen his future in academia in his dealings with the SI and the PI on the mound and at the Firetower site, or at the Firetower site, and, later, on the mound.

      And his future in belles-lettres, when marketplace censorship would find him, like drought driving a fish upstream.

      Scrib was to the Mall Builder culture as Solzhenitsyn was to the Russian state.

      Scrib’s future in academia was just a tune-up for his future in belles-lettres.  A rehearsal.

      Nothing good happens overnight.

      Things take time.

      They have to develop, to season, it’s all seasoning, it’s all road-time.

      If you don’t live it, it won’t come out your horn.

      Scrib hadn’t started writing yet.

      He was finishing his college education, and finding a soul-mate.

      Then he would get married and start a family.

      Brenda was his soul-mate

      He and Brenda were an item.

 


 

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