Hot latin lover

Paradise Lost

2020.10.29 05:27 JonsonMaclean Paradise Lost

This is the story of how I chose to walk a difficult path with the promise of greatness at the end. Doubtless, if you are here, you are at least familiar with this path. Perhaps you have even followed it to the riches at its end. If so, understand that whatever you read below, I am happy for you, truly. For me, the road proved treacherous and has ultimately led me to a place of sorrow.
You may not want to hear this. My goal is not to bring anyone down. As proof, if you feel that you have a fighting chance to reach the end intact and suspect this story may discourage you, I encourage you to stop reading. My purpose in writing this is merely to be understood. Who better to understand than those who are attempting the same feat of will? But my attempt gives every appearance of having failed, and that failure is a crushing burden. If I don't unburden myself, I'm sure the weight of it will smother me.

Part I

I grew up in the United States loving the solving of puzzles and problems. I naturally gravitated to the technical disciplines as an adult. I also grew up the child of two parents who were both profoundly disenchanted with their own religious upbringing and the political status quo. They instilled in me a belief that the world should be fair and just, and I should be the same. As a young university student, bringing both of these goals to fruition at the same time required more discipline than I had at my command at the time. Both goals suffered setbacks. But I participated in a political culture of activism for justice and equality that shaped me very profoundly.
But I had another passion, as early as I can remember. I loved love. I never had a period when I thought girls were stupid or unworthy of attention. The earliest stories and recordings my parents have of me are of me surrounding myself with girls. To this day, I think women are the best thing of Earth, the best people the human race has to offer. And as far back as you'd like to go, I felt this burgeoning need to give love to another.
However, my inward focus on the mind made me different, and I became a misfit. My teenage years were torture, both from within by this indistinct yearning, and enduring teasing and ostracism from without. From habit, I developed a paralyzing fear of unstructured social groups and situations, and I never undertook the risk-taking young men are supposed to engage in to find mates.
Probably as a direct result of this, I decided to postpone my love life and focus entirely on my career, feeling sure that it was a rational prioritization. Unfortunately, setbacks due to finances, my own early lack of discipline, and being generally rebellious against school authority delayed the start of my career until my mid-thirties -- just in time for the Wall Street financial meltdown.
I couldn't jumpstart that career after the shock delivered by the economy, so I embarked on a completely different second career. I moved back in with my parents, and went back to school, paying my way with minimum wage jobs again. I was motivated to be much more successful the second time, and I was. But it still wasn't a quick turnaround.
During a semester I took off recovering from an injury, I finally decided in my early forties that I had had enough postponement of love. Convalescing in bed, I created a dating profile, not expecting much to come out of it.
That's when I met her.
I should probably give her a name, shouldn't I? Bit hard to tell an entire story about someone if you don't use their name.
Let's call her Lee. She is Brazilian.

Part II

I hate to sound shallow, but the first thing you would notice about Lee is that she is a solid ten. But not just any ten: She is a naturalistic ten, a stone cold fox who eschews makeup. Her slightly hippie-ish countenance reinforces the impression of a mold-breaker. She looks like the type of woman who might spend half her time on a farming co-op and the other half facing down corporate executives, both of which she has actually done.
Latin Americans are known for having a few qualities. For one thing, they supposedly know a thing or two about love and passion. This seems to be accurate. Also, perhaps for some of the same reasons, the majority have had a love affair with sharply left-leaning politics and economics. A favorite was elected overwhelmingly in neighboring Bolivia just last week, part of a wave of socialist agitation that has swept clear across two continents in multifarious efforts by the people to free themselves from very real economic imperialism spearheaded by my own nation and enforced by local client-elites.
This is the milieu in which Lee grew up. Her parents were involved with Diretas Já, the movement in the 1980s in Brazil to restore the right to democratically elect the president, a right that had been taken away twenty years earlier in yet another US-backed coup. This has made her more than merely liberal. She is passionately concerned with the fate of democracy and especially public education in her country.
But neither of us knew any of this about each other when I happened on her profile in my matches. All we knew is that we couldn't stop visiting each other's profiles, back and forth. Pretty much from the first minute, we were drawn together like magnets. It was almost spooky. Lee is as much an intellectual and connoisseur of good writing as I am. She knows English passably well, but has always written for the sheer joy of it in Portuguese. If her looks and sweetness were the hook, her passion and writing were the bear trap. There was no way I was getting free.
Our mutual attraction and budding relationship progressed at an absolutely breakneck speed, far faster than I was prepared for. My emotions can be somewhat ponderous, not to say glacial. In appropriately mythic terms, her heart is Hermes and mine is Mount Olympus. She absolutely dove head first into love with me, and I was slow to catch up. But the experience of knowing her made my head spin. Our email conversations were epics. It wasn't long before I felt the same way she did.
Pardon me while I try to stop shivering.

Part III

Now comes the hard part.
As you know, it's one thing to fall in love over a long distance connection. As much as those not in the know may cast aspersions on us, we know that it is possible and can be very, very real. But bringing those two lovers together can be quite another matter.
When things eventually turned to practical questions, it became very difficult. Her English is okay but not great, and before I got used to reading her emails, I knew exactly one word of Portuguese when I met her. For several reasons, I have always assumed that I would move to Brazil, rather than inviting her to live here. She has both family and friends there, while I am only close to my parents. And her society seems more hospitable and vibrant than mine. She is deeply immersed in the culture there, and I wouldn't have the heart to tear her away from it. So I began to study the language, but juggling becoming self-taught in Portuguese with my difficult course load was stressful.
If the language problem was difficult, the distance problem seemed insurmountable. I was years away from graduating, and giving up on something I'd worked for so long was unthinkable. I had no idea what I would do in Brazil, or what my life would be like. None of this seemed important when we were getting to know each other. She seemed to think it was not that big of a deal; we'd figure something out. But I am not typically mercurial the way she is. I don't flit through life like a radiant pixie, making a living a dozen different ways depending on the wind currents. I am more about single-minded focus and determination on the steady climb through the blizzard. Neither style is right or wrong, but they are different. And my habitual style does not make for a great deal of flexibility.
Even worse, I simply had no money for international travel. She insisted on paying for me to visit, but she didn't exactly have deep coffers herself, and the embarrassment I felt at my own powerlessness was paralyzing. But determination and stubbornness is my thing, so despite the mounting stress, I refused to admit that our timing was just bad.
That stress, combined with the stress of living with my constantly warring parents in my forties, began to find its way into our relationship. Eventually I found excuses to be disappointed in her (which is why the details aren't important). No matter that the reasons were petty and paternalistic. No matter that I was being judgemental about her relationships with others, which I wasn't privy to and didn't understand. She was so shocked that she actually thought I was kidding at first. Believing that I was adhering to my standards, ridiculous as it seems now, despite my feelings for her, I told her it was over.
That was five years ago.
Looking back at this moment now, I actually have sympathy for myself in this position. Certainly I brought it on myself, falling for a woman thousands of miles away while being in no position to bring us together. But even so, even if I hadn't ended things on a pretext, I'm not sure what the right thing to do would have been. What was I to do, just tell her, "Hey, it's only going to be five years or so before we can be together, what's the hurry?" She was insistent that she did not want me to be a virtual boyfriend. She wanted me to be her real life boyfriend. She fell to pieces at every significant obstacle we encountered.
Well, let me tell you, while she is sweet when things are good, you do not want to be in the crosshairs when she is truly upset and under attack. She was out to make holes. The pain at her transformation from an incredible woman who loved me into someone determined to cut me became such that I just had to stop reading anything new from her.
At least for a while. Did I mention my heart is ponderous?

Part IV

I have nothing but sympathy for her as well, looking back at this point today. I was being a controlling, judgemental jerk, but more importantly, I was shredding a really amazing, beautiful thing we'd spent months creating and strengthening a hundred different ways every day. I can't believe I really did that. I know it was hard, but what we had might be the greatest thing I'll ever experience.
But it gets worse.
Incredibly, and I don't remember how, we reconciled. I began reading her messages again. She talked about how I might have had some justification for the criticism I'd made, and I've tried, but I can't remember what I said.
Anyway, we got back together.
And I broke up with her again.
Yes, really. No, neither of us can remember the reason I gave. The real reason, I know now, hadn't changed.
This was a rocky time, to put it mildly. So much so that, despite the policy I have of never deleting emails, I deleted everything she had ever sent me and blocked her address. That's why my memory is hazy.
Did I say it was a rocky time? It wasn't a rocky time. It was a raging peat swamp muck garbage dump inferno.

Part V

What happened from this point on is actually mostly preserved in email. I missed her badly enough that I gave up on blocking her after only a couple weeks. Several months later, she made an overture, an olive branch, stating she wanted to be friends. I was hesitant at first, but we quickly resumed our old cadence in the new friend zone. I was happy again. Over time, I could feel her feelings beginning to warm anew, as her regard for me cautiously, nervously, began to shine through. She speculated that the problem was that we were moving too quickly, drowning in intensity, both being intense people with a lot of passion and strong opinions. But there was a new wrinkle. She was dating someone.
She wanted to get all my thoughts about her relationship. She wanted to be able to talk to me about anything and everything, since trust and openness had been a big part of how we got to know each other. I told her I couldn't handle the jealousy that would come with that. She respected that, but continued to complain about the guy she was seeing, how he treated her like nothing but a trophy and didn't really love her. She kept comparing him to me, telling me she cared more about my opinion than his, even though we had never even met in person. Finally, she subtly asked me to choose whether she would really stay with him, or be with me instead.
I pinpoint this as the exact moment when I lost my mind. I wanted to be with her as much as I always had. But I was exhausted. I gave up. I chose him instead of me. I finally told her the truth, that I felt I wasn't really crazy enough to stay a course this difficult. And making that choice drove me crazy.
As she continued talking about her new boyfriend, praising me and complaining about him, and with any legitimate outlet now excised, my feelings for her built up until they burst. My feelings for Lee burst me open the way a corpse bursts that has been decaying for too long.
I wrote and wrote. It was pure batshit. I sent a detailed, demented description of how much I wanted her, entirely in sexual terms. I pontificated about dominance and submission. I made paranoid accusations. I legit lost my cool. The incredible thing, looking back, was that she continued talking to me throughout all of this. She endured it with evident annoyance, yet undiminished caring.
However, I think this is when she fell out of love with me. After this outburst, her feelings for me were never the same again.
I begged her to take me back. I tried pointing out all the things she had been saying, as though I could convince her of where her own feelings lay. I cajoled, pled, flattered, and argued. I made love notes and sent them, creative projects, anything I could think of. She became very insistent that she wanted friendship only. She was unmoved by anything I tried.
Well, yeah. Who in their right mind says yes to a guy who has dumped them three times in the last six months?
She responded less and less frequently, and with less care. I became angry at her for not showing the same feeling she used to. I really had lost my grip. It became clear that I just couldn't handle being in contact with Lee any longer. Inadvertently proving this, I blew up at her and demanded that she not contact me again.
Six months passed. She emailed again, asking to be friends again. I knew she wasn't trying to get back together, but I made her acceptance of my feelings for her a condition of friendship. I asked her to either accept that I wanted our friendship to move in the direction of love again, and if she couldn't accept that that's what I wanted, she should write me one final goodbye, once and for all. When no reply was forthcoming after a few days, I wrote the goodbye letter myself, worded as if from her, and sent it to her, with her name at the bottom. She cursed me for an impatient fool.
She sent similar olive branches regularly every six months afterward. She kept this up for a couple of years. Then even those dried up, and nothing more happened. Until this year.

Part VI

It's very, very hard, surprise surprise, to rebuild a burnt bridge, especially one you've burnt as completely as I did. Word to the wise.
One day, just a few weeks ago, I was sitting in my apartment, isolated and working from home during the pandemic, and my fingers started writing a letter to her old email address of their own accord. I didn't even know why I was doing it. I knew that our two countries, along with India, all of us hamstrung by deadly corrupt ideology, were having by far the worst time dealing with the pandemic of any in the world. I think I just needed to know she was okay. The same way I need to know my family is okay.
You may wonder why it took me five years to do this. I can sympathize with this viewpoint. It does sound like a long time. To me, though, it seemed like the right amount of time. I guess I needed time to heal. What can I tell you? I'm slow.
Thank goodness, she and her loved ones are okay. She seemed genuinely excited that I contacted her, and we had a satisfying exchange catching up a little. Talking to her again was utterly delightful. It turns out that, as fate would have it, her relationship with the man she was dating when we were last in touch was indeed short-lived. Soon after that, she met someone from her past, they struck up a renewed relationship, and she invited him to live with her.
He then proceeded to behave, by her account, like a psychopath. The relationship was abusive. He was behaving in such a way that she is convinced that he would eventually have begun harming her physically if she had not escaped. She was with him for years. She finally got him out of her life by her wits alone. With any luck it will be for good.
Do you feel hope rising at this point in the story? I hope so. I took stock of the situation: I now was firmly ensconced in a successful career very much in demand with the resources to move anywhere I want. Furthermore, she was between lovers. What luck, I thought!
I thought this despite the fact that she had just recently been through the most harrowing abusive relationship of her life that probably made even the worst moments of our cyber-affair seem trifling by comparison -- and I had not been present for her to rely on. My shame at allowing her to go through hell and back by herself did not dissuade me.
These thoughts crept into my correspondence with her, and all at once, she became suspicious of my motives. She asked me why I was contacting her now, after all this time. It was a good question. I didn't know. I looked inward, and realized it was the same reason I had always had for contacting her. I was as honest as I could be as I explained that I had healed, but my feelings had not changed.
I told her this without using the word "love" out of concern for her feelings and worry that I would be rushing or forcing things. But the honest truth is that I was, and I am, still in love with her, and I probably will be until the day I die.
Her reaction was very hard to read. She seemed suddenly very timid and vulnerable. Afraid I was crowding her into a corner, I elected to give her space and pause the conversation until she was ready. She agreed immediately.
It's funny to me, after everything I had put her through in the past, that this still seems to me like a key moment. I'm sort of baffled by the temerity I had to think I actually had anything remotely like a chance with Lee anymore.
Nevertheless, I'm still today tortured by wondering whether pausing the conversation was the wrong move. I imagine that someone wiser or more skillful would have realized that forging ahead, continuing to bare my heart and press it into her hands, was the correct strategy. Strike while the iron is hot! Don't let things calm down! Seize the moment! But my concern for her emotional well-being won.
That is, until three days of silence exhausted my patience, and I belatedly took the second course.
I still avoided saying "I love you." I still haven't said it yet. But the truth is, it's no secret how I feel. She knows. And I doubt that the right time to say it will ever come. I know that because of what she did next.
She said she wanted to have a video call. We hadn't had one of those since 2015. I was ecstatic. I told my parents, who immediately assumed far too much, making people think that I had made plans to visit her. My father cooked a special Brazilian dish to celebrate. Shaking my head at their comical over-enthusiasm, I had to tell them to put the brakes on. It was a ray of hope, that was all. I waited cheerfully for a full week before she had enough free time to devote to this.
Finally, one week later, I got to see Lee live for the first time in five years. She looked so damned good, I can't even tell you. My audio was apparently barely audible, but she came through as clear as a bell. That turned out not to be much problem, as she really only needed me to listen.
She explained, right to my face so I could see and hear her, with kind, patient determination in her eyes, that she did not feel any love or passion for me anymore. She used to, but that was years ago. She is not lonely, and she wants to have a relationship only with herself from this point forward.

Part VII

As I write this, that was one week ago last weekend.
The choking acrid irony burning my lungs is that we were together when we couldn't be, and now that we can, we never will.
That ray of hope had been so powerful. I was frantically learning Portuguese again, teaching myself as fast as I could. I'm not a struggling student anymore, so outside of work, I have all the time in the world. After the video call, I dragged myself in a daze back and forth through my apartment for what felt like hours, pulling adhesive labels with Portuguese nouns off all my fixtures and belongings, pleading under my breath with a God I didn't believe in to please let it be over soon.
I know that I brought this on myself. I asked for it. Begged, even. I knew it was a big risk. And as much as I'm stuffed to the gills with sorrow, I feel good about having taken the risk.
I am so lucky to be able to say that she loved me once. Many people never experience what we did for a brief time. People say you only remember the bad things, but I find the opposite. The sweetness, the depth of feeling, the incredible intimacy to which we gave ourselves over with such abandon, these are the things I remember about our moments together with shining clarity. After my second rejection of her, she told me she would have followed me anywhere in the world. How many can say that someone once felt that way about them?
I regret so much that, as much time as we spent together online, sharing as much of ourselves as we could possibly pour into our feeble electronic connection, I only got to know a thin sliver of who she really is. Most of her will now remain a mystery to me.
I think we have both changed since we met. It feels like she's thought pretty hard about ethics in relationship adversity and how to be cognizant of her effect on people even while in pain or anger. She seems more unselfish and on an emotionally steadier keel. Lee helped me know more clearly what I want in life, and how far I'm prepared to go to get it. My temper has simmered down by a huge amount, and I have a clearer understanding of my own feelings and motives. Some of that was therapy, and some was moving out on my own, but I think it was her too.
I am not ready to move on. Not yet. But I accept that I must. We are still in contact, and officially "friends." I have to chuckle in derision, since every communication from her is still like I imagine a shot of flaming heroin would feel. I have never had the ability to really say goodbye to her, so I will stop trying. We will talk when she feels like talking. I'll still occasionally get impatient and make up some excuse to get a reply. Maybe some day I'll be able to think of her as someone not in my future.
submitted by JonsonMaclean to LongDistance [link] [comments]


2020.10.21 14:28 zagreux [deleted]

A few months ago, this brave statement was posted on the main sub. The OP expressed their opinions on the future of our Main Pop Girls. Let us analyse these ahem controversial opinions.
KatyClown
I really hope Katy rebounds after Witness (which imo is not as bad as people make it out to be) because she deserves it. NRO was a bop and if KP5’s lead sounds like that and she promotes is a ton she can be back on top I believe.
Aged like milk, I must say.
Kesha
After High Road’s songs did not get on the Hot 100 at all I think Kesha’s time as a main pop girl is up sadly.
Kesha flop? Discuss.
L*na Del Rey
She will win a Grammy for this album. I feel it in my soul.
Yes sis, the Grammy Award for Most Relevant Question to the Culture, the Grammy Award for Public Health Menace Karen, the Grammy Award for Best Album Art, the Grammy Award for Best Soccer Mom Music, and the Grammy Award for Republican Album of the Year. (5 in a single night, such a sweep, we all stan a Grammy darling)
Miley Cyrus:
I want another Bangerz era. I don’t know if she is still planning on doing the SHE IS MILEY CYRUS album, but SHE IS COMING gave a hint of Bangerz that I crave. I adored Mother’s Daughter and Cattitude (hot take I know) so if she continues down the trap-pop route I’ll be pleased.
Miley: Um chile wait lemme drop 35254 covers first
C*rdi B
I know she’s not a main pop girl yet (or even pop for that matter) but I want to speculate anyway. I think it will either be a success or a total flop. I have no clue when it is coming but I get a sense that it won’t be this year or at least later in the year.
WAP WAP WAP WAP.
T*lor S*ift
After the Lover era, I really have no idea where Taylor could go. Lots of fans want another reputation era dealing with Scooter, but in my opinion there is no way that’s happening (sadly). I can see her doing a more mature era, maybe pop-rock? I like her doing synth-pop but I think after three eras of synth-pop she may want to switch it up.
Too bad for the OP that Ms Swift released folklore, a synth-pop album with obvious disco influences.
Dua Lipa
If her next era isn’t huge I will file a lawsuit for emotional damages because Future Nostalgia is perfection and Dua deserves to get huge in the USA.
Well, gurl Dua did get huge in the States till she decided to Party(maskless) in the USA.
Ariana Grande
Ari definitely did not peak with thank u, next and her next era is going to be her 1989.
And we're going to eat it up even though it's about het*rosexual sex. Ugh.
Rihanna
ANTI was four years ago, and I really think R9 is coming within the next year. At least by the end of 2021, right? I do not really have an idea of what R9 could sound like, feel free to discuss.
Idk, go buy Fenty!
Beyoncé
Will be critically acclaimed. She will showcase her vocals more than she did on Lemonade.
And the Grammies will snub it again because it's too black for the old white cishet men Adele has a better record!
Lorde
My prediction is that it will come sometime in the next century.
You wish.
N*cki M*naj
Queen got positive reviews but Nicki’s behavior during the era was erratic. I think she really wants to have kids and start a family but first she needs to dump her felon husband because that’s not a good look. I want another Pinkprint era (and for her to finally get a #1 hit) and if she does her next era right by serving good performances and great music videos she can.
Um so chile anyways
Billie Eilish
Will release in 2021. It will smash. I think she will continue down the WWAFAWDWG path instead of the dont smile at me path, or she will create something entirely different aesthetically and surprise us all.
Please stop thinking that artists owe us content. Billie wrote, sang, and released a song in its entirety AND its Music Video during the quarantine. Is that not enough for you normies?
Demi Lovato
Demi does best with inspirational, bombastic pop like Confident or something cool and sassy like Sorry Not Sorry. I think after Anyone she should create a more vocally-focused record but now that we have I Love Me I don’t think that will happen. She has her song with Sam Smith releasing soon so we’ll see what that’s like.
Sorry, Poot is a flop.
Camila Cabello
She gets a lot of hate but I really liked Romance, a lot better than Camila, but I do not know how her next era will perform. People do not seem to like her that much because of her racism scandal and her most-likely PR relationship with Shawn. I think she continue the Latin-pop sound.
uj/ who?
rj/ who?
submitted by zagreux to popheadscirclejerk [link] [comments]


2020.10.15 21:00 normancrane [HR] I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to shortstories [link] [comments]


2020.10.07 16:07 normancrane I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to Creepystories [link] [comments]


2020.10.05 18:15 HaulA5Oct What you are looking for is..... (Link in the Desc.)5

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2020.10.05 13:25 Torontopho Did You Know Vietnamese Cuisine Recently Earned 5 New World Records – It’s True!

