Among the thousands of independent films that are made each year, from the no-budget backyard ilk to the films made for little money and are sprung from a person with actual talent, it is difficult to wade through the ever-growing number of horrible ones to find the few gems. I use the word ‘gems’ loosely and by no means allude to the fact that they are perfect; usually they are far from it. But when you run into these films, do these hopeful and usually struggling dreamers a quick favor and take time to recommend their work to a friend (or two); the humorous Missed Connections is one of those films.
On 4-4 I turned 44; in other words on April Four, I was Forty Four. For a reward I received rum raisin ice cream; it frosts in the freezer door. The featured gift was a Kindle fire.
My back is warm from leaning against the sun-baked panels on the front of our house. I sat reading Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy and sipping my afternoon espresso. Mazzie scouted around the douglas firs trying to root out some small living things to play with as I journeyed to Arizona with the remnants of the Glanton gang.
Movement, both physically and figuratively, is the best way to get my brain firing on all cylinders. My early morning walk to get the Gazette so that Danna and I could do the New York Times crossword puzzle, taught me that. Now I feel awake and thinking clearly.