They might be giants

After being in something of a mood, I opted for my semi-traditional Sunday night torta followed by a movie on Netflix. I’d had this one in my instant queue for a while, not knowing much about it, and I decided tonight would be a good night to give it a shot.

It was a good choice. Aside from being a really quite wonderful movie (which lent its name to a really quite wonderful band), it was full of those gritty New York in the 1970s location shots I’m such a sucker for, including Times Square and what I assumed to be the interior of the now-demolished Rialto Theatre. But I hit the jackpot with the final fifteen minutes, most of which were filmed inside a vintage Pathmark store:

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Suffice to say I’m in a better frame of mind as I go to bed.

My co-called life

How sad is it that I regularly spend my weekend nights pausing reruns of 1970s cop shows and trying to pick out locational clues so I can find contemporary views of the same spot on the iPad?

Note: That was a rhetorical question and I don’t really find it especially sad.

Bad log

One more thing the world probably didn’t need is a jazz guitar cover of Robert Plant’s “Big Log”. I don’t know who recorded it nor why, and I don’t care enough to try to find out. I just know that it made it that much harder for me to fight my way through the traffic on I-40 this morning while scrambling to change the radio station.

Incidentally, the world could also have done quite well without the original in my view. But that’s another story.