Did You Know Vietnamese Cuisine Recently Earned 5 New World Records – It’s True!
A world-record holder, Vietnamese cuisine has now earned five new records! As fans of Vietnamese eating continues to rise, homegrown traditionalists can be proud of this new recognition.
The uniqueness of Vietnamese eating distinguishes it from its neighbouring counterparts in Asia. Though elements of Japanese, Thai, Chinese, Malaysian, and even French cuisine exist in Vietnamese, this type of cooking and the ingredients they use are entirely Vietnam-specific.
Without further ado, let’s take a deep-dive into the world records Vietnamese cuisine was awarded by the World Records Union earlier this year.


Did You Know Vietnamese Cuisine Recently Earned 5 New World Records – It’s True!

The Most Dishes Made From Flowers
We don’t hear much about it in Canada because edible flowers aren’t a particularly popular ingredient but there are many types of flowers that can be eaten and which produce outstanding flavors.
In Vietnamese cuisine, we have more than 270 dishes crafted from edible flowers. This is a world record no other country comes close to duplicating. Perhaps due to the lack of oil used in Vietnamese cooking and the focus on all-natural, fresh ingredients, flowers are a go-to in commercial kitchens across the country.
Some of the most popular Vietnamese edible flowers used are Tonkin Jasmine, Cork, Sesbania Sesban, shallots, daylily blossoms, lilies, cynanthe, squash blossoms, chopstick flowers, banana blossoms, pumpkin flowers, sadao flowers, fig flowers, telosma cordata, loopah flowers, and others.
Flowers like these are used in dishes like brothy beef soups and stews as well as salads. Occasionally, they are mixed with herbs and spices although not often as the delicate taste of flowers is often lost when it comes to be cooked alongside these partners.
As mentioned, edible flowers aren’t popular in Canada but consumer behaviours are always changing. They’re a low-calorie method of changing the way a food tastes, not using fats or calorie-heavy oils to do so which is common in American cooking.
The Most Kinds of Special Rolls
Vietnamese cooking offers dozens of different roll types, the most popular being spring and summer rolls. Altogether, there are more than 100 special roll recipes in traditional Vietnamese cuisine.
In Canadian eating, rolls are a favourite Asian eat. You can order Vietnamese spring and summer rolls as your appetizer and rely on them as such.
A roll wraps healthy vegetables and hearty protein in a handy essential. Like tortillas are to Latin eating, rice rolls in Vietnam are a central part of the cuisine. Here are some Vietnamese roll types you may or may not know about.
  • Goi Cuon, aka traditional spring rolls, are filled with boiled shrimp, thinly sliced pork, vermicelli, cucumber, shredded lettuce, cilantro, sprouts, and fresh herbs. It is usually dipped in peanut butter sauce.
  • Dau Hu Cuon is a vegetarian-inspired interpretation of the spring roll. It uses fried tofu protein in the place of meat. These can be marinated in different frying concoctions. Common ingredients in vegetarian rolls include mango, carrots, and cucumber.
  • Bi Cuon, aka summer rolls, are filled with shredded pork, lettuce, and herbs. It is a celebratory roll that’s meant to be dipped in fish sauce.
  • Bo Nuong Cuon, aka autumn rolls, are a grilled meat roll. Choose from grilled beef, grilled pork, or grilled chicken. Inside is also rice vermicelli, lettuce, herbs, and sprouts.
  • Nem Nuong Cuon is one of the most popular rolls in Vietnam but not well-known in Canada. It is filled with grilled pork sausage, lettuce, and herbs, often with a fried egg roll wrapper in the middle to add a crunch. Nem Nuong Cuon is matched with its own unique sauce which is commonly a mix of egg, pork, crab paste, sweet rice, and garlic.
The Most Strand and Broth Dishes
Broths and strand dishes are no stranger to fans of Vietnamese food. Pho, after all, is the most popular Vietnamese dish of all-time and is enjoyed by millions of people worldwide daily. Altogether, Vietnamese cuisine has more than 160 strand and broth dishes – now a world record!
Each region of Vietnamese has its own way of preparing strand and broth dishes. All use the freshest ingredients, emphasize herbs and vegetables, and create a variety of textures in their dishes.
In North Vietnam, it’s a cold climate. Spices aren’t easily grown here which is why north Vietnam’s strand and broth are less spice-heavy. The tastes aren’t so bold but the ingredients are always fresh.
Comparatively, central Vietnam is known for its spices. Its stand and broth dishes are colorful, complex in taste, and are perhaps the most diverse in terms of presentation and taste.
Further down in southern Vietnam, the conditions are ideal for growing fruits, vegetables, and livestock. Their strand and broth dishes are very vibrant, flavorful, sweet, and are very full. Garlic, shallots, and fresh herbs are used frequently to add to taste.
All of these approaches have led to some amazing varieties of Vietnamese pho. No one does strand and broth dishes like Vietnamese cuisine, and that’s probably why this is where the world record belongs.
The Most Kinds of Salted Fish
Vietnam has the most kinds of mam, aka salted fish, in the world. There are more than 100 Vietnamese cuisine dishes that use salted fish in this way.
There is an abundance of fish near Vietnam. It’s been a key source of protein that has fed generations.
A common way of using salted fish in Vietnamese cuisine is to combine it with fried rice and steamed vegetables.
Particularly in the south, dried and salted fish is incredibly popular. Numerous family recipes circulate as well as street vendors who specialize in it.
Common additions to salted fish include soy sauce, coconut soda, fish sauce, red chili powder, garlic, ginger, white sugar, black pepper, green onion, and more. More than beef, pork, or chicken, fish is the go-to protein in the average Vietnamese diet.
The Most Dishes Made From Rice Flour
The beautiful thing about Vietnamese cuisine is that it is low in sugar and almost always gluten-free.
The majority of dishes use rice instead of wheat. Rice noodles are a great example. They’re completely gluten-less. Rice papers and rice flour are also Vietnamese-made gluten-free alternatives to wheat.
Rice has been growing in Vietnam for centuries. When the country was under French rule, the influence of French cuisine overtook a lot of the cooking but even then, rice flour was always applied in adapted recipes compared to wheat.
There are more than 140 rice flour dishes in the pantheon of Vietnamese cooking. From hearty breakfast pancakes to lunch sandwiches and dinner plates, rice flour is used throughout Vietnamese cuisine in so many key ways.
In Vietnamese restaurants in Toronto, rice flour is a common ingredient. Thanks in large part to healthy eating and the gluten-free movement, there’s been more interest in rice flour as an alternative to wheat.
Why is Vietnamese Cuisine So Diverse?
In Vietnamese cuisine, there’s a little of everything. You have fresh ingredients from farms. Japanese, Chinese, Indian, Thai, and neighbours all have shared ingredients and recipes with Vietnamese families.
There’s a history of French colonialism in the Vietnam region as well. The French brought a variety of French cuisine favourites, adapting them alongside the availa
On top of the part that these ethnic and national cultures have to play, there are also gluten-free, vegetarian, and low-calorie dishes naturally incorporated into Vietnamese cuisine. All in all, everyone has a seat at the table in Vietnamese cooking and there are things on the menu for anyone with an appetite.
From Vietnamese pho to rice dishes, if you’re on the lookout for high-quality, authentically-prepared Vietnamese cuisine in the GTA, TorontoPHO is the place. An incredibly diverse way of eating, find healthy, low-calorie options hot and ready to go. Browse the menu! Bring a friend! For all food lovers, fill your bellies with something nice this fall. Order online or drop by for a visit.
Source: https://torontopho.com/en/blog/139
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2020.09.30 20:57 Britneyfan456 Which Actress had the best run in the 50s?

It could be best run in terms of anything
Ingrid Bergman: Fear, Europe '51, Stromboli, Anastasia, Journey to Italy, Joan of Arc at the Stake, Elena and Her Men, and The Inn of the Sixth Happiness.
Dorothy Dandridge: Bright Road, Carmen Jones, Island in the Sun, Tamango, The Decks Ran Red, Porgy and Bess, Remains to Be Seen, The Harlem Globetrotters, and Tarzan's Peril.
Doris Day: Young Man with a Horn, Tea for Two, The West Point Story, Storm Warning, Lullabye of Broadway, On Moonlight Bay, April in Paris, Calamity Jane, Young at Heart, Love Me or Leave Me, The Man Who Knew Too Much, Teacher’s Pet, and Pillow Talk.
Grace Kelly: High Noon, Dial M for Murder, Rear Window, The Bridges at Toko-Ri, The Country Girl, To Catch a Thief, and High Society.
Jayne Mansfield: Female Jungle, The Girl Can’t Help It, The Wayward Bus, The Burglar, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, Kiss Them for Me, The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw, Illegal, Hell on Frisco Bay, Pete Kelly's Blues, and Underwater!.
Marilyn Monroe: All About Eve, The Asphalt Jungle, Monkey Business, Niagara, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How to Marry a Millionaire, There’s No Business Like Show Business, The 7 Year Itch, Bus Stop, The Prince and the Showgirl, Some Like It Hot, We're Not Married!, Bus Stop, Don't Bother to Knock, Love Nest, O. Henry's Full House, Let's Make It Legal, River of No Return, A Ticket to Tomahawk, As Young as You Feel, The Fireball, Home Town Story, and Right Cross.
Kim Novak: Pushover, Picnic, The Man with the Golden Arm, The Eddy Duchin Story, Pal Joey, Vertigo, Bell Book and Candle, Middle of the Night, The French Line, 5 Against the House, Jeanne Eagels, Pushover , Phffft, and Son of Sinbad.
Thelma Ritter: All About Eve, Perfect Strangers, As Young as You Feel, The Model and the Marriage Broker, With a Song in My Heart, Titanic, Pickup on South Street, Rear Window, Daddy Long Legs, The Proud and Profane, A Hole in the Head, and Pillow Talk.
Jane Russell: His Kind of Woman, The Las Vegas Story, Macao, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Underwater!,Road to Bali,Foxfire, Double Dynamite, Macao, Son of Paleface, Hot Blood, Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, The French Line, The Revolt of Mamie Stover,Montana Belle,The Tall Men, The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown, and The Revolt of Mamie Stover.
Elizabeth Taylor: The Last Time I Saw Paris, Quo Vadis, Beau Brummell, Father of the Bride, A Place in the Sun, Ivanhoe, Giant, Raintree County, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Elephant Walk,Love Is Better Than Ever,The Big Hangover, and Suddenly Last Summer.
Deborah Kerr: Quo Vadis, From Here to Eternity, The King and I, An Affair to Remember, Tea and Sympathy, Separate Tables, Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison, Julius Caesar, Dream Wife, Young Bess, King Solomon's Mines, The Proud and Profane, and Bonjour Tristesse.
Anne Baxter: All About Eve, The Ten Commandments, I Confess, Chase a Crooked Shadow, The Blue Gardenia,Three Violent People, The Come On, One Desire, The Spoilers, Follow the Sun, A Ticket to Tomahawk, The Outcasts of Poker Flat, My Wife's Best Friend, O. Henry's Full House, Carnival Story, Bedevilled, and Summer of the Seventeenth Doll.
Audrey Hepburn: Sabrina, Funny Face, Roman Holiday, Love in the Afternoon,The Nun's Story,War and Peace, One Wild Oat, The Lavender Hill Mob, Monte Carlo Baby, Secret People, Laughter in Paradise, Green Mansions, and Young Wives' Tale.
Gloria Grahame: In a lonely Place, The Big Heat, Human Desire, Sudden Fear, The Bad and the Beautiful, Odds Against Tomorrow, The Man Who Never Was, Naked Alibi, Macao, Man on a Tightrope, The Glass Wall, and The Greatest Show on Earth.
Katharine Hepburn: The African Queen, Suddenly, Last Summer, The Rainmaker, Summertime, Pat and Mike, and Desk set.
Giulietta Masina: Nights of Cabiria, La Strada, Buonanotte... avvocato!, Fortunella, Europe '51, and Without Pity.
Shelley Winters: The Diary of Anne Frank, A Place in the Sun, The Night of the Hunter, Odds Against Tomorrow, The Big Knife, I Am a Camera, Playgirl, Mambo, Tennessee Champ, Executive Suite, To Dorothy a Son, Saskatchewan, Phone Call from a Stranger, Untamed Frontier, My Man and I, Meet Danny Wilson, Winchester '73, Frenchie, Behave Yourself!, South Sea Sinner, He Ran All the Way, and The Raging Tide.
Setsuko Hara: Tokyo Story, Early Summer, Shuu, Shirayuki-sensei to kodomo-tachi, Repast, The Idiot, Sound of the Mountain, oban, a holiday in Tokyo, Non-chan Kumo ni Noru, Oban, The Three Treasures, and Tokyo Twilight.
Natalie Wood: The Searchers, Rebel Without a Cause, Marjorie Morningstar, Kings Go Forth, The Girl He Left Behind, Bombers B-52, A Cry in the Night, The Burning Hills, Just for You, one desire, The Silver Chalice, No Sad Songs for Me, The Jackpot, Our Very Own, Never a Dull Moment, The Blue Veil, and The Rose Bowl Story.
Lee Remick: A Face in the Crowd, Anatomy of a Murder, The Long, Hot Summer, and These Thousand Hills.
Eva Marie Saint: On the Waterfront, North by Northwest, Raintree County, A Hatful of Rain, and That Certain Feeling.
Bette Davis: The Star, All About Eve, Another Man's Poison, Phone Call from a Stranger, The Catered Affair, Storm Center, The Scapegoat, The Virgin Queen, and John Paul Jones.
Kim Hunter: A Streetcar Named Desire, Storm Center, The Young Stranger, Deadline – U.S.A., Money, Women and Guns, Bermuda Affair, and Anything Can Happen.
Sophia Loren: Houseboat, That Kind of Woman, It Started in Naples, The Pride and the Passion, Anna, Attila, Aida, Era lui... sì! sì!, The Piano Tuner Has Arrived, Quo Vadis, Owner of the Vapor, Brief Rapture, Milano miliardaria, Hearts at Sea, Bluebeard's Six Wives, Io sono il capataz, Il voto, Totò Tarzan, La Favorita, The Dream of Zorro, We Find Ourselves in the Gallery, The Country of the Campanelli, Woman of the Red Sea, Good Folk's Sunday, Two Nights with Cleopatra, Girls Marked Danger, The Anatomy of Love, A Day in Court, A Slice of Life, The Key, The Black Orchid, That Kind of Woman, Lucky to Be a Woman, Boy on a Dolphin, Desire Under the Elms, Legend of the Lost, Too Bad She's Bad, The River Girl, The Miller's Beautiful Wife, Scandal in Sorrento, The Sign of Venus, Poverty and Nobility, Neapolitan Carousel, and The Gold of Naples.
Donna Reed: From Here to Eternity, The Whole Truth, Backlash, Beyond Mombasa, The Far Horizons, Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder, Scandal Sheet, Hangman's Knot, Saturday's Hero, Raiders of the Seven Seas, Gun Fury, Three Hours to Kill, The Last Time I Saw Paris, The Caddy, They Rode West, Ransom!, and The Benny Goodman Story,
Lana Turner: Diane, The Bad and the Beautiful, Betrayed, Peyton Place, Imitation of Life, The Sea Chase, Another Time, Another Place, The Lady Takes a Flyer, The Rains of Ranchipur, The Prodigal, Latin Lovers, Flame and the Flesh, The Merry Widow, A Life of Her Own, and Mr. Imperium.
Judy Garland: A Star Is Born and Summer Stock.
Patricia Neal: A Face in the Crowd, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Something for the Birds, Week-End with Father, Raton Pass, Bright Leaf, The Breaking Point, Operation Pacific, Three Secrets, Stranger from Venus, La tua donna, Diplomatic Courier, and Washington Story.
Joan Crawford: Johnny Guitar, The Damned Don't Cry, Sudden Fear, Torch Song, Goodbye, My Fancy, Sudden Fear, Female on the Beach, Autumn Leaves, This Woman Is Dangerous, Harriet Craig, The Story of Esther Costello, Queen Bee, and The Best of Everything.
Judy Holliday: Born Yesterday,The Marrying Kind, Phffft, It Should Happen to You, Full of Life, and The Solid Gold Cadillac .
Brigitte Bardot: Manina, the Girl in the Bikini, Crazy for Love, His Father's Portrait, Act of Love, The Long Teeth, Concert of Intrigue, Royal Affairs in Versailles, The Light Across the Street, Doctor at Sea, School for Love, The Grand Maneuver, Nero's Weekend, Caroline and the Rebels, La Parisienne, Babette Goes to War, The Night Heaven Fell, The Female, Come Dance with Me, The Bride Is Much Too Beautiful, In Case of Adversity, Helen of Troy, Naughty Girl, Plucking the Daisy, and And God Created Woman.
Lauren Bacall: How to Marry a Millionaire, Designing Woman, Blood Alley, Young Man with a Horn, Written on the Wind, Woman's World, The Cobweb, The Gift of Love, and North West Frontier.
Gene Tierney: Night and the City, The Mating Season, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Plymouth Adventure, Way of a Gaucho, Never Let Me Go, Personal Affair, The Secret of Convict Lake, On the Riviera, Close to My Heart, The Left Hand of God, The Egyptian, and Black Widow.
Gloria Swanson: Sunset Boulevard, Nero's Weekend, and 3 for Bedroom C.
Vivien Leigh: A Streetcar Named Desire and The Deep Blue Sea.
Shirley MacLaine: Some Came Running, The Trouble with Harry, Around the World in 80 Days, Artists and Models, Hot Spell, Career, The Matchmaker, The Sheepman, and Ask Any Girl.
Debbie Reynolds: Singin' in the Rain, Three Little Words, The Affairs of Dobie Gillis, Tammy and the Bachelor, The Catered Affair, Bundle of Joy, Susan Slept Here, Athena, Skirts Ahoy!, The Tender Trap, Hit the Deck, I Love Melvin, Give a Girl a Break, Meet Me in Las Vegas, The Daughter of Rosie O'Grady, Two Weeks with Love, The Gazebo, It Started with a Kiss, This Happy Feeling, The Mating Game, and Say One for Me.
Cyd Charisse: The Band Wagon, Meet Me in Las Vegas, Singin' in the Rain, Brigadoon, Silk Stockings, Party Girl, Twilight for the Gods, Easy to Love, Deep in My Heart, It's Always Fair Weather, Tension, The Mark of the Renegade, The Wild North, and Sombrero.
Isuzu Yamada: Epitome, Home Sweet Home, Gendai-jin, Hakone Fūunroku, Boshizō, Tōjin Okichi, Takekurabe, Christ in Bronze, Neko to Shōzō to Futari no Onna, Throne of Blood, Nagareru, The Lower Depths, Black River, and Tokyo Twilight.
Barbara Stanwyck: All I Desire, Jeopardy, The File on Thelma Jordon, The Furies, No Man of Her Own, Titanic, To Please a Lady, Clash by Night, The Man with a Cloak, The Moonlighter, Blowing Wild, Witness to Murder, Executive Suite, Cattle Queen of Montana, The Violent Men, Escape to Burma, There's Always Tomorrow, Forty Guns, The Maverick Queen, and Trooper Hook.
Ava Gardener: Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, Show Boat, Mogambo, Barefoot Contessa, Bowhani Junction, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, On the Beach, The Band Wagon, Lone Star, My Forbidden Past, Ride, Vaquero!, Knights of the Round Table, The Sun Also Rises, The Naked Maja, and The Little Hut.
Janet Leigh: Angels in the Outfield, Scaramouche, The Naked Spur, Safari, Living It Up, Touch of Evil, Two Tickets to Broadway, It's a Big Country, Strictly Dishonorable, Houdini, Just This Once, Fearless Fagan, Prince Valiant, Walking My Baby Back Home, Jet Pilot, Confidentially Connie, Pete Kelly's Blues, My Sister Eileen, The Black Shield of Falworth, The Vikings, Rogue Cop, and The Perfect Furlough.
Jane Wyman: So Big, Stage Fright, Magnificent Obsession, All That Heaven Allows, Here Comes the Groom, The Glass Menagerie, Three Guys Named Mike, Three Lives, The Blue Veil, Just for You, The Story of Will Rogers, The Story of Will Rogers, Lucy Gallant, and Holiday for Lovers.
Claire Trevor: Borderline, Lucy Gallant, Best of the Badmen, Hard, Fast and Beautiful, My Man and I, Stop, You're Killing Me, The Stranger Wore a Gun, Hoodlum Empire, Marjorie Morningstar, The High and the Mighty, The Mountain, and Man Without a Star.
Maureen O'Hara: The Quiet Man, Rio Grande, The Wings of Eagles, Comanche Territory, At Sword's Point, Kangaroo, Against All Flags, Malaga, War Arrow, The Long Gray Line, The Magnificent Matador, Lady Godiva of Coventry, Lisbon, Everything but the Truth, Our Man in Havana, and Flame of Araby.
Claudette Colbert: Texas Lady, Royal Affairs in Versailles, Three Came Home, Thunder on the Hill, The Secret Fury, Let's Make It Legal, The Planter's Wife, and Daughters of Destiny.
Simone Signoret: Room at the Top, Manèges, La Ronde, Gunman in the Streets, Swiss Tour, Casque d'Or, Without Leaving an Address, Thérèse Raquin, Shadow and Light, Les Diaboliques, Death in the Garden, Mother Courage and Her Children, and The Crucible.
Anna Magnani: The Rose Tattoo, Bellissima, Camicie rosse, Volcano, Le Carrosse d'or, Carosello del varietà, Wild Is the Wind, The Awakening, and Nella città l'inferno.
Susan Hayward: Woman Obsessed, Thunder in the Sun, I Want to Live! , Top Secret Affair, The Conqueror, I'll Cry Tomorrow, Untamed, Soldier of Fortune, Garden of Evil, Demetrius and the Gladiators, White Witch Doctor, The Lusty Men, The President's Lady, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, With a Song in My Heart, Rawhide, David and Bathsheba, and I Can Get It for You Wholesale.
Olivia de Havilland: The Proud Rebel, Libel, That Lady, Not as a Stranger, The Ambassador's Daughter, and My Cousin Rachel.
Ruby Dee: The Jackie Robinson Story, No Way Out, The Bitter Cup, The Tall Target, Go, Man, Go!, Edge of the City, The Great American Pastime, Virgin Island, St. Louis Blues, and Take a Giant Step.
Diana Dors: Passport to Shame, Tread Softly Stranger, La ragazza del palio, The Long Haul, I Married a Woman, The Unholy Wife, Yield to the Night, Value for Money, An Alligator Named Daisy, Miss Tulip Stays the Night, A Kid for Two Farthings, The Lovely Place, As Long as They're Happy, The Weak and the Wicked, It's a Grand Life, The Great Game, The Saint's Return, Dance Hall, Is Your Honeymoon Really Necessary?, Face to Face, The Last Page, My Wife's Lodger, Worm's Eye View, and Lady Godiva Rides Again.
Lucille Ball: I Love Lucy Christmas Show, Forever, Darling, The Long, Long Trailer, The Magic Carpet, Fancy Pants, and The Fuller Brush Girl.
Jeanne Crain: Cheaper by the Dozen, Take Care of My Little Girl, People Will Talk, The Model and the Marriage Broker, Belles on Their Toes, I Full House, Vicki, Dangerous Crossing, City of Bad Men, Duel in the Jungle, Man Without a Star, Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, The Second Greatest Sex, The Girl Who Wasn't Wanted, Airborne Honeymoon, The Fastest Gun Alive, The Joker is Wild, The Tattered Dress, Escape to Memphis, Wait till Spring, The Great Gatsby, and The Trouble with Ruth.
Joan Collins: Facts and Fancies, Lady Godiva Rides Again, The Woman's Angle, Judgment Deferred, I Believe in You, Cosh Boy, Decameron Nights, Turn the Key Softly, Rally 'Round the Flag, Boys!, Sea Wife, The Bravados, Island in the Sun, The Wayward Bus, The Opposite Sex, The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing, The Virgin Queen, Land of the Pharaohs, The Good Die Young, Our Girl Friday, and The Square Ring.
Gene Tierney: Where the Sidewalk Ends, Night and the City, The Mating Season, Plymouth Adventure, The Secret of Convict Lake, On the Riviera, Close to My Heart, Way of a Gaucho, The Left Hand of God, Black Widow, Never Let Me Go, The Egyptian, and Personal Affair.
Agnes Moorehead: Tempest, The Bat, Night of the Quarter Moon, Raintree County, The True Story of Jesse James, Jeanne Eagels, The Story of Mankind, Untamed, All That Heaven Allows, The Left Hand of God, Magnificent Obsession, Pardners, The Revolt of Mamie Stover, The Swan, The Conqueror, Meet Me in Las Vegas, The Opposite Sex, Scandal at Scourie, Main Street to Broadway, Those Redheads from Seattle, Caged, The Story of Three Loves, Show Boat, Black Jack, Adventures of Captain Fabian, Fourteen Hours, The Blue Veil, and The Blazing Forest.
Celia Johnson: The Astonished Heart, The Holly and the Ivy, The Captain's Paradise, I Believe in You, A Kid for Two Farthings, and The Good Companions.
submitted by Britneyfan456 to classicfilms [link] [comments]


