Naughty Letters to Ms. Mac

Countless noble souls (and many fluffy kittens) sacrificed their lives during the making of this blog. We think you will agree they were worth it.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

SNF Review

Dearest Slumpy Ms. Mac,

I am severely envious of your lunch date today and will undoubtedly have to scratch her eyes out if you ever have the temerity (or indeed stupidity) to introduce me to her.

But Guten Appetit anyway!

My enjoyment of the music, young John Travolta’s pointy collars and spinny dancing during yesterday’s special viewing of Saturday Night Fever was slightly marred by my judgemental adult brain which kept saying things like:

My God! No wonder the fillum was not suitable for me at the age of twelve, my dears the language! Fuck and Cunt all over the show.

My God! The hypocrisy of the Italian-American community in Brooklyn in the 70s, where young women were either ‘nice girls’ or ‘cunts’. The boys were constantly on the make, trying to get the girls into their car for a quick shag, only thinking to ask them if they were ‘fixed’ once penetration had already occurred. Poor Father Frank Jnr, upon leaving the church received no love and support from his mother, only condemnation for the shame he had ‘brought upon the family’. The young guy who got his girlfriend pregnant killed himself rather than be forced to marry her! Things are so very different today, thankfully.

My God! The RACIST language used by the young studs in referring to the Hispanic and Black communities! It was so hostile and aggressive! I guess my comfortable middle class upbringing has ill equipped me to understand the frustrations of the young, urban, testosterone-fuelled males stuck in shitty jobs with no exciting career prospects.

But something very nice happened on my way to work this morning. It had rained heavily overnight and half the sky was still covered with black, looming rain clouds, although the other half was blue and the sun was just coming up. My eyes were treated to the arresting sight of a delicate plume of smoke from somebody’s chimney, touched pink and coral by the sun’s first rays, against a backdrop of the black and broody sky. Also a dove was perched on the chimney pot, turning its wise, wee face to aforementioned sun ray.

Naturally I slapped my thigh in annoyance at not having my camera with me, for you can be sure that I would have taken the most beautiful photo ever, and it would certainly have won me the Nobel Prize for Nature Photography. Oh yes.

So, love & stuff,




Post a Comment

<< Home