2020.09.30 15:53 normancrane I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to normancrane [link] [comments]


2020.09.27 23:24 normancrane I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to stayawake [link] [comments]


2020.09.05 01:45 curlycattails Every named man in the Bible! (G-N)

About a week ago, I made a post listing every named woman in the Bible. It was quite popular and several people requested me to post a list of all the men in the Bible too. This list has three parts:
A-F
G-N
O-Z
The Bible can be a great place to find unique, classic, and meaningful names, no matter what your beliefs or traditions. I decided to make a list of all the female names in the Bible along with their meanings. A few things to keep in mind:
Here we go! (I've noted names I like in bold and funny/interesting names in italics).
G
H
I
J
K
L
M
N
submitted by curlycattails to namenerds [link] [comments]


2020.08.31 23:23 normancrane PSA: I think I screwed us in the 1960s

I've started writing this hundreds of times and never gotten to the end. The first few times I tried, I did it on paper in a notebook because the internet hadn't been invented yet. I burned the notebooks. This is the first time I've finished and not destroyed what I'd written. If nothing else, this act of creation without destruction is a small victory to me, but I know you hardly care about that. Nor should you. You should care about what you're about to read because if what I say is true, your generation may be in some serious shit. I'm in my late 70s, no wife or kids, not many friends, and although I'm not quite on my death bed, I'm certainly nearing the end of my life, so my personal stake in this is low, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't weight heavily on my soul in an existential kind of way. We all keep secrets, some darker than others, and this has been my darkest.
The story starts in California way back in the 1960s. For those unfamiliar with that period in history, the one word I'd use to describe it is turbulent. Just imagine the straight-laced world of the 1950s you know from television crashing head-on into what you probably associate with hippie culture, namely radical politics, protest, heavy drug use, rebellion against authority, and conspiracy theories, but also comradery, selflessness, and the genuine belief that it is possible to change the world for the better. I was a university student at the time, so you could say I was in the thick of it, but I wasn't at one of the true hotbed schools like Berkeley. That said, there was almost no way to be young and alive in California and to keep away from the upheaval. It was literally all around you, and it sucked you in. There wasn't a Friday night when you didn't listen to a speech by Abbie Hoffman, take LSD, or hazily conspire to take down the establishment to a background of folk tunes, and then go out to bar where long past midnight some guy in a black suit tried to recruit you for a plastics corporation or the CIA. Or so he said, or so you remembered the next morning.
It was actually at one of these bars that I met my first real girlfriend, whom I'll call Edna. Edna wasn't a hippie, she was in town taking typing classes and working part-time as a receptionist, but like me she had become infatuated with the scene. Edna was only the second girl I'd slept with, and after a few months of going with her I started having trouble maintaining, then even getting, an erection. Back then it wasn't like it is now, when even polite people talk about erectile dysfunction and you can get medication to help with it. Back then there was nothing except a whole lot of embarrassment. At first, Edna and I thought it might be stress or lack of sleep causing my problem, then we suspected alcohol, but despite taking a fairly systematic approach and eliminating the possible causes one by one, we couldn't figure it out. Within weeks, my sex life just stopped. You can imagine how devastating that was to a young man.
Let's rewind a bit. About six months before meeting Edna, I had met a guy named Jerry in one of my political science classes and we'd quickly become friends. Jerry and I would regularly meet up, talk about everything from music and world revolution to UFOs, and generally goof off together, and he'd always have a decent supply of weed for us to smoke and Grateful Dead bootlegs to listen to, which was fantastic. Although I've never had a truly best friend, Jerry was definitely my closest friend during my early student days in California, so he was the person I eventually turned to for help with my sexual problem. I remember that it was late at night after getting stoned immaculate, as Jim Morrison would say, that I told Jerry about my erectile dysfunction. He listened as I struggled mightily through the telling of it, and without laughing or making light of the situation told me not to worry too much, that it would probably go away on its own, but if I didn't want to wait and wanted help now, I should go see a man he referred to as Gerbil.
Gerbil was about ten years older than us, originally from New Mexico and had been studying chemistry at Berkeley until about a year prior, when he'd been expelled after being caught synthesizing hallucinogens in a school lab. Faced with the possibility of going back to New Mexico without a degree, Gerbil had decided to pursue the American Dream instead. He set up his own lab, kept his clientele, and expanded his operation. Drugs, incidentally, is how Jerry had first met Gerbil. And through Jerry is how I met the guy. That's one other unique thing about Gerbil: even compared to the regular paranoiacs, he was paranoid. You couldn't just see him. You had to be introduced by someone he trusted and he had to "vet" you, which included a brief interrogation and sitting silently while he "read your mind." My vetting lasted about half an hour. After it was over, Gerbil relaxed and I explained my problem to him. It was easy because he was like a magnet for deep truths. You wanted to tell him the embarrassing stuff. Long story short, he told me I was far from the first guy to be suffering from this type of condition and that he had a tried and tested solution.
I'll never forget the moment when he held out the pill bottle to me. His smiling, unshaven face, the sunlight streaming in through the dirty windows, and the pills themselves, oblong and delicately off-white in their little glass home. When I asked how much I owed him, he shrugged and said that for a friend there was no cost, then laughed and added that he had more than enough money anyway. After all, he said, he was making truth serum for the CIA. "Just make sure you follow the instructions," he said. "And remember: you were never here."
When I got home, I read the instructions, which had been typed out on a strip of paper and taped to the outside of the pill bottle. They were simple enough but odd: Insert one (1) pill into urethra at least one hour prior to intercourse.
I'll spare you the awkward details of my first time doing the insertion. What you need to know is that the pills worked. God, how they worked! Never before, and never since, have I had an erection as hard and for as long as when I used those pills. In the past twenty years I've tried Viagra and all the others, but nothing even comes close. It was like fucking with the world's most sensitive steel rod, and you could go for hours!
Edna and I sure made up for lost time, but pretty soon Edna wasn't enough. We'd go at it two or three times, she'd call it quits for the night and I'd still be raging to go. I'm not proud of it now, but I started meeting other girls just for sex. Any girls who'd have me, really. At bars, meet ups, between classes, at concerts, everywhere. There was no emotional connection but physically it was bliss. I loved it, they loved it, and I guess later they dubbed it the Summer of Love.
I wish I'd counted how many pills Gerbil had given me, but I didn't. All I knew was that I was going through them like a knife through reheated butter. From what I remember, one pill was enough to last up to forty-eight hours, but I was using them almost non-stop, and the supply was depleting. I was probably addicted. It was after I'd used about half of my initial supply that Jerry asked over coffee one morning whether my "problem" had gone away. I told him it had and more than hinted at how my sex life had exploded, and he told me that was fantastic news. Then he lowered his voice and told me Gerbil wanted to meet up. I agreed, he told me the time and place, and I never saw Jerry again. But I'll get to that in a bit.
Gerbil and I met a few days later in what remained of a hangar on an abandoned airfield. It was beyond city limits, and Gerbil seemed to make a big deal of that fact. He told me he'd recently purchased the land way under value and was planning on building a bunker on it. Because that sounded like just the craziness he'd be into, I took him at his word. When I told him how well the pills had been working and that I wanted more of them, he wasn't surprised. He said he was thrilled and handed me another bottle of pills identical to the first. This time, however, they had a price. But it was the kind of price that wasn't paid in dollars and that made my horny young mind spin with possibilities. Gerbil was organizing a series of orgies and he was giving me the pills in exchange for taking part in them.
Back to Jerry: disappearing for a few days wasn't unusual. He went on benders from time to time during which he'd unreachable and absent from class, but those usually lasted a few days, after which he'd show up groggy and with stories to tell. After a week, I started to worry, but even then it's important to remember the times, both in terms of technology and perspective. We didn't have cell phones you could call anytime you wanted, and it wasn't unheard of for people to "drop out" of society. I had a professor who suddenly disappeared for half a semester, and when he came back he told us he'd gone on a walkabout. Still, I expected Jerry to tell me if he was planning something like that. He'd said nothing and now he was gone. I started asking around but realized I didn't actually know much about him. From what I gathered, he was still enrolled in university and still living at the same address. He just wasn't there.
My relationship with Edna was falling apart at the same time. I was bored with her, and she was getting bored with life in California. She was honest about wanting to move back East, and we both knew I wouldn't be going with her. And although she never said a word about it, I'm sure she knew I wasn't being faithful. Hell, even free love has a cost. I can't say we broke each other's hearts, but I will say that as I've aged, I've imagined more and more often what my life would had have been if we'd stayed together. I went on to love again but I never found a true love. Edna, especially in those early times, may have been the closest I ever got. Ironically, we loved each other most when we couldn't be physically intimate.
The first of Gerbil's orgies that I attended was held in the middle of the desert. There was music, drugs and absolutely no inhibitions. It was the most exciting experience of my life, and I loved it. Gerbil himself was never at the orgies, but almost everyone seemed to know him, at least by reputation. I don't remember how many orgies I ended up going to, but it was over a dozen, each in a different location with new women, many of them intoxicatingly exotic to me. Foreign students, bored housewives, groupies, intellectuals, stewardesses, and wanderers from all around the country and the world: India, Russia, China, Europe, Latin America, everywhere. I still have no idea how Gerbil organized these things or convinced so many women to go to them, but he did, and I must have fucked nearly all of them. The pills were my fuel.
Sometime during this hazy period of hedonistic pleasure, the police found Jerry's body in New Mexico. Apparently he'd hitchhiked all the way down there, spent a few weeks living on a ranch and overdosed on a cocktail of drugs so strong he must have been halfway to heaven by the time his organs failed. Foul play was ruled out, and no one in New Mexico cared if a longhaired hippie had killed himself accidentally or on purpose. There was no funeral as far as I know. About a week after Jerry's death, I received a letter from him in the mail. Judging by the gradual degradation of his handwriting, it had been written in several sittings. Most of it was personal and there was a lot of pain behind the words, but it was the last sentence that has stuck with me because of it's plain brutality. Four words: They've fucked us.
I fucked away my breakup with Edna and the loss of my friend. Orgy after orgy.
It was while sitting in a bar on a hot Wednesday night in the middle of July that I discovered something that chilled me to the marrow of my bones. I was down to my last pill and imagining the best way to take advantage of it, waiting for the perfect piece of ass to walk in through the door. I had a mug of beer in front of me, not my first, and I was absentmindedly walking the pill up and down the tops of my fingers, when suddenly I lost control and it fell straight into my mug. I must have been too drunk to react, because instead of fishing it out, I watched instead as it descended into the murky depths while giving off a spray of infinitely fine bubbles. I didn't know how a pill should react in beer, but something about this reaction seemed off. When it had settled at the bottom of the mug, the pill started shedding something other than bubbles: namely itself. Tiny pieces flaked off and floated to the top, and the pill began to tremble. Soon, dark spots became visible beneath the off-white colour of what I instinctively began to conceptualize as a shell, until the entire casing was gone, leaving only a trembling black insectous creature! Immediately I knew it was organic. Even more: alive! I watched mesmerized as it struggled in the liquid, scurrying towards the edge of the mug but unable to climb the glass sides. Finally, I put my fingers in and lifted it out. It was small but unbelievably hard between my fingertips. I couldn't crush it. I held it briefly against the overhead light, its body wholly opaque, before it slipped out, hit the unswept floor and scurried away. I scrambled after it, much to the cruel amusement of the other patrons, stomping forward on the floor before falling to my knees, but with no luck. It was gone. Returning to my seat, I thought, Just what the fuck have I been pushing into my urethra?
I had no pills and the only evidence of anything abnormal was my own boozy memory, so I had nothing. Except a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was horribly wrong. I tried contacting Gerbil in my usual ways, hoping to get more pills to experiment on and either put my mind at ease ("You hallucinated, idiot.") or get my hands on something I could send to a lab, but all my usual ways were indirect, like asking for permission to speak, and permission was being denied. Gerbil stopped responding. Eventually I grew desperate enough to visit the abandoned airfield, which was the only address of his I knew, but it was empty and unchanged. When I went to the land office and asked about ownership, the clerk told me the land belonged to a man named Beaconfield who was mostly likely long dead. Because I didn't know anyone other than Jerry who'd known Gerbil, I had nowhere else to turn. There's only so many times you can ask a stranger if they know a man named after a small rodent. Eventually you give up.
And so Gerbil was gone, my pills were gone, Jerry and Edna were gone, and soon the 1960s themselves were gone, metamorphosing into a sexless 1970s for me, then the 1980s, 1990s and the new millennium. All as if someone had snapped their fingers. To say my life was dull would be an understatement. I had work, and followed it around the country, but I had little else. Forged at a time when we all wanted to remake the world, I had remade nothing and found myself leading a life of comfortable insignificance. But despite my memories fading, they never completely disappeared, and I spent many evenings wondering, trying to piece together clues, and always unable to shake those four words of Jerry's: They've fucked us. Was I scarred by a friend's suicide? Sure. But it was more than that, often in the form of sweat-inducing nightmares about tiny black insects crawling around my insides.
In the early 2000s, I saw a political ad for a candidate vying for the U.S. Senate. There was nothing unusual about the spot, but a few seconds caught my attention. They showed a series of photos of the candidate as he was growing up, attending school, graduating, etc. In one of them, he was with his mother, and my heart nearly stopped when I recognized her as Edna. I don't know what emotion I felt first, but I settled on hesitant happiness as I jumped online to confirm what my eyes had shown me. Although I didn't find the ad itself, I did find an interview with the candidate, including one with a gallery of photos, and in one of them was the confirmation I was searching for. Edna's face, older but still beautiful, stared at me from behind her son's electable smile. I was breathless. My happiness became joy. It was wonderful not only that Edna had done OK for herself but that she'd done extraordinarily, because it takes a certain kind of success to raise a future statesman.
On election night, I made popcorn, drank beer and cheered on Edna's son as if he were my own. Shortly after the polls closed, CNN projected him as the winner. For one night, my own insignificance didn't matter. I shared secretly in someone else's relevance.
A few months passed in the afterglow of this beautiful discovery. Sometimes I even had fantasies about contacting the senator to offer my congratulations, which would be a reconnection with Edna, but I always knew this was impossible. I was nobody to her, a shadow from the past. She probably didn't even remember me.
The reason why I mention this is two-fold: because I want to write and relive the happy moments, despite their way of decomposing into dread; and because Edna was merely the first of many. Over the next year, I recognized the faces of three other women I'd had sex with in California in the 1960s. I may not have known or recognized their names, but I do have a memory for faces and I was certain about theirs. All three were the mothers or grandmothers of successful people: a politician, the CEO of a pharmaceutical corporation, and a lawyer. What are the chances?
Over the next months and years, I started to actively research the background of anyone who had recently attained a high level of success, or more accurately, a high level of influence: of power. Most were guarded about their pasts, many enigmatic, but some made public just enough of a thread of information for me to pull loose, and whether in photos or on video, what I kept finding were the faces of my former lovers, women I had met while cheating on Edna or, more often, women I'd fucked at Gerbil's orgies.
In time, I realized that the web extended beyond America. I found world leaders, generals, economists, industrialists and policy makers scattered about the globe, yet whose foremothers had all been in California with me! It was insane. I felt insane, wacko like the worst conspiracy nuts I'd met in the 1960s. Yet, just like them, I was convinced I was right, and what was right was too weird to be coincidence.
Today, the people whose mothers and grandmothers I fucked rule the world, and the singular way in which they are all working toward the same goals terrifies me to the very core of my being. To everyone else, they are unconnected individuals. To me, they are connected, and it gnaws at my mind, this question that I know I will never be able to answer: What are they and to whom do they owe their allegiance?
But I no longer search for them. I have accepted reality, and I don't know what difference it makes to know exactly how many of them exist. I still have no evidence. I can't go anywhere with a story relying on an old man's memory of his own LSD-fueled sexual exploits. I've tried, and gotten laughed out of the room. The best reaction is sympathy for being a senile old man whose mind is playing tricks on him about his past. And that's without mentioning my own theories involving parasites, mind control or aliens.
Yet those words: They've fucked us.
How I wish I had been able to hold on to that tiny black creature!
Or stopped myself from putting it in my body.
But I couldn't and now I'm here, posting my story somewhere at least a few people will read it. Maybe you'll believe me, maybe you won't. I don't know if I want to give a warning or a confession, but either way I've done it now. What finds its way to the internet stays on the internet.
I hope for your collective sake that when you find this years later, you'll be able to have a good laugh.
I know I'm not laughing.
I truly believe that in the 1960s I participated in something whose conclusion will be the ruin of mankind.
submitted by normancrane to nosleep [link] [comments]


2020.08.29 16:42 zombie_wonderland A list of some of the funnier fantasy books

It takes a steady hand to write a fantasy story that’s exciting, interesting, and funny as hell.
Or maybe it’s just that people are funny, and no matter what you do with them, like putting them on dragons or in the afterlife, they’re going to do something ridiculous.

17. Welcome to Night Vale by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor - 2015

Book 1 of 3 in the Welcome to Night Vale series
Pawnshop proprietor Jackie Fierro abides by routine. But a crack appears in the standard order of her perpetually nineteen-year-old life when a mysterious man in a tan jacket gives her a slip of paper marked by two pencil-smudged words: KING CITY. Everything about the man unsettles her, especially the paper that she cannot remove from her hand. Yet when Jackie puts her life on hold to search for the man, no one who meets him can seem to remember anything about him.
Diane Crayton’s fifteen-year-old son, Josh, is moody and a shape-shifter. Lately, Diane has started to see the boy’s father everywhere she goes, looking the same as he did the day he left when they were teenagers. Josh is growing ever more curious about his estranged father—leading to a disaster Diane can see coming but is helpless to prevent.
Diane’s search to reconnect with her son and Jackie’s search to reclaim her routine life draw them increasingly closer to each other, and to this place that may hold the key to their mysteries and their futures . . . if they can ever find it.
“The book is charming and absurd—think This American Life meets Alice in Wonderland."
—Washington Post

16. Carry On by Rainbow Rowell - 2015

Book 1 of 2 in the Simon Snow series
Simon Snow is the worst Chosen One who’s ever been chosen.
That’s what his roommate, Baz, says. And Baz might be evil and a vampire and a complete git, but he’s probably right.
Half the time, Simon can’t even make his wand work, and the other half, he starts something on fire. His mentor’s avoiding him, his girlfriend broke up with him, and there’s a magic-eating monster running around, wearing Simon’s face. Baz would be having a field day with all this, if he were here–it’s their last year at the Watford School of Magicks, and Simon’s infuriating nemesis didn’t even bother to show up.
“Rowell imbues her magic with awe and spectacle. It’s a powerful, politically minded allegory about sexual, ethnic and class identity—with a heady shot of teenage lust.” ―New York Times Book Review

15. Hounded by Kevin Hearne - 2011

Book 1 of 9 in The Iron Druid Chronicles
Atticus O’Sullivan, last of the Druids, lives peacefully in Arizona, running an occult bookshop and shape-shifting in his spare time to hunt with his Irish wolfhound. His neighbors and customers think that this handsome, tattooed Irish dude is about twenty-one years old—when in actuality, he’s twenty-one centuries old. Not to mention he draws his power from the earth, possesses a sharp wit, and wields an even sharper magical sword known as Fragarach, the Answerer.
Unfortunately, a very angry Celtic god wants that sword, and he’s hounded Atticus for centuries. Now the determined deity has tracked him down, and Atticus will need all his power—plus the help of a seductive goddess of death, his vampire and werewolf team of attorneys, a bartender possessed by a Hindu witch, and some good old-fashioned luck of the Irish—to kick some Celtic arse and deliver himself from evil.
“Hearne, a self-professed comic-book nerd, has turned his love of awesome dudes whacking mightily at evil villains into a superb urban fantasy debut.”
—Publisher’s Weekly (starred review)

14. Dealing with Dragons by Patricia C. Wrede - 1990

Book 1 of 4 in the Enchanted Forest Chronicles
This children’s book stars Princess Cimorene, a princess who refuses to be proper. She is everything a princess is not supposed to be: headstrong, tombyish smart…
And bored.
So bored that she runs away to live with a dragon. And not just any dragon, but Kazul—one of the most powerful and dangerous dragons arounds. Of course, Cimorene has a way of hooking up with dangerous characters, and soon she’s coping with a witch, a jinn, a death-dealing talking bird, a stone prince, and some very oily wizards.
“What a charmer! A decidedly diverting novel with plenty of action and… laugh-out-loud reading pleasure.”
—Booklist (starred review)

13. The Imaginary Corpse by Tyler Hayes - 2019

I love this tragically underrated book.
Most ideas fade away when we’re done with them. Some we love enough to become Real. But what about the ones we love, and walk away from?
Tippy the triceratops was once a little girl’s imaginary friend, a dinosaur detective who could help her make sense of the world. But when her father died, Tippy fell into the Stillreal, the underbelly of the Imagination, where discarded ideas go when they’re too Real to disappear. Now, he passes time doing detective work for other unwanted ideas—until Tippy runs into The Man in the Coat, a nightmare monster who can do the impossible: kill an idea permanently. Now Tippy must overcome his own trauma and solve the case, before there’s nothing left but imaginary corpses.
“Hayes’s debut is an affectionate, lightly mocking homage to noir tales… A strong psychological thread weaves through the story as characters confront the trauma of being imaginary and forgotten, adding depth to what at first may seem a silly concept. Readers will revel in this strange, fully realized world.”
—Publishers Weekly

12. The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle - 1968

The Last Unicorn is a quirky little masterpiece. It’s short, and anyone who likes fantasy should read it: it’s one of the best fantasy books in existence.
A unicorn, fully aware of how majestic she is, decides to find out if she is indeed the last of her kind. She sweeps several humans into her wake as she travels the land and finally confronts the creature who would drive her kind to extinction.
This story feels like a perfect fairy tale, complete with humor, wonder, sadness, and a single unexpected taco.
“[O]ne of the best fantasy novels ever.”
—The Atlantic

11. Storm Front by Jim Butcher - 2000

Book 1 of 17 in the Dresden Files series
As a professional wizard, Harry Dresden knows firsthand that the “everyday” world is actually full of strange and magical things—and most of them don’t play well with humans. And those that do, enjoy playing with humans far too much. He also knows he’s the best at what he does. Technically, he’s the only at what he does. But even though Harry is the only game in town, business—to put it mildly—stinks.
So when the Chicago P.D. brings him in to consult on a double homicide committed with black magic, Harry’s seeing dollar signs. But where there’s black magic, there’s a black mage behind it. And now that mage knows Harry’s name…
“One of the most enjoyable marriages of the fantasy and mystery genres on the shelves.”
—Cinescape

10. Pippi Longstocking by Astrid Lindgren - 1945

Book 1 of 3 in the Pippi Longstocking series
Tommy and his sister Annika have a new neighbor, and her name is Pippi Longstocking. She has crazy red pigtails, no parents to tell her what to do, a horse that lives on her porch, a pet monkey named Mr. Nilsson, and superhuman strength. Whether Pippi’s scrubbing her floors, doing arithmetic, or stirring things up at a fancy tea party, her flair for the outrageous always seems to lead to another adventure.
“A rollicking story.”
—The Horn Book

9. Gil's All Fright Diner by A. Lee Martinez - 2005

Duke and Earl are just passing through Rockwood county in their pick-up truck when they stop at the Diner for a quick bite to eat. They aren’t planning to stick around—until Loretta, the eatery’s owner, offers them $100 to take care of her zombie problem. Given that Duke is a werewolf and Earl’s a vampire, this looks right up their alley.
But the shambling dead are just the tip of a particularly spiky iceberg. Seems someone’s out to drive Loretta from the Diner, and more than willing to raise a little Hell on Earth if that’s what it takes. Before Duke and Earl get to the bottom of the Diner’s troubles, they’ll run into such otherworldly complications as undead cattle, an amorous ghost, a jailbait sorceress, and the terrifying occult power of pig-latin.
And maybe, just maybe, the End of the World, too.
“Fans of Douglas Adams… will happily sink their teeth into this combo platter of raunchy laughs and ectoplasmic ecstasy.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)

8. The Amulet of Samarkand by Jonathan Stroud - 2003

Book 1 of 4 in the Bartimaeus series
I’m a huge Jonathan Stroud fan, and this is the book that got me hooked.
Nathaniel is eleven-years-old and a magician’s apprentice, learning the traditional art of magic. All is well until he has a life-changing encounter with Simon Lovelace, a magician of unrivaled ruthlessness and ambition. When Lovelace brutally humiliates Nathaniel in public, Nathaniel decides to speed up his education, teaching himself spells far beyond his years.
With revenge on his mind, he masters one of the toughest spells of all and summons Bartimaeus, a five-thousand-year-old snarky djinni, to assist him. But summoning Bartimaeus and controlling him are two different things entirely, and when Nathaniel sends the djinni out to steal Lovelace’s greatest treasure, the Amulet of Samarkand, he finds himself caught up in a whirlwind of magical espionage, murder, and rebellion.

7. This Book is Full of Spiders by David Wong - 2012

Book 2 of 3 in the Jogn Dies at the End series
My wife hates it when I read this book because there are actually spiders all over the cover.
As I’m writing this, my heavy metal station on Pandora is screaming, “I WANNA GET PYSCHO!” which is perfect for this book, because This Book Is Full of Spiders: Seriously, Dude, Don’t Touch It gets seriously bizarre and creepy.
It’s also one of the funniest books I’ve ever read, and yes, I’m including The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in that list.
Two reluctant and generally irresponsible heroes are aware of huge invisible spiders that live in people’s heads due to their earlier ingestion of a drug called Soy Sauce. While they try to stay out of trouble (the kids, not the spiders), Armageddon finds them anyway. Hilarity and horror ensue.
I read the sequel What the Hell Did I Just Read and loved that one, too. Wong really dives into the limitations of how the human brain works and how nefarious creatures could take advantage of it.
“[A] phantasmagoria of horror, humor–and even insight into the nature of paranoia, perception, and identity.”
―Publishers Weekly (starred review)

6. Nyx by D. M. Livingston - 2013

My kid has probably re-read this book more than any other, and not just because his dad wrote it.
Nyx, a sarcastic, mildly homicidal fairy, is hurled into Hell, but instead of damned souls and devils, she finds only a group of confused, young human witches.
It’s hate at first sight.
But Nyx and the witches, whose magical skills are not quite polished, must work together to survive the ravages of Hell, and then the demon-infested nightmare Earth has become.
The motley crew searches for the Keys of Iron, Flame, and Sorrow, which will (hopefully) close the Gates of Hell. However, the dark queen Morda, who opened the Gates by tricking Lucifer himself, takes a special interest in obliterating the bickering group.
That is, if they don’t obliterate each other first…
“Yes, I gave Nyx 5 stars & I don’t run around, Willy Nilly givin’ out 5 stars.”
—An Amazon reviewer

5. The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde - 2005

Book 1 of 7 in the Thursday Next series
Great Britain, circa 1985: time travel is routine, cloning is a reality (dodos are the resurrected pet of choice), and literature is taken very, very seriously: it’s a bibliophile’s dream. England is a virtual police state where an aunt can get lost (literally) in a Wordsworth poem and forging Byronic verse is a punishable offense.
All this is business as usual for Thursday Next, renowned Special Operative in literary detection. But when someone begins kidnapping characters from works of literature and plucks Jane Eyre from the pages of Brontë’s novel, Thursday is faced with the challenge of her career.
“Neatly delivers alternate history, Monty Pythonesque comedy skits, Grand Guignol supervillains, thwarted lovers, po-mo intertextuality, political commentary, time travel, vampires, absent-minded inventors, a hard-boiled narrator, and lots, lots more.”
—The Washington Post

4. The Princess Bride by William Goldman - 1973

A nearly perfect tale of true love, high adventure, pirates, princesses, giants, miracles, fencing, a frightening assortment of wild beasts, and, of course, the basis for the wonderful movie.
“[N]utball funny… A ‘classic’ medieval melodrama that sounds like all the Saturday serials you ever saw, feverishly reworked by the Marx Brothers.”
—Newsweek

3. Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal by Christopher Moore - 2002

Verily, the story Biff has to tell is a miraculous one, filled with remarkable journeys, magic, healings, kung fu, corpse reanimations, demons, and hot babes. Even the considerable wiles and devotion of the Savior’s pal may not be enough to divert Joshua from his tragic destiny. But there’s no one who loves Josh more—except maybe Maggie, Mary of Magdala—and Biff isn’t about to let his extraordinary pal suffer and ascend without a fight.
“An instant classic… terrific, funny and poignant.”
—Rocky Mountain News

2. Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett - 1990

According to The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch (the world’s only completely accurate book of prophecies, written in 1655, before she exploded), the world will end on a Saturday. Next Saturday, in fact. Just before dinner.
So the armies of Good and Evil are amassing, Atlantis is rising, frogs are falling, tempers are flaring. Everything appears to be going according to the Divine Plan. Except a somewhat fussy angel and a fast-living demon—both of whom have lived amongst Earth’s mortals since The Beginning and have grown rather fond of the lifestyle—are not actually looking forward to the coming Rapture.
And someone seems to have misplaced the Antichrist . . .
“Reads like the Book of Revelation, rewritten by Monty Python.”
—San Francisco Chronicle

1. Small Gods by Terry Pratchett - 1992

Book 13 of 45 in the Discworld series
Terry Pratchett is probably my favorite author and this is one of his best books.
Lost in the chill deeps of space between the galaxies, it sails on forever, a flat, circular world carried on the back of a giant turtle—Discworld—a land where the unexpected can be expected. Where the strangest things happen to the nicest people. Like Brutha, a simple lad who only wants to tend his melon patch. Until one day he hears the voice of a god calling his name. A small god, to be sure. But bossy as Hell.
Believers as well as unbelievers have praised the book for supporting their position, according to fan mail received by Terry Pratchett.
“[A]n extraordinary novel… biting but compassionate satire.”
—SFreviews.net
Blog link
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2020.08.17 23:02 tombstoneshadows28 Turner Classic Movies (U.S.) Schedule For The Month Of September, 2020 (All Airtimes E.S.T)

Tuesday, September 01, 2020
(1:15 AM) (drama) L'Eclisse (1962/126 m/Michelangelo Antonioni)
(3:30 AM) (western) Lost Command (1966/129 m/Mark Robson)
(6:00 AM) (suspense) The 39 Steps (1935/87 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(7:45 AM) (suspense) The Lady Vanishes (1938/96 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(9:30 AM) (suspense) Foreign Correspondent (1940/121 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(11:45 AM) (suspence) Suspicion (1941/99 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(1:27 PM) (short) Men In Fright (1938/11 m/George Sidney)
(1:45 PM) (suspense) Stage Fright (1950/110 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(3:45 PM) (suspense) Dial ‘M’ For Murder (1954/105 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(5:32 PM) (short) Third Dimensional Murder (1941/7 m/George Sidney)
(5:45 PM) (suspense) The Wrong Man (1956/105 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(7:34 PM) (short) Wrong Way Butch (1950/10 m/David Barclay)
(8:00 PM) (premiere) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 1) (2019/60 m/Mark Cousins)
(10:45 PM) (documentary) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 1) (2019/60 m/Mark Cousins)
Wednesday, September 02, 2020
(12:00 AM) (premiere) Olivia (1951/96 m/
(1:45 AM) (premiere) Sleepwalking Land (2008/96 m/Teresa Prata)
(3:30 AM) (premiere) Seven Beauties (1975/117 m/Lina Wertmuller)
(5:30 AM) (premiere) Je tu il Elle (1975/86 m/Chantal Akerman)
(6:57 AM) (short) Over The Counter (1932/18 m/Jack Cummings)
(7:15 AM) (premiere) Madchen In Uniform (1931/89 m/Leontine Sagan)
(9:00 AM) (comedy) La Cienaga (2001/101 m/Lucrecia Martel)
(11:00 AM) (musical) Yolanda and the Thief (1945/108 m/Vincente Minnelli)
(1:00 PM) (musical) Call of the Flesh (1930/100 m/Charles Brabin)
(2:45 PM) (musical) Fiesta (1947/102 m/Richard Thorpe)
(4:30 PM) (musical) Pan-Americana (1945/84 m/John H. Auer)
(6:00 PM) (romance) Latin Lovers (1953/104 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(8:00 PM) (musical) Sweet Charity (1969/148 m/Bob Fosse)
(10:45) (drama) All That Jazz (1979)
Thursday, September 03, 2020
(1:00 AM) (musical) Cabaret (1972/124 m/Bob Fosse)
(3:15 AM) (premiere) Star ‘80 (1983/103 m/Bob Fosse)
(5:15 AM) (documentary) A Well Spent Life (1971/44 m/Les Blank)
(6:00 AM) (suspense) The Window (1949/73 m/Ted Tetzlaff)
(7:15 AM) (comedy) Having Wonderful Time (1938/70 m/Alfred Santell)
(9:30 AM) (drama) Picnic At Hanging Rock (1975/107 m/Peter Weir)
(10:30 AM) (adventure) Corvette Summer (1978/105 m/Matthew Robbins)
(12:15 PM) (romance) A Stolen Life (1946/107 m/Curtis Bernhardt)
(2:15 PM) (drama) The Southerner (1945/93 m/Jean Renoir)
(4:00 PM) (comedy) The Seven Year Itch (1955/104 m/Billy Wilder)
(5:49 PM) (short) Mackinac Island (1944/9 m/James A. FitzPatrick)
(6:00 PM) (romance) Summer of ‘42 (1971/104 m/Robert Mulligan)
(9:00 PM) (drama) The Story of Louis Pasteur (1936/86 m/William Dieterle)
(9:45 PM) (drama) The Story of Dr. Jenner (1939/10 m/Henry K. Dunn)
(10:00 PM) (drama) Sister Kenny (1946/116 m/Dudley Nichols)
Friday, September 04, 2020
(12:01 AM) (short) See Your Doctor (1939/8 m/Basil Wrangell)
(12:15 AM) (drama) Dr. Ehrlich's Magic Bullet (1940/103 m/William Dieterle)
(2:15 AM) (drama) Arrowsmith (1931/99 m/John Ford)
(4:15 AM) (adventure) Yellow Jack (1938/83 m/George B. Seitz)
(5:47 AM) (short) Her Honor, The Nurse (1956/8 m/Harry W. Smith)
(6:00 AM) (drama) Madame Curie (1943/124 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(9:15 AM) (documentary) Hollywood: The Dream Factory (1972/51 m/Mark Woods)
(9:30 AM) (comedy) Some Like It Hot (1959/122 m/Billy Wilder)
(11:45 AM) (comedy) The Apartment (1960/125 m/Billy Wilder)
(2:00 PM) (comedy) The Prisoner of Second Avenue (1974/98 m/Melvin Frank)
(4:00 PM) (comedy) The Sunshine Boys (1975/111 m/Herbert Ross)
(6:00 PM) (comedy) The Goodbye Girl (1977/111 m/Herbert Ross)
(8:00 PM) (premiere) The T.A.M.I. Show (1964/113 m/Steve Binder)
(10:15 PM) (documentary) Let The Good Times Roll (1973/99 m/Sidney Levin)
Saturday, September 05, 2020
(12:00 AM) (documentary) Elvis: That’s The Way It Is (1970/95 m/Denis Sanders)
(1:45 AM) (documentary) Divine Madness (1980/94 m/Michael Ritchie)
(3:30 AM) (documentary) ABBA: The Movie (1977/97 m/Lasse Hallstrom)
(5:30 AM) (documentary) MGM Parade Show #4 (1955/26 m/?)
(6:00 AM) (crime) The Biggest Bundle Of Them All (1968/108 m/Ken Annakin)
(9:00 AM) (premiere) MGM CARTOONS: The Chump Champ (1950/7 m/Fred [Tex] Avery)
(9:09 AM) (documentary) Game Warden (1955/8 m/Harry W. Smith)
(9:18 AM) (short) Seattle: Gateway To The Northwest (1940/9 m/?)
(9:28 AM) (drama) Isle Of Fury (1936/60 m/Frank McDonald)
(9:30 AM) (serial) TERRY AND THE PIRATES: The Fatal Mistake (1940/17 m/?)
(10:00 AM) (premiere) POPEYE: Fleets of Stren'th (1942/7 m/Dave Fleischer)
(10:08 AM) (adventure) Elephant Stampede (1951/71 m/Ford Beebe)
(11:30 AM) (short) Frontier Days (1945/17 m/Jack Scholl)
(12:00 PM) (suspense) The Prize (1963/135 m/Mark Robson)
(2:30 PM) (western) Stagecoach (1939/96 m/John Ford)
(4:15 PM) (drama) East Of Eden (1955/118 m/Elia Kazan)
(6:30 PM) (comedy) Bananas (1971/82 m/Woody Allen)
(8:00 PM) (documentary) The Kids Are Alright (1979/109 m/Jeff Stein)
(10:00 PM) (premiere) Shine A Light (2008/122 m/Martin Scorsese)
Sunday, September 06, 2020
(12:15 AM) (documentary) The Decline of Western Civilization (1981/100 m/Penelope Spheeris)
(2:15 AM) (documentary) The Decline of Western Civilization, Part II: The Metal Years (1988/93 m/Penelope Spheeris)
(4:00 AM) (documentary) This Is Elvis (1981/102 m/Malcolm Leo)
(6:00 AM) (musical) On An Island With You (1948/108 m/Richard Thorpe)
(9:00 AM) (musical) Easy To Love (1953/96 m/Charles Walters)
(10:00 AM) (crime) Night Editor (1946/67 m/Henry Levin)
(12:00 PM) (romance) The Enchanted Cottage (1945/92 m/John Cromwell)
(1:45 PM) (drama) The V.I.P.s (1963/119 m/Anthony Asquith)
(4:00 PM) (romance) Crossing Delancey (1988/97 m/Joan Micklin Silver)
(6:00 PM) (romance) To Have and Have Not (1944/100 m/Howard Hawks)
(8:00 PM) (documentary) The Song Remains The Same (1976/138 m/Peter Clifton)
(10:30 PM) (documentary) Jimi Hendrix (1973/102 m/Joe Boyd)
Monday, September 07, 2020
(12:15 AM) (premiere) Jimi Plays Monterey (1986/49 m/D.A. Pennebaker)
(1:15 AM) (premiere) Shake!: Otis At Monterey (1987/19 m/D.A. Pennebaker)
(1:45 AM) (premiere) Fade To Black (2004/110 m/Patrick Paulson)
(5:30 AM) (premiere) Say Amen, Somebody: The Good News Musical (1982/101 m/George T. Nierenberg)
(7:15 AM) (premiere) A Poem Is A Naked Person (1977/90 m/Les Blank)
(9:00 AM) (premiere) Louie Bluie (1985/61 m/Terry Zwigoff)
(12:15 PM) (premiere) Big Time (1988/87 m/Chris Blum)
(2:00 PM) (documentary) Don’t Look Back (1967/96 m/D.A. Pennebaker)
(4:00 PM) (premiere) Neil Young: Heart Of Gold (2006/104 m/Jonathan Demme)
(6:00 PM) (premiere) Festival (1967/98 m/Murray Lerner)
(8:00 PM) (documentary) Monterey Pop (1969/79/D.A. Pennebaker)
(9:30 PM) (documentary) Woodstock: The Director’s Cut (1970/224 m/Michael Wadleigh)
Tuesday, September 08, 2020
(1:30 AM) (musical) A Hard Day’s Night (1964/87 m/Richard Lester)
(3:15 AM) (documentary) Go Go Mania (1965/70 m/Frederic Goode)
(4:45 AM) (documentary) Robert Osborne’s 20th Anniversary Tribute (2015/47 m/?)
(6:00 AM) (crime) Armored Car Robbery (1950/68 m/Richard Fleischer)
(7:30 AM) (crime) The Asphalt Jungle (1950/112 m/John Huston)
(9:30 AM) (crime) High Sierra (1941/100 m/Raoul Walsh)
(11:15 AM) (crime) Rififi (1954/118 m/Jules Dassin)
(1:30 PM) (crime) The League Of Gentlemen (1960/114 m/Basil Dearden)
(3:45 PM) (comedy) Ocean’s 11 (1960/127 m/Lewis Milestone)
(6:00 PM) (suspense) Jack of Diamonds (1967/108 m/Don Taylor)
(8:00 PM) (premiere) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 2) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
(9:15 PM) (premiere) El Camino (1963/95 m/Ana Mariscal)
(11:15 PM) (documentary) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode #2) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
Wednesday, September 09, 2020
(12:30 AM) (premiere) Lovely & Amazing (2001/91 m/Nicole Holofcener)
(2:15 AM) (premiere) Wanda (1970/103 m/Barbara Loden)
(4:15 AM) (premiere) The Watermelon Woman (1995/85 m/Cheryl Dunye)
(6:00 AM) (premiere) In The Empty City (2004/90 m/Maria Jopo Ganga)
(7:45 AM) (silent) The Adventures of Prince Achmed (1926/66 m/Lotte Reiniger)
(9:15 AM) (premiere) Entre Nous (1983/111 m/Diane Kurys)
(11:30 AM) (drama) Jeopardy (1953/69 m/John Sturges)
(1:00 PM) (suspense) Cry Terror! (1958/96 m/Andrew L. Stone)
(3:15 PM) (drama) The Devil Makes Three (1952/90 m/Andrew Marton)
(5:00 PM) (suspense) Dial 1119 (1950/75 m/Gerald Mayer)
(6:30 PM) (suspense) Beyond A Reasonable Doubt (1956/80 m/Fritz Lang)
(8:00 PM) (comedy) Mr. Belvedere Goes To College (1949/83 m/Elliott Nugent)
(11:30 PM) (premiere) Blondie Goes To College (1942/77 m/Frank R. Strayer)
Thursday, September 10, 2020
(1:00 AM) (musical) She's Working Her Way Through College (1952/101 m/Bruce Humberstone)
(3:00 AM) Start Cheering (1938/78 m/Albert S. Rogell)
(4:30 AM) Strictly Dynamite (1934/71 m/Elliott Nugent)
(6:00 AM) (drama) Mademoiselle Fifi (1944/69 m/Robert Wise)
(7:15 AM) (suspense) The Curse of the Cat People (1944/70 m/Gunther V. Fritsch and Robert Wise)
(8:30 AM) (horror) The Body Snatcher (1945/78 m/Robert Wise)
(10:00 AM) (suspense) Mystery In Mexico (1948/66 m/Robert Wise)
(11:15 AM) (western) Blood On the Moon (1948/?/Robert Wise)
(1:00 PM) (crime) Born To Kill (1947/92 m/Robert Wise)
(2:45 PM) (drama) The Set-Up (1949/72 m/Robert Wise)
(4:15 PM) (romance) So Big (1953/102 m/Robert Wise)
(6:00 PM) (drama) Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956/113 m/Robert Wise)
(9:00 PM) (war) So Proudly We Hail (1943/126 m/Mark Sandrich)
(10:15 PM) (comedy) MAS*H (1970/116 m/Robert Altman)
Friday, September 11, 2020
(12:30 AM) (war) The Story of Dr. Wassell (1944/136 m/Cecil B. DeMille)
(3:00 AM) (war) Cry ‘Havoc’ (1944/97 m/Richard Thorpe)
(4:45 AM) (war) Battle Circus (1953/90 m/Richard Brooks)
(6:30 AM) (short) Angel Of Mercy (1939/10 m/Edward L. Cahn)
(6:45 AM) (drama) The White Angel (1936/92 m/William Dieterle)
(9:30 AM) (comedy) Bud Abbott and Lou Costello In Hollywood (1945/83 m/S. Sylvan Simon)
(10:00 AM) (comedy) Merton of the Movies (1947/82 m/Robert Alton)
(11:30 AM) (musical) Show Girl in Hollywood (1930/78 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(1:00 PM) (comedy) Goldie Gets Along (1933/68 m/Malcolm St. Clair)
(2:15 PM) (musical) Talent Scout (1937/62 m/William Clemens)
(3:30 PM) (comedy) Pick A Star (1937/70 m/Edward Sedgwick)
(4:45 PM) (comedy) Boy Meets Girl (1938/86 m/Lloyd Bacon)
(6:15 PM) (comedy) Movie Crazy (1932/96 m/Clyde Bruckman)
(8:00 PM) (adventure) She (1965/106 m/Robert Day)
(10:00 PM) (adventure) Clash of the Titans (1981/118 m/Desmond Davis)
Saturday, September 12, 2020
(12:15 AM) (comedy) Casino Royale (1967/131 m/John Huston, et. al.)
(2:45 AM) (horror) Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959/78 m/Edward D. Wood, Jr.)
(4:15 AM) (drama) Reefer Madness (1936/66 m/Louis Gasnier)
(5:15 AM) (premiere) Sex Madness (1938/52 m/?
(6:15 AM) (comedy) A Slight Case Of Murder (1938/85 m/Lloyd Bacon)
(9:00 AM) (premiere) MGM CARTOONS: Droopy’s Double Trouble (1951/7 m/Fred [Tex] Avery)
(9:09 AM) (short) High Dive Kids (1956/8 m/?)
(9:18 AM) (short) Sitka and Juneau: A Tale of Two Cities (1940/9 m/?)
(9:28 AM) (drama) Daredevil Drivers (1938/60 m/B. Reeves Eason)
(9:30 AM) (serial) TERRY AND THE PIRATES: Pyre of Death (1940/17 m/?)
(10:00 AM) (premiere) POPEYE: Pip-Eye, Pup-Eye, Poop-Eye An' Peep-Eye (1942/6 m/Dave Fleischer)
(10:08 AM) (adventure) The Lion Hunters (1951/80 m/Ford Beebe)
(11:30 AM) (short) The Rear Gunner (1943/20 m/Ray Enright)
(12:00 PM) (crime) Double Indemnity (1944/108 m/Billy Wilder)
(2:00 PM) (drama) Birdman of Alcatraz (1962/149 m/John Frankenheimer)
(4:45 PM) (war) The Sand Pebbles (1966/179 m/Robert Wise)
(8:00 PM) (suspense) Out of the Past (1947/97 m/Jacques Tourneur)
(10:00 PM) (drama) Experiment Perilous (1944/91 m/Jacques Tourneur)
Sunday, September 13, 2020
(12:00 AM) (suspense) Danger Signal (1945/78 m/Robert Florey)
(1:30 AM) (drama) The China Syndrome (1979/122 m/James Bridges)
(3:45 AM) (horror) Coma (1978/113 m/Michael Crichton)
(6:00 AM) (comedy) See Here, Private Hargrove (1944/101 m/Wesley Ruggles)
(9:00 AM) (musical) Summer Stock (1950/109 m/Charles Walters)
(10:00 AM) (suspense) Danger Signal (1945/78 m/Robert Florey)
(11:30 AM) (comedy) The Whole Town’s Talking (1935/93 m/John Ford)
(1:15 PM) (drama) The Last Hurrah (1958/121 m/John Ford)
(3:30 PM) (drama) Sweet Bird Of Youth (1962/120 m/Richard Brooks)
(5:45 PM) (adventure) The Black Stallion (1979/117 m/Carroll Ballard)
(8:00 PM) (musical) Carmen Jones (1954/105 m/Otto Preminger)
(10:00 PM) (drama) Bright Road (1953/68 m/Gerald Mayer)
(11:30 PM) (musical) Sun Valley Serenade (1941/86 m/H. Bruce Humberstone)
Monday, September 14, 2020
(1:15 AM) (silent) The Ace of Hearts (1921/74 m/Wallace Worsley)
(6:00 AM) (musical) Playing Around (1930/66 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(7:15 AM) (drama) Union Depot (1932/67 m/Alfred E. Green)
(9:30 AM) (drama) When In Rome (1952/78 m/Clarence Brown)
(10:00 AM) (drama) The Toast Of New York (1937/109 m/Rowland V. Lee)
(12:00 PM) (musical) Fashions of 1934 (1934/78 m/William Dieterle)
(1:30 PM) (suspense) Kind Lady (1935/76 m/George B. Seitz)
(3:00 PM) (romance) Sylvia Scarlett (1935/95 m/George Cukor)
(4:45 PM) (romance) Nobody Lives Forever (1946/100 m/Jean Negulesco)
(6:30 PM) (suspense) Cast a Dark Shadow (1955/83 m/Lewis Gilbert)
(8:00 PM) (short) Star Night At the Cocoanut Grove (1934/20 m/Louis Lewyn)
(8:00 PM) (short) A Night At The Movies (1937/10 m/Roy Rowland)
(8:00 PM) (comedy) The Pip From Pittsburg (1931/21 m/James Parrott)
(8:00 PM) (short) Movie Pests (1944/10 m/Will Jason)
(8:00 PM) (short) So You Want To Be A Detective (1948/11 m/Richard Bare)
(8:00 PM) (short) Los Angeles “Wonder City of the West” (1935/8 m/?)
(8:00 PM) (short) The Man In The Barn (1937/11 m/Jacques Tourneur)
(8:00 PM) (short) Smash Your Baggage (1932/9 m/Roy Mack)
(10:00 PM) (short) Asleep In The Feet (1933/19 m/Gus Meins)
(10:00 PM) (comedy) Top Flat (1935/19 m/William Terhune)
(10:00 PM) (short) The Bargain of the Century (1933/19 m/Charley Chase)
(11:15 PM) (short) You’re Telling Me (1932/19 m/Lloyd French)
(11:15 PM) (short) Call A Cop! (1931/20 m/George Stevens)
(11:15 PM) (short) Too Many Women (1932/19 m/Lloyd French)
(11:15 PM) (short) Air-Tight (1931/17 m/George Stevens)
Tuesday, September 15, 2020
(12:45 AM) (comedy) Buzzin’ Around (1933/20 m/Alfred J. Goulding)
(12:45 AM) (short) Whispering Whoopee (1930/21 m/James W. Horne)
(2:00 AM) (short) Women In Hiding (1940/22 m/Joseph Newman)
(2:00 AM) (short) Drunk Driving (1939/21 m/David Miller)
(2:00 AM) (short) The Public Pays (1936/18 m/Errol Taggart)
(3:15 AM) (short) His Silent Racket (1933/18 m/Charley Chase
(3:15 AM) (short) Girl Shock (1930/20 m/James W. Horne)
(3:15 AM) (short) Fallen Arches (1933/19 m/Gus Meins)
(3:15 AM) (short) The Chases of Pimple Street (1934/20 m/Charles Parrott)
(3:15 AM) (short) Four Parts (1934/18 m/Eddie Dunn)
(5:00 AM) (short) So You Want To Play The Piano (1956/10 m/Richard Bare)
(5:00 AM) (short) Apples To You! (1934/20 m/Leigh Jason)
(5:00 AM) (short) Zion: Canyon of Colour (1934/8 m/?)
(5:00 AM) (short) How To Sleep (1935/11 m/Nick Grindé)
(5:00 AM) (short) Double Talk (1937/11 m/Lloyd French)
(5:00 AM) (western) Pony Express Days (1940/20 m/B. Reeves Eason)
(5:00 AM) (comedy) Important Business (1944/11 m/Will Jason)
(5:00 AM) (short) The Black Network (1936/21 m/Roy Mack)
(5:00 AM) (short) And She Learned About Dames (1934/?/?)
(5:00 AM) (short) The Fabulous Fraud (1948/11 m/Edward L. Cahn)
(7:15 AM) (suspense) Man Hunt (1933/64 m/Irving Cummings)
(8:30 AM) (suspense) Nick Carter, Master Detective (1939/59 m/Jac ques Tourneur)
(9:45 AM) (suspense) Phantom Raiders (1940/70 m/Jacques Tourneur)
(11:00 AM) (suspense) Sky Murder (1940/72 m/George B. Seitz)
(12:15 PM) (suspense) Star Of Midnight (1935/90 m/Stephen Roberts)
(2:00 PM) (suspense) Miracles For Sale (1939/71 m/Tod Browning)
(3:15 PM) (suspense) Eyes In The Night (1942/80 m/Fred Zinnemann)
(4:45 PM) (suspense) The Hidden Eye (1945/69 m/Richard Whorf)
(6:00 PM) (suspense) Stage Fright (1950/110 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
(9:00 PM) (premiere) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 3) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
(9:15 PM) (documentary) Harlan County, U.S.A. (1976/105 m/Barbara Kopple)
(11:15 PM) (documentary) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 3) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
Wednesday, September 16, 2020
(12:30 AM) (drama) The Virgin Suicides (1999/97 m/Sofia Coppola)
(2:30 AM) (premiere) Loving Couples (1964/113 m/Mai Zetterling)
(6:30 AM) (premiere) 10 to 11 (2009/110 m/Pelin Esmer)
(9:30 AM) (comedy) Losing Ground (1982/86 m/Kathleen Collins)
(10:00 AM) (premiere) Strangers In Good Company (1990/101 m/Cynthia Scott)
(12:00 PM) (short) Wagon Wheels West (1943/17 m/B. Reeves Eason)
(12:30 PM) (western) Westward The Women (1951/116 m/William A. Wellman)
(2:45 PM) (western) Strange Lady In Town (1955/112 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(4:45 PM) (western) Rachel and the Stranger (1948/93 m/Norman Foster)
(6:15 PM) (western) Cat Ballou (1965/96 m/Elliot Silverstein)
(8:00 PM) (musical) A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court (1949/107 m/Tay Garnett)
(10:00 PM) (premiere) Peggy Sue Got Married (1986/103 m/Francis Ford Coppola)
Thursday, September 17, 2020
(12:00 AM) (premiere) Repeat Performance (1947/93 m/Alfred Werker)
(1:45 AM) (drama) Turn Back the Clock (1933/79 m/Edgar Selwyn)
(3:15 AM) (adventure) The Boy and the Pirates (1960/84 m/Bert I. Gordon)
(5:00 AM) (romance) Berkeley Square (1933/88 m/Frank Lloyd)
(6:45 AM) (short) MGM Is On The Move! (1964/36 m/?)
(7:45 AM) (crime) Angel Face (1953/91 m/Otto Preminger)
(9:30 AM) (western) River of No Return (1954/91 m/Otto Preminger)
(11:15 AM) (suspense) Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965/107 m/Otto Preminger)
(1:15 PM) (drama) The Man with the Golden Arm (1956/119 m/Otto Preminger)
(3:30 PM) (drama) Anatomy Of A Murder (1959/161 m/Otto Preminger)
(6:15 PM) (suspense) Laura (1944/88 m/Otto Preminger)
(8:00 PM) (comedy) People Will Talk (1951/110 m/Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
(10:00 PM) (drama) Magnificent Obsession (1954/108 m/Douglas Sirk)
Friday, September 18, 2020
(12:00 AM) (drama) A Man to Remember (1938/78 m/Garson Kanin)
(1:30 AM) (drama) The Citadel (1938/113 m/King Vidor)
(3:30 AM) (drama) Red Beard (1965/185 m/Akira Kurosawa)
(6:45 AM) (drama) The Doctor and the Girl (1949/98 m/Curtis Bernhardt)
(9:30 AM) (romance) Dark Victory (1939/104 m/Edmund Goulding)
(10:30 AM) (romance) The Painted Veil (1934/84 m/Richard Boleslawski)
(12:00 PM) (romance) Conquest (1937/112 m/Clarence Brown)
(2:00 PM) (romance) Camille (1937/109 m/George Cukor)
(4:00 PM) (comedy) Ninotchka (1939/110 m/Ernst Lubitsch)
(6:00 PM) Grand Hotel (1932/113 m/Edmund Goulding)
(8:00 PM) (drama) The Rain People (1969/101 m/Francis Ford Coppola)
(10:00 PM) (drama) Harry and Tonto (1974/115 m/Paul Mazursky)
Saturday, September 19, 2020
(12:00 AM) (comedy) Lost In America (1985/91 m/Albert Brooks)
(2:00 AM) (premiere) Wild At Heart (1990/124 m/David Lynch)
(4:15 AM) (premiere) Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992/135 m/David Lynch)
(6:30 AM) (suspense) Blackmail (1939/81 m/H.C. Potter)
(9:00 AM) (premiere) MGM CARTOONS: The Flea Circus (1954/7 m/Fred [Tex] Avery)
(9:09 AM) (short) Holland Sailing (1956/8 m/?)
(9:18 AM) (short) Alluring Alaska (1941/9 m/?)
(9:27 AM) (western) Guns Of Hate (1948/62 m/Lesley Selander)
(9:30 AM) (serial) TERRY AND THE PIRATES: The Secret of the Temple (1940/17 m/?)
(10:00 AM) (premiere) POPEYE: Olive Oyl and Water Don't Mix (1933/7 m/Dave Fleischer)
(10:08 AM) (adventure) African Treasure (1952/70 m/Ford Beebe)
(11:30 AM) (short) Roaring Guns (1944/19 m/Jean Negulesco)
(12:00 PM) (drama) Going Home (1971/97 m/Herbert B. Leonard)
(1:45 PM) (western) 3:10 To Yuma (1957/92 m/Delmer Daves)
(3:30 PM) (drama) Fail-Safe (1964/112 m/Sidney Lumet)
(5:30 PM) (war) Sergeant York (1941/134 m/Howard Hawks)
(8:00 PM) (musical) Guys and Dolls (1955/149 m/Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
(10:45 PM) (crime) Midnight Alibi (1934/58 m/Alan Crosland)
Sunday, September 20, 2020
(12:00 AM) (suspense) Gilda (1946/110 m/Charles Vidor)
(2:15 AM) (sci-fi) Rollerball (1975/125 m/Norman Jewison)
(4:30 AM) (sci-fi) Countdown (1968/101 m/Robert Altman)
(6:15 AM) (drama) All The King’s Men (1949/110 m/Robert Rossen)
(9:15 AM) (comedy) It Happened One Night (1934/105 m/Frank Capra)
(10:00 AM) (suspense) Gilda (1946/110 m/Charles Vidor)
(12:15 PM) (musical) Going My Way (1944/127 m/Leo McCarey)
(2:30 PM) (musical) Royal Wedding (1951/93 m/Stanley Donen)
(4:15 PM) (musical) Dangerous When Wet (1953/95 m/Charles Walters)
(6:00 PM) (comedy) Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner? (1967/108 m/Stanley Kramer)
(8:00 PM) (premiere) Tamango (1959/100 m/John Berry)
(10:00 PM) (adventure) Tarzan’s Peril (1951/79 m/Byron Haskin)
(11:30 PM) (drama) The Harlem Globetrotters (1951/77 m/Phil Brown)
Monday, September 21, 2020
(1:00 AM) (premiere) Where Now Are The Dreams Of Youth? (1932/86 m/Yasujiro Ozu)
(2:45 AM) (premiere) LONE WOLF AND CUB: Baby Cart in the Land of Demons (1973/90 m/Kenji Misumi)
(4:30 AM) (premiere) LONE WOLF AND CUB: White Heaven In Hell (1974/84 m/Yoshiyuki Kuroda)
(6:00 AM) (silent) Flesh and the Devil (1926/112 m/Clarence Brown)
(9:15 AM) (romance) To Have and Have Not (1944/100 m/Howard Hawks)
(10:15 AM) (crime) The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946/113 m/Tay Garnett)
(12:30 PM) (romance) Possessed (1931/76 m/Clarence Brown)
(2:00 PM) (comedy) Woman of the Year (1942/114 m/George Stevens)
(4:15 PM) (romance) Swing Shift (1984/100 m/Jonathan Demme)
(6:00 PM) (drama) Stromboli (1950/106 m/Roberto Rossellini)
(8:00 PM) (drama) A Cry In The Dark (1988/121 m/Fred Schepisi)
(10:15 PM) (romance) The French Lieutenant’s Woman (1981/124 m/Karel Reisz)
Tuesday, September 22, 2020
(2:30 AM) (drama) Kramer vs. Kramer (1979/105 m/Robert Benton)
(4:30 AM) (drama) Wednesday’s Child (1934/68 m/John Robertson)
(6:00 AM) (documentary) MGM Parade Show #4 (1955/26 m/?)
(6:30 AM) (epic) Around The World In 80 Days (1956/182 m/Michael Anderson)
(9:45 AM) (musical) Bitter Sweet (1940/93 m/W.S. Van Dyke II)
(11:30 AM) (war) In Which We Serve (1942/115 m/Noel Coward)
(1:30 PM) (comedy) Private Lives (1931/84 m/Sidney Franklin)
(3:00 PM) (romance) We Were Dancing (1942/95 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
(4:45 PM) (comedy) Blithe Spirit (1945/96 m/David Lean)
(6:30 PM) (romance) Brief Encounter (1945/87 m/David Lean)
(9:00 PM) (premiere) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 4) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
(9:15 PM) (premiere) The Cave of the Yellow Dog (2005/89 m/Byambasuren Davaa)
(11:00 PM) (documentary) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 4) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
Wednesday, September 23, 2020
(12:15 AM) (crime) Salaam Bombay! (1988/114 m/Mira Nair)
(2:30 AM) (drama) Daughters of the Dust (1991/112 m/Julie Dash)
(4:30 AM) (premiere) Krane’s Confectionary (1951/103 m/Astrid Henning-Jensen)
(6:30 AM) (premiere) Mikey and Nicky (1976/107 m/Elaine May)
(9:45 AM) (premiere) The Juniper Tree (1990/79 m/Nietzchka Keene)
(10:15 AM) (premiere) Women Who Loved Cinema (Part 1 & 2) (2002/114 m/Marianne Khoury)
(12:15 PM) (comedy) Life Begins For Andy Hardy (1941/101 m/George B. Seitz)
2:00 PM) (musical) Girl Crazy (1943/Norman Taurog)
(4:00 PM) (adventure) The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (1939/91 m/Richard Thorpe)
(6:00 PM) (comedy) Ah, Wilderness! (1935/98 m/Clarence Brown)\
(8:00 PM) (drama) Boys Town (1938/93 m/Norman Taurog)
(9:45 PM) (drama) The Human Comedy (1943/117 m/Clarence Brown)
Thursday, September 24, 2020
(12:00 AM) (adventure) The Black Stallion (1979/117 m/Carroll Ballard)
(2:15 AM) (musical) Strike Up The Band (1940/120 m/Busby Berkeley)
(4:30 AM) (crime) Killer McCoy (1947/104 m/Roy Rowland)
(6:15 AM) (romance) Wuthering Heights (1939/104 m/William Wyler)
(9:15 AM) (romance) Kitty Foyle (1940/108 m/Sam Wood)
(10:15 AM) (drama) Cass Timberlane (1947/119 m/George Sidney)
(12:15 PM) (drama) The Bad and the Beautiful (1952/118 m/Vincente Minnelli)
(2:30 PM) (drama) Magnificent Obsession (1954/108 m/Douglas Sirk)
(4:30 PM) (drama) All That Heaven Allows (1955/89 m/Douglas Sirk)
(6:15 PM) Written On The Wind (1957/99 m/Douglas Sirk)
(8:00 PM) (drama) Young Dr. Kildare (1938/82 m/Harold S. Bucquet)
(9:30 PM) (drama) The Young Doctors (1961/103 m/Phil Karlson)
(11:30 PM) (comedy) The Hospital (1971/102 m/Arthur Hiller)
Friday, September 25, 2020
(1:30 AM) (drama) No Way Out (1950/107 m/Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
(3:30 AM) (drama) The Girl In White (1952/93 m/John Sturges)
(5:04 AM) (short) Her Honor, The Nurse (1956/8 m/Harry W. Smith)
(5:30 AM) (drama) Emergency Hospital (1956/63 m/Lee Sholem)
(6:45 AM) (horror) War of the Planets (1965/97 m/Antonio Margheriti)
(9:30 AM) (horror) The Cosmic Monster (1958/72 m/Gilbert Gunn)
(10:00 AM) (horror) Satellite In The Sky (1956/84 m/Paul Dickson)
(11:30 AM) (horror) The Green Slime (1969/90 m/Kinji Fukasaku)
(1:15 PM) (horror) Queen of Outer Space (1958/80 m/Edward Bernds)
(2:45 PM) (horror) The Wild, Wild Planet (1965/94 m/Anthony Dawson)
(4:30 PM) (horror) Village of the Damned (1960/77 m/Wolf Rilla)
(6:00 PM) (horror) Children of the Damned (1964/90 m/Anton M. Leader)
(9:00 PM) (western) The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976/136 m/Clint Eastwood)
(10:30 PM) (western) Alvarez Kelly (1966/110 m/Edward Dmytryk)
Saturday, September 26, 2020
(12:45 AM) (western) Springfield Rifle (1952/93 m/Andre de Toth)
(6:00 AM) (comedy) Larceny, Inc. (1942/95 m/Lloyd Bacon)
(9:00 AM) (premiere) MGM CARTOONS: The First Bad Man (1955/7 m/Fred [Tex] Avery)
(9:09 AM) (short) Salar, The Leaper (1957/8 m/Douglas Sinclair)
(9:18 AM) (documentary) Land of Alaska Nellie (1940/9 m/?)
(9:28 AM) (western) Gun Law (1938/60 m/David Howard)
(9:30 AM) (serial) WILD WEST DAYS: Death Rides The Range (1937/?/?)
(10:00 AM) (premiere) POPEYE: Many Tanks (1933/7 m/Dave Fleischer)
(10:09 AM) (adventure) Bomba and the Jungle Girls (1952/70 m/Ford Beebe)
(11:30 AM) (short) Heavenly Music (1943/22 m/Josef Berne)
(12:00 PM) (drama) The Long Voyage Home (1940/106 m/John Ford)
(2:00 PM) (epic) Quo Vadis (1951/174 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
(5:15 PM) (war) Where Eagles Dare (1968/155 m/Brian G. Hutton)
(8:00 PM) (romance) The Red Shoes (1948/134 m/Michael Powell)
(10:30 PM) (war) Night Ambush (1958/105 m/Michael Powell)
Sunday, September 27, 2020
(12:15 AM) (drama) They Won’t Believe Me (1947/90 m/Irving Pichel)
(2:00 AM) (horror) Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954/79 m/Jack Arnold)
(3:30 AM) (horror) UFO (1956/88 m/Winston Jones)
(5:15 AM) (documentary) MGM Parade Show #4 (1955/26 m/?)
(6:00 AM) (romance) Mata Hari (1931/89 m/George Fitzmaurice)
(7:45 AM) (comedy) The Talk Of The Town (1942/117 m/George Stevens)
(10:00 AM) (drama) They Won't Believe Me (1947/90 m/Irving Pichel)
(11:45 AM) (comedy) Don't Make Waves (1967/97 m/Alexander Mackendrick)
(1:30 PM) (drama) Honeysuckle Rose (1980/119 m/Jerry Schatzberg)
(3:45 PM) (romance) Now, Voyager (1942/117 m/Irving Rapper)
(6:00 PM) (drama) Executive Suite (1954/104 m/Robert Wise)
(10:15 PM) (drama) The Decks Ran Red (1958/84 m/Andrew L. Stone)
(12:00 AM) (comedy) Our Modern Maidens (1929/75 m/Jack Conway)
(2:00 AM) (musical) Black Orpheus (1959/108 m/Marcel Camus)
(4:00 AM) (romance) Orpheus (1950/96 m/Jean Cocteau)
Monday, September 28, 2020
(6:00 AM) (comedy) Not So Dumb (1930/76 m/King Vidor)
(7:30 AM) (drama) Street Scene (1931/79 m/King Vidor)
(9:00 AM) (adventure) Bird of Paradise (1932/82 m/King Vidor)
(10:30 AM) (drama) Our Daily Bread (1934/74 m/King Vidor)
(11:45 AM) (western) Northwest Passage (1940/127 m/King Vidor)
(2:00 PM) (drama) H.M. Pulham, Esq. (1941/120 m/King Vidor)
(4:15 PM) (drama) The Fountainhead (1949/113 m/King Vidor)
(6:15 PM) (crime) Lightning Strikes Twice (1951/90 m/King Vidor)
(9:00 PM) (comedy) You Can't Take It With You (1938/126 m/Frank Capra)
(10:30 PM) (drama) Ship of Fools (1965/149 m/Stanley Kramer)
(1:15 AM) (premiere) Titicut Follies (1967/84 m/Frederick Wiseman)
(3:00 AM) (drama) The Sign of the Ram (1948/84 m/John Sturges)
(5:00 AM) (documentary) Private Screenings: Liza Minnelli (2010/45 m/Sean Cameron)
Tuesday, September 29, 2020
(6:00 AM) (drama) Blossoms in the Dust (1941/99 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
(9:00 AM) (romance) Mrs. Parkington (1944/124 m/Tay Garnett)
(10:30 AM) (drama) Madame Curie (1943/124 m/Mervyn Le Roy)
(1:00 PM) (romance) The Valley of Decision (1945/118 m/Tay Garnett)
(3:15 PM) (romance) Pride and Prejudice (1940/118 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
(5:30 PM) (war) Mrs. Miniver (1942/134 m/William Wyler)
(8:00 PM) (premiere) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 5) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
(9:15 PM) (drama) Middle of Nowhere (2012/101 m/Ava Duvernay)
(11:15 PM) (documentary) Women Make Film: A New Road Movie Through Cinema (episode 5) (2019/61 m/Mark Cousins)
Wednesday, September 30, 2020
(12:30 AM) (drama) Beau Travail (1999/89 m/Claire Denis)
(6:00 AM) (premiere) Wasp (2003/26 m/Andrea Arnold)
(10:00 AM) (drama) Antonia's Line (1995/103 m/Marleen Gorris)
(12:00 PM) (premiere) The Green-Eyed Blonde (1957/72 m/Bernard Girard)
(1:15 PM) (crime) Ring of Fire (1961/91/Andrew L. Stone)
(2:45 PM) (drama) Untamed Youth (1957/80 m/Howard W. Koch)
(4:15 PM) (musical) Jailhouse Rock (1957/97 m/Richard Thorpe)
(6:00 PM) (drama) Rebel Without A Cause (1955/111 m/Nicholas Ray)
(8:00 PM) (drama) Stand and Deliver (1988/103 m/Ramon Menendez)
(10:00 PM) (drama) The Blackboard Jungle (1955/101 m/Richard Brooks)
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2020.08.16 23:12 Britneyfan456 Which Actress had the best run in the 50s?

It could be best run in terms of anything
Ingrid Bergman: Fear, Europe '51, Stromboli, Anastasia, Journey to Italy, Joan of Arc at the Stake, Elena and Her Men, and The Inn of the Sixth Happiness.
Dorothy Dandridge: Bright Road, Carmen Jones, Island in the Sun, Tamango, The Decks Ran Red, Porgy and Bess, Remains to Be Seen, The Harlem Globetrotters, and Tarzan's Peril.
Doris Day: Young Man with a Horn, Tea for Two, The West Point Story, Storm Warning, Lullabye of Broadway, On Moonlight Bay, April in Paris, Calamity Jane, Young at Heart, Love Me or Leave Me, The Man Who Knew Too Much, Teacher’s Pet, and Pillow Talk.
Grace Kelly: High Noon, Dial M for Murder, Rear Window, The Bridges at Toko-Ri, The Country Girl, To Catch a Thief, and High Society.
Jayne Mansfield: Female Jungle, The Girl Can’t Help It, The Wayward Bus, The Burglar, Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, Kiss Them for Me, The Sheriff of Fractured Jaw, Illegal, Hell on Frisco Bay, Pete Kelly's Blues, and Underwater!.
Marilyn Monroe: All About Eve, The Asphalt Jungle, Monkey Business, Niagara, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, How to Marry a Millionaire, There’s No Business Like Show Business, The 7 Year Itch, Bus Stop, The Prince and the Showgirl, Some Like It Hot, We're Not Married!, Bus Stop, Don't Bother to Knock, Love Nest, O. Henry's Full House, Let's Make It Legal, River of No Return, A Ticket to Tomahawk, As Young as You Feel, The Fireball, Home Town Story, and Right Cross.
Kim Novak: Pushover, Picnic, The Man with the Golden Arm, The Eddy Duchin Story, Pal Joey, Vertigo, Bell Book and Candle, Middle of the Night, The French Line, 5 Against the House, Jeanne Eagels, Pushover , Phffft, and Son of Sinbad.
Thelma Ritter: All About Eve, Perfect Strangers, As Young as You Feel, The Model and the Marriage Broker, With a Song in My Heart, Titanic, Pickup on South Street, Rear Window, Daddy Long Legs, The Proud and Profane, A Hole in the Head, and Pillow Talk.
Jane Russell: His Kind of Woman, The Las Vegas Story, Macao, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Underwater!,Road to Bali,Foxfire, Double Dynamite, Macao, Son of Paleface, Hot Blood, Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, The French Line, The Revolt of Mamie Stover,Montana Belle,The Tall Men, The Fuzzy Pink Nightgown, and The Revolt of Mamie Stover.
Elizabeth Taylor: The Last Time I Saw Paris, Quo Vadis, Beau Brummell, Father of the Bride, A Place in the Sun, Ivanhoe, Giant, Raintree County, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Elephant Walk,Love Is Better Than Ever,The Big Hangover, and Suddenly Last Summer.
Deborah Kerr: Quo Vadis, From Here to Eternity, The King and I, An Affair to Remember, Tea and Sympathy, Separate Tables, Heaven Knows, Mr. Allison, Julius Caesar, Dream Wife, Young Bess, King Solomon's Mines, The Proud and Profane, and Bonjour Tristesse.
Anne Baxter: All About Eve, The Ten Commandments, I Confess, Chase a Crooked Shadow, The Blue Gardenia,Three Violent People, The Come On, One Desire, The Spoilers, Follow the Sun, A Ticket to Tomahawk, The Outcasts of Poker Flat, My Wife's Best Friend, O. Henry's Full House, Carnival Story, Bedevilled, and Summer of the Seventeenth Doll.
Audrey Hepburn: Sabrina, Funny Face, Roman Holiday, Love in the Afternoon,The Nun's Story,War and Peace, One Wild Oat, The Lavender Hill Mob, Monte Carlo Baby, Secret People, Laughter in Paradise, Green Mansions, and Young Wives' Tale.
Gloria Grahame: In a lonely Place, The Big Heat, Human Desire, Sudden Fear, The Bad and the Beautiful, Odds Against Tomorrow, The Man Who Never Was, Naked Alibi, Macao, Man on a Tightrope, The Glass Wall, and The Greatest Show on Earth.
Katharine Hepburn: The African Queen, Suddenly, Last Summer, The Rainmaker, Summertime, Pat and Mike, and Desk set.
Giulietta Masina: Nights of Cabiria, La Strada, Buonanotte... avvocato!, Fortunella, Europe '51, and Without Pity.
Shelley Winters: The Diary of Anne Frank, A Place in the Sun, The Night of the Hunter, Odds Against Tomorrow, The Big Knife, I Am a Camera, Playgirl, Mambo, Tennessee Champ, Executive Suite, To Dorothy a Son, Saskatchewan, Phone Call from a Stranger, Untamed Frontier, My Man and I, Meet Danny Wilson, Winchester '73, Frenchie, Behave Yourself!, South Sea Sinner, He Ran All the Way, and The Raging Tide.
Setsuko Hara: Tokyo Story, Early Summer, Shuu, Shirayuki-sensei to kodomo-tachi, Repast, The Idiot, Sound of the Mountain, oban, a holiday in Tokyo, Non-chan Kumo ni Noru, Oban, The Three Treasures, and Tokyo Twilight.
Natalie Wood: The Searchers, Rebel Without a Cause, Marjorie Morningstar, Kings Go Forth, The Girl He Left Behind, Bombers B-52, A Cry in the Night, The Burning Hills, Just for You, one desire, The Silver Chalice, No Sad Songs for Me, The Jackpot, Our Very Own, Never a Dull Moment, The Blue Veil, and The Rose Bowl Story.
Lee Remick: A Face in the Crowd, Anatomy of a Murder, The Long, Hot Summer, and These Thousand Hills.
Eva Marie Saint: On the Waterfront, North by Northwest, Raintree County, A Hatful of Rain, and That Certain Feeling.
Bette Davis: The Star, All About Eve, Another Man's Poison, Phone Call from a Stranger, The Catered Affair, Storm Center, The Scapegoat, The Virgin Queen, and John Paul Jones.
Kim Hunter: A Streetcar Named Desire, Storm Center, The Young Stranger, Deadline – U.S.A., Money, Women and Guns, Bermuda Affair, and Anything Can Happen.
Sophia Loren: Houseboat, That Kind of Woman, It Started in Naples, The Pride and the Passion, Anna, Attila, Aida, Era lui... sì! sì!, The Piano Tuner Has Arrived, Quo Vadis, Owner of the Vapor, Brief Rapture, Milano miliardaria, Hearts at Sea, Bluebeard's Six Wives, Io sono il capataz, Il voto, Totò Tarzan, La Favorita, The Dream of Zorro, We Find Ourselves in the Gallery, The Country of the Campanelli, Woman of the Red Sea, Good Folk's Sunday, Two Nights with Cleopatra, Girls Marked Danger, The Anatomy of Love, A Day in Court, A Slice of Life, The Key, The Black Orchid, That Kind of Woman, Lucky to Be a Woman, Boy on a Dolphin, Desire Under the Elms, Legend of the Lost, Too Bad She's Bad, The River Girl, The Miller's Beautiful Wife, Scandal in Sorrento, The Sign of Venus, Poverty and Nobility, Neapolitan Carousel, and The Gold of Naples.
Donna Reed: From Here to Eternity, The Whole Truth, Backlash, Beyond Mombasa, The Far Horizons, Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder, Scandal Sheet, Hangman's Knot, Saturday's Hero, Raiders of the Seven Seas, Gun Fury, Three Hours to Kill, The Last Time I Saw Paris, The Caddy, They Rode West, Ransom!, and The Benny Goodman Story.
Lana Turner: Diane, The Bad and the Beautiful, Betrayed, Peyton Place, Imitation of Life, The Sea Chase, Another Time, Another Place, The Lady Takes a Flyer, The Rains of Ranchipur, The Prodigal, Latin Lovers, Flame and the Flesh, The Merry Widow, A Life of Her Own, and Mr. Imperium
Judy Garland: A Star Is Born and Summer Stock.
Patricia Neal: A Face in the Crowd, The Day the Earth Stood Still, Something for the Birds, Week-End with Father, Raton Pass, Bright Leaf, The Breaking Point, Operation Pacific, Three Secrets, Stranger from Venus, La tua donna, Diplomatic Courier, and Washington Story.
Joan Crawford: Johnny Guitar, The Damned Don't Cry, Sudden Fear, Torch Song, Goodbye, My Fancy, Sudden Fear, Female on the Beach, Autumn Leaves, This Woman Is Dangerous, Harriet Craig, The Story of Esther Costello, Queen Bee, and The Best of Everything.
Judy Holliday: Born Yesterday,The Marrying Kind, Phffft, It Should Happen to You, Full of Life, and The Solid Gold Cadillac . Brigitte Bardot: Manina, the Girl in the Bikini, Crazy for Love, His Father's Portrait, Act of Love, The Long Teeth, Concert of Intrigue, Royal Affairs in Versailles, The Light Across the Street, Doctor at Sea, School for Love, The Grand Maneuver, Nero's Weekend, Caroline and the Rebels, La Parisienne, Babette Goes to War, The Night Heaven Fell, The Female, Come Dance with Me, The Bride Is Much Too Beautiful, In Case of Adversity, Helen of Troy, Naughty Girl, Plucking the Daisy, and And God Created Woman.
Lauren Bacall: How to Marry a Millionaire, Designing Woman, Blood Alley, Young Man with a Horn, Written on the Wind, Woman's World, The Cobweb, The Gift of Love, and North West Frontier.
Gene Tierney: Night and the City, The Mating Season, Where the Sidewalk Ends, Plymouth Adventure, Way of a Gaucho, Never Let Me Go, Personal Affair, The Secret of Convict Lake, On the Riviera, Close to My Heart, The Left Hand of God, The Egyptian, and Black Widow.
Gloria Swanson: Sunset Boulevard, Nero's Weekend, and 3 for Bedroom C.
Vivien Leigh: A Streetcar Named Desire and The Deep Blue Sea.
Shirley MacLaine: Some Came Running, The Trouble with Harry, Around the World in 80 Days, Artists and Models, Hot Spell, Career, The Matchmaker, The Sheepman, and Ask Any Girl.
Debbie Reynolds: Singin' in the Rain, Three Little Words, The Affairs of Dobie Gillis, Tammy and the Bachelor, The Catered Affair, Bundle of Joy, Susan Slept Here, Athena, Skirts Ahoy!, The Tender Trap, Hit the Deck, I Love Melvin, Give a Girl a Break, Meet Me in Las Vegas, The Daughter of Rosie O'Grady, Two Weeks with Love, The Gazebo, It Started with a Kiss, This Happy Feeling, The Mating Game, and Say One for Me.
Cyd Charisse: The Band Wagon, Meet Me in Las Vegas, Singin' in the Rain, Brigadoon, Silk Stockings, Party Girl, Twilight for the Gods, Easy to Love, Deep in My Heart, It's Always Fair Weather, Tension, The Mark of the Renegade, The Wild North, and Sombrero.
Isuzu Yamada: Epitome, Home Sweet Home, Gendai-jin, Hakone Fūunroku, Boshizō, Tōjin Okichi, Takekurabe, Christ in Bronze, Neko to Shōzō to Futari no Onna, Throne of Blood, Nagareru, The Lower Depths, Black River, and Tokyo Twilight.
Barbara Stanwyck: All I Desire, Jeopardy, The File on Thelma Jordon, The Furies, No Man of Her Own, Titanic, To Please a Lady, Clash by Night, The Man with a Cloak, The Moonlighter, Blowing Wild, Witness to Murder, Executive Suite, Cattle Queen of Montana, The Violent Men, Escape to Burma, There's Always Tomorrow, Forty Guns, The Maverick Queen, and Trooper Hook.
Ava Gardener: Pandora and the Flying Dutchman, Show Boat, Mogambo, Barefoot Contessa, Bowhani Junction, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, On the Beach, The Band Wagon, Lone Star, My Forbidden Past, Ride, Vaquero!, Knights of the Round Table, The Sun Also Rises, The Naked Maja, and The Little Hut.
Janet Leigh: Angels in the Outfield, Scaramouche, The Naked Spur, Safari, Living It Up, Touch of Evil, Two Tickets to Broadway, It's a Big Country, Strictly Dishonorable, Houdini, Just This Once, Fearless Fagan, Prince Valiant, Walking My Baby Back Home, Jet Pilot, Confidentially Connie, Pete Kelly's Blues, My Sister Eileen, The Black Shield of Falworth, The Vikings, Rogue Cop, and The Perfect Furlough.
Jane Wyman: So Big, Stage Fright, Magnificent Obsession, All That Heaven Allows, Here Comes the Groom, The Glass Menagerie, Three Guys Named Mike, Three Lives, The Blue Veil, Just for You, The Story of Will Rogers, The Story of Will Rogers, Lucy Gallant, and Holiday for Lovers.
Claire Trevor: Borderline, Lucy Gallant, Best of the Badmen, Hard, Fast and Beautiful, My Man and I, Stop, You're Killing Me, The Stranger Wore a Gun, Hoodlum Empire, Marjorie Morningstar, The High and the Mighty, The Mountain, and Man Without a Star.
Maureen O'Hara: The Quiet Man, Rio Grande, The Wings of Eagles, Comanche Territory, At Sword's Point, Kangaroo, Against All Flags, Malaga, War Arrow, The Long Gray Line, The Magnificent Matador, Lady Godiva of Coventry, Lisbon, Everything but the Truth, Our Man in Havana, and Flame of Araby.
Claudette Colbert: Texas Lady, Royal Affairs in Versailles, Three Came Home, Thunder on the Hill, The Secret Fury, Let's Make It Legal, The Planter's Wife, and Daughters of Destiny.
Simone Signoret: Room at the Top, Manèges, La Ronde, Gunman in the Streets, Swiss Tour, Casque d'Or, Without Leaving an Address, Thérèse Raquin, Shadow and Light, Les Diaboliques, Death in the Garden, Mother Courage and Her Children, and The Crucible.
Anna Magnani: The Rose Tattoo, Bellissima, Camicie rosse, Volcano, Le Carrosse d'or, Carosello del varietà, Wild Is the Wind, The Awakening, and Nella città l'inferno.
Susan Hayward: Woman Obsessed, Thunder in the Sun, I Want to Live! , Top Secret Affair, The Conqueror, I'll Cry Tomorrow, Untamed, Soldier of Fortune, Garden of Evil, Demetrius and the Gladiators, White Witch Doctor, The Lusty Men, The President's Lady, The Snows of Kilimanjaro, With a Song in My Heart, Rawhide, David and Bathsheba, and I Can Get It for You Wholesale.
Olivia de Havilland: The Proud Rebel, Libel, That Lady, Not as a Stranger, The Ambassador's Daughter, and My Cousin Rachel.
Ruby Dee: The Jackie Robinson Story, No Way Out, The Bitter Cup, The Tall Target, Go, Man, Go!, Edge of the City, The Great American Pastime, Virgin Island, St. Louis Blues, and Take a Giant Step.
Diana Dors: Passport to Shame, Tread Softly Stranger, La ragazza del palio, The Long Haul, I Married a Woman, The Unholy Wife, Yield to the Night, Value for Money, An Alligator Named Daisy, Miss Tulip Stays the Night, A Kid for Two Farthings, The Lovely Place, As Long as They're Happy, The Weak and the Wicked, It's a Grand Life, The Great Game, The Saint's Return, Dance Hall, Is Your Honeymoon Really Necessary?, Face to Face, The Last Page, My Wife's Lodger, Worm's Eye View, and Lady Godiva Rides Again.
Lucille Ball: I Love Lucy Christmas Show, Forever, Darling, The Long, Long Trailer, The Magic Carpet, Fancy Pants, and The Fuller Brush Girl.
Jeanne Crain: Cheaper by the Dozen, Take Care of My Little Girl, People Will Talk, The Model and the Marriage Broker, Belles on Their Toes, I Full House, Vicki, Dangerous Crossing, City of Bad Men, Duel in the Jungle, Man Without a Star, Gentlemen Marry Brunettes, The Second Greatest Sex, The Girl Who Wasn't Wanted, Airborne Honeymoon, The Fastest Gun Alive, The Joker is Wild, The Tattered Dress, Escape to Memphis, Wait till Spring, The Great Gatsby, and The Trouble with Ruth.
Joan Collins: Facts and Fancies, Lady Godiva Rides Again, The Woman's Angle, Judgment Deferred, I Believe in You, Cosh Boy, Decameron Nights, Turn the Key Softly, Rally 'Round the Flag, Boys!, Sea Wife, The Bravados, Island in the Sun, The Wayward Bus, The Opposite Sex, The Girl in the Red Velvet Swing, The Virgin Queen, Land of the Pharaohs, The Good Die Young, Our Girl Friday, and The Square Ring.
Gene Tierney: Where the Sidewalk Ends, Night and the City, The Mating Season, Plymouth Adventure, The Secret of Convict Lake, On the Riviera, Close to My Heart, Way of a Gaucho, The Left Hand of God, Black Widow, Never Let Me Go, The Egyptian, and Personal Affair.
Agnes Moorehead: Tempest, The Bat, Night of the Quarter Moon, Raintree County, The True Story of Jesse James, Jeanne Eagels, The Story of Mankind, Untamed, All That Heaven Allows, The Left Hand of God, Magnificent Obsession, Pardners, The Revolt of Mamie Stover, The Swan, The Conqueror, Meet Me in Las Vegas, The Opposite Sex, Scandal at Scourie, Main Street to Broadway, Those Redheads from Seattle, Caged, The Story of Three Loves, Show Boat, Black Jack, Adventures of Captain Fabian, Fourteen Hours, The Blue Veil, and The Blazing Forest.
Celia Johnson: The Astonished Heart, The Holly and the Ivy, The Captain's Paradise, I Believe in You, A Kid for Two Farthings, and The Good Companions.
I’m going with Deborah Kerr with Elizabeth Taylor as the Runner up.
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2020.08.08 23:31 Eki75 Remembering Agnès, Arthur, Thomas, Anne, and Benoît

Remembering Agnès, Arthur, Thomas, Anne, and Benoît

Benoît, Arthur, Thomas, Anne

Agnès, Arthur, Thomas, Anne, and Benoît

Who are the victims? The police reviewed countless testimonies to better understand their personality, their centers of interest, their daily life. In appearance, they evoked a classic family portrait of the Nantes bourgeoisie. An ordinary family, loving, united, appreciated, happy.

Agnès
The mother, Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès, 48 ​​years old, was a deeply religious woman. Supervisor within the Blanche-de-Castille Catholic school complex in Nantes, she substituted for teachers from time to time. She diligently attended the church of Saint-Félix, participated in a prayer group, and gave her time to help others.
“She was looking after a child with autism,” says a parishioner. “On the outside, she had a bit of an old-fashioned appearance, but fairly modern in spirit,” as a neighbor describes her, she is portrayed as “a smiling, charismatic, pleasant, caring lady by many of her children at the school.” Friends of the children say that she “had a fairly demanding, even authoritarian, mother hen side. She was always on their backs.” Others put it into perspective: “She was eager to give them a good education… to open them up a little to the world… to everything.” “She wasn’t too rigid, though” tempers a relative. With all of her teens at home, she sometimes had concerns. When she learned, for example, that Arthur was using marijuana, she handled the problem with calmness. “She was not into authoritarianism. She favored dialogue and reasoning.”
Coming from a “good family,” Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès was born Agnès Hodanger on November 9, 1962, in Neuilly-sur-Seine. She spent her youth in Versailles with her parents, Nicole, a stay-at-home mother, Daniel, a food manager, surrounded by her three brothers, Guillaume, Étienne, and Bertrand. A student at the Notre-Dame-du-Grandchamp private Catholic high school, she followed a secretarial course of study. Not very passionate about her studies, she fell madly in love with a young man, Xavier, known as “Xav,” also from Versailles, “charmer and destroyer of girls.”
The honeymoon period of their relationship lasted for a moment, but then the rupture struck. Her fiancé decided that he preferred another woman and he left for the United States with only a backpack. Agnès Hodanger found herself alone at the age of 24 and had to face the death of her mother following cancer. “It was a big blow. Agnès dropped everything to take care of her,” recounts a family source discreetly.
Later, she met François, with whom lived for a short time. Arthur was born of their affair on July 7, 1990 in Versailles. Agnès was raising this child alone because François never wanted to be a father. He also left her, moving from Versailles for Toulouse, where he worked as a delivery driver. Between baby bottles and naps for the newborn, Agnès devoted herself to restoring porcelain in her workshop in Versailles. An art lover, she cultivated another passion: photography.
Agnès with baby Arthur
Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès reconnected with Agnès after returning from his American journey. She succumbed, “because she always had him in her heart,” confides a relative. He adopted Arthur. They never left each other apart from a brief separation in the mid-2000s.


Arthur
Arthur, the eldest, aged 20, was studying computer BTS at the Saint-Gabriel-Saint-Michel institution in Saint-Laurent-sur-Sèvre in Vendée.
In the Ouest-France newspaper, the school director, Patrick Rabiller, recalls a student “particularly charitable and deserving. He had been here for five years. He passed a baccalaureate in electronic engineering and was preparing for an engineering school.” On weekends, Arthur would leave his Vendée accommodation and return to Nantes to work in a pizzeria a stone’s throw from the family home from Friday evening to Sunday noon. The “handsome kid,” as he is sometimes known, multiplied his female conquests, liked to go out, and was known to be very charismatic. In the months before the tragic incident, he had been dating a young girl.
Arthur
Not always stable, Arthur is described by those around him as “hyperactive, with a strong character: a little messy, a little talkative, a little hot-headed.” He liked to put his exploits with his friends on YouTube. On a video posted on October 21, 2010, we see him having fun spitting fire and then taking a flashback in his face! He had got into some trouble in his youth - bike theft, suspension of his driving license – but he had since committed to a project: “He was planning to leave Vendée at the end of the year. He had found a work-study diploma in Nantes. And “he was in a hurry to be financially independent.”



Thomas
Thomas, 18, was passionate about music - jazz in particular. He was enrolled in the second year of musicology at the Catholic University of the West, in Angers.
Thomas
During the week, he stayed in a room at the Saint-Aubin foyer. He played guitar, piano, and drums and practiced regularly in a group with friends. He liked to go out from time to time to the cinema or to have a drink, especially at the Snooker, a bar he frequented near the Angers train station. He participated in student evenings. At the same time, he took driving lessons to prepare for his driving test. On the sentimental level, “he had a girlfriend at the start of the year, but it didn’t last long,” observes an acquaintance. “Tom was shy, joking, always in a good mood,” they all agree. “He had a fairly pale face and fragile health.”




Anne
Anne, 16, was a pupil at Lycée La Perverie in Nantes. A musician, she practiced the piano. She played tennis on Wednesdays and loved dancing. She was invested in a parish group of high school students in Saint-Félix. On Saturdays, she used to go to mass at 6:30 p.m. and studied part of the Bible until 10:45 p.m. In 2011, she planned to travel to Madrid to participate in WYD (World Youth Days), a large gathering of young Catholics in August.

Arthur, Anne, and Thomas
A babysitter in her spare time, this beautiful young girl with sparkling eyes and a slender figure, posed from time to time for mail-order catalogs, just to make some pocket money. Her friends saluted her “humility” and her “top model physique.”



Benoît
13-year-old Benoît was enrolled in European fourth grade at La Perverie middle school in Nantes. An excellent student, he studied Latin and Greek, played several musical instruments, notably drums, and was an accomplished sportsman. He liked rollerblading. He was a choir boy at Saint-Félix church. Like his brothers, his sister, and his mother, he was a fan of the Internet and often exchanged Facebook messages.

Benoît and Anne

Thomas and Benoît

Anne and Arthur

Benoît, Anne, Thomas, Arthur in 2004
Benoît, Anne, Arthur, Thomas

Agnès, Arthur, Thomas, Anne and Benoît: these five names are now associated with the five bodies found on April 21, 2011 under the terrace of 55 boulevard Schuman.
These bodies identified by the investigators were the subject of an autopsy with numerous analyzes and samples, DNA in particular. Five days after these autopsies, on April 26, 2011, a burial permit was issued. Despite the opportunity which is given to them, no member of the family, neither on the Hodanger side nor on the Dupont de Ligonnès side, will view the bodies.
Everything was now moving very quickly, and even too fast for some observers: “In my twenty-five-year career, I have never seen such haste to issue a burial permit. For an unsolved murder, it can sometimes take several weeks,” argues a man in black dress, frankly. Accustomed to the courts and courthouses, the man is Parisian lawyer Mr. Stéphane Goldenstein.
That same day, Tuesday, April 26, a silent march in tribute to the family was organized in Nantes on the initiative of relatives. The call, relayed on social networks, is launched from the top of the Cours des Cinquante-Otages (“Path of the Fifty Hostages”) in the city center down to Boulevard Schuman. Armed with a white flower, they were 450 Nantes residents, class friends, family friends, acquaintances, and neighbors, moved and upset, paying tribute to the victims.
https://preview.redd.it/dnuobygrjuf51.jpg?width=580&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2269ea7167df1e9754a83d78377a56e010fd422b
According to the obituary published in Le Figaro, the Hodanger and Dupont de Ligonnès families report the “tragic death” of the mother and her four children. “The religious ceremony will take place on Thursday, April 28 at 2:30 p.m. in the Saint-Félix church, in Nantes,” specifies the text body, ending with: “No flowers or wreaths.”
On the day of the funeral, the crowd was large. Between 1,000 and 1,200 people crowded the church dedicated to Saint-Félix, who was bishop of Nantes in the sixth century. The ceremony was placed under high police protection: a special security detail was deployed throughout the neighborhood and traffic was prohibited on all adjacent streets for the whole day.
Radio, TV, and print media people from all over France covered the event, “parked” in a more distant area. At the request of the family, which issued a press release calling on the media to “respect their pain and that of their loved ones,” journalists were not allowed to enter the church. A speaker was erected to broadcast mass to those outside.
In the freezing silence, the victims’ coffins arrived at the end of the morning in five black mortuary vans.
At 2:30 p.m., the emotion invaded the whole country and even throughout Europe, since Spanish, Italian, and Swiss journalists are present. The death knell rings. Classmates from Arthur, Thomas, Anne, and Benoît have a white rose in their hands.
Shortly before the ceremony, the family of the victims, grouped aboard a bus, is greeted by Father Jozan at the entrance to the church.
Mass begins with poignant testimonies from family members: “Do not be afraid. Believe in the strength of life and love [...]. Do not hate. The life of others does not belong to anyone.” Then classmates of the four children give their eulogies - in sorrow and pain. “How much laughter, tears, shared responsibility,” a girlfriend of Anne recalls through tears.
The crowd included the mayor of Nantes, Jean-Marc Yrault. The religious service, which the family wanted traditional and short, was punctuated with songs. Musician friends of Angers played in memory of their friend, Thomas. Then came the blessing of the bodies, to which the hundreds of people who have been unable to enter the church are invited.
At the end of the ceremony, the funeral convoy takes the direction of the Nantes crematorium, where the bodies are cremated before the burial of the funeral urns, organized two days later in Noyers-sur-Serein in the Yonne.
In this medieval village, a new religious office is organized by the Hodanger family. The Journal of Saône-et-Loire detailed the event: “The uncle of Agnès Dupont de Ligonnès is the only speaker, speaking alone on behalf of the shaken family to the two hundred people present this Saturday morning in the church of Noyers-sur-Serein. His voice quivering and weakened by emotion, he received the support of Guillaume, the brother of Agnès. The farewell mass to the five victims of the Nantes massacre continued with a walking procession.” The family was in awfully bad shape. They were experiencing sadness at the height of the pain. “We have lost all reasoning. We are broken,” says Étienne Hodanger, refusing to speak about the investigation.
The village, united around this well-known family, was in shock. The links woven by the Hodanger family in this charming town date back to the beginning of the 20th century when Agnès’ grandfather, Hamza Abbas, medical practitioner of Egyptian origin, renowned in Cairo (he was the personal doctor of the royal family), invested there for his retirement. He bought a property, which all his descendants then took advantage of.
When she came to Noyers, one month each summer, Agnès, always accompanied by her children, stayed with her cousin and two of her brothers who lived there. The husband, Xavier, joins them, but never stays very long. Among the community, they keep the memories of the young people “who went to swim and go boating on the Serein with other teenagers.” It was the enchanted time of their summer break. It was a time to relax in this haven of peace. There, they shared the small joys of village life: a bike ride, a walk, a picnic, large lively dinner tables, a drink at the local café.” Many sweet images are shared by the people present at the funeral, those who accompany the funeral urns of Agnès, Anne, Arthur, Thomas, and Benoît, who now rest in the family vault of the Noyers cemetery - a place of remembrance still visited today. Each year, people from all across France come and meditate there. The emotion is still there - lively and tenacious.

https://preview.redd.it/l7ldc7kyjuf51.jpg?width=480&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9a3567a22b20db7d012aa5ffd50dc5a12022cd60
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2020.08.06 17:32 Eki75 Xavier DuPont de Ligonnès Article from Society, 6 Aug 2020, Part 2C [English]

Xavier DuPont de Ligonnès Article from Society, 6 Aug 2020, Part 2C [English]
Previous Section-Part 2B
[3/5]
Chapter 9

Highways and dead ends

The hunt for Xavier Ligonnès is enough to drive you crazy. It’s like looking for a lost object, a bank card for example, of which we can determine the exact moment of disappearance: we used it to pay, it was there, and the next moment it is not there anymore. Logic dictates that we look for it where we usually store it (a wallet, a handbag), then where it could be (a back pocket of pants, a hall cabinet), and the less we find it , the more we seem to see it everywhere. Faced with absence, the brain constructs images (the credit card in an office drawer, as a bookmark in a book, forgotten on the counter of the last store) but these are fictions or mirages; they encourage further research but they do not provide a solution. Xavier Ligonnès’s apparent volatilization follows the same logic and produces the same effects on the investigation. The more weeks and months go by, the more places to look get smaller. Emmanuel Teneur ends up leading the investigators to the Société Générale agency on Place Royale in Nantes, but the safe he holds there is simply empty. A request for information on Joven Soliman is sent to the security attaché for the French Embassy in the Philippines. He is a sedevacantist priest, a fringe of traditionalist Catholicism who considers the Pope to be an imposter. The attaché transmits the hours of mass where he officiates. A trip to the Philippines is being considered, but that would mean going to the other side of the world to look for a needle in the thousands of islands of the archipelago. If this track has never been closed, nothing has supported it to date.
Since we must push logic to the end, the investigators even contact the American authorities to corroborate or contradict the story of protected witnesses told by Ligonnès in his famous letter. The DEA has never heard of the individual, and the liaison officer based at the Miami consulate assures us that his last trip to the United States was in 2003: Ligonnès arrived in Florida on July 18 and left on August 22. The study of his entourage also did not highlight anyone capable of providing false papers to the fugitive, and if he had gone through a criminal network, the police believed that an informant would undoubtedly have warned them to protect himself.
Then there are the news reports: the portrait of Ligonnès goes around France, and even if he has undoubtedly changed his physical appearance, his hairstyle, perhaps had even resorted to cosmetic surgery, someone, somewhere, might recognize him one day. After all, that’s how John List, a New Jersey insurance salesman who killed his wife and mother in 1971, was arrested. He waited for two of his children to return from school to coldly shoot them, then attended his youngest son’s football game before shooting bullets through him at home. He evaded justice for 18 years until a co-worker recognized him from a report on America’s Most Wanted.
Rarely has a criminal case given rise to as many appeals as that of Ligonnès, because his stalking not only bewitches the police, it torments an entire country. More than 1000 reports, thousands of pages of depositions, letters, verifications. You have to imagine the miles of printed paper that this represents when they are stacked on a desk. The most recent: in July, after the broadcast of a Netflix documentary on the subject in the United States, the producers of the film claimed to have received an interesting lead in Chicago; but it’s just one more drop in the bucket. Xavier Dupont de Ligonnès has been seen in Annecy, Nancy, Cholet, Corsica (several times); on the side of a road, thumbs up, by a French tourist in Las Vegas; disguised as a chimney sweep in Nîmes; in a hotel in Cantal and in a pizzeria where he paid cash in a hurry; seen again in Germany, in Italy, and heard on the telephone by the reception of the psychiatric hospital of Troyes. Since he disappeared looking like the ordinary neighbor, since he was a representative and his profession has taken him to all corners of France, there is no less reason to see him in Mulhouse than in Roche-sur-Yon, and you can simply see him everywhere.
Aire de Lançon-Provence in July 2020
Extracts: “It was the same look, except that he looked very sad, in the west, but he had the same glasses as in the photo you are showing me”; “He looked like a man like everyone else, but there was something odd in his eyes;” “Yesterday, around 1:00 pm, I was watching the news on television on the TFI channel. I saw a report where an individual killed his children and his wife before disappearing into the wild. (...) Seeing the gentleman in the photo, I made the connection with the person whom I had crossed Sunday afternoon because he had the same smile.” At the Vauvert tourist office: “I hardly look at the news, but Thursday evening I saw the photo of Mr. Ligonnès, I had the impression of having already seen him, my heart was racing.” Between Carpentras and Avignon, when he comes back from the bakery, the manager of one of Nicolas Sarkozy’s brothers crosses paths with a man with a beige bob, which he is certain is the fugitive. “I flashed,” he says. “For me, there is no doubt. This is him.” Still more letters are sent to the police to offer them help. An amateur astrologer requests a copy of the suspect’s birth certificate to establish a birth chart, a woman in child-like writing recommended a great medium who had helped her find her daughter who had become a junkie in Marseille. A prisoner asked in writing to be sent to Guinea to go hunt him down in the jungle, attaching to his letter a list of the necessary equipment, including infrared glasses and a “samurai sword.”
With each letter, with each phone call to report a suspicious individual, investigators attempt to cross-reference the information. They patiently collect the testimonies of the depositors to know where Xavier Ligonnès was seen, if he was accompanied or not, what was his size and his outfit. Inconsistent testimonies or those referring to individuals who are too young (Ligonnès would be 59 years old today) and too small (he measures a little over 1.80 meters) are discarded. For the others, investigators check the CCTV recordings, when they have not been erased and when the cameras have actually recorded on tape. If the person has been spotted pumping gasoline, in a Géant Casino, or in a Courtepaille, they trace the means of payment used and seize the duplicates of bank cards. They give priority to the restaurants, especially the Buffalo Grill, Ligonnès’ favorite establishment. And when the trail is still hot and the dishes haven’t been done yet, they collect DNA from the plates and cutlery. A few months after the start of the investigation, the investigating judge in charge of the case will even be forced to ask them to slow down, the seals starting to take on the appearance of a china cabinet in a large restaurant.
The Total service station in Lançon-Provence, July 2020
The PJ of Nantes believed on several occasions to finally have in hand the winning ticket and to be on the point of intercepting Ligonnès. This was the case in Borgo, where a photo taken from the video surveillance of a supermarket in this small Corsican town was very similar. Upon verification, it was only a local. They believed in it even more in January 2018 when they were told that an individual with a strong resemblance to Xavier Ligonnès was at the Saint-Désert Notre-Dame de Pitié monastery near Roquebrune-sur-Argens. About twenty police officers raided and searched the premises until they came across Brother Jean-Marie Joseph, who certainly looked disturbingly like Ligonnès, but who was not him. In still other cases, the police were never able to “close the track,” and it is perhaps Ligonnès who was seen.
For example, in Lançon-Provence, April 26, 2011. That day, at 2:44 am, Mahjoub B., a handler by profession, parks his vehicle at the Total service station after the Lançon-Provence toll. He fills up, then goes to the store to pay. On his way, he passes a 45- to 50-year-old man, about six feet tall, who hangs out there between the gas pumps and the store. When he returns to his vehicle, his colleague asks him if he has seen the man, whom he is convinced is the one everyone is looking for, the one who killed his family in Nantes. Mahjoub then takes a new look at the individual, notices that he is wearing glasses, light jeans, that he has brown hair a little graying and a beard of a day. At his feet, four rigid shopping bags, one red, one white, one brown and one whose color he cannot distinguish. Inside the store, employees also noticed the individual. He’s been out for almost three hours. At one point, he walks in to ask for free coffee, as part of a promotion. Behind her cash register, Jocelyne H. notes a detail: he is missing a tooth. “The second on the left, I believe,” she says when heard by investigators. This is information that has never filtered out and yet, it’s true – a little detail, Xavier Ligonnès was missing a tooth. Little by little, the space has filled in, but you can always see it when he smiles. The images from the station’s surveillance cameras are confusing: if this man is not the one we are looking for, it must be his twin brother. At 3 a.m., the cameras show him hitchhiking by a Volkswagen Combi, which investigators quickly find. The driver’s name is Christophe B. He has not heard of the case, and he must be one of the only ones in the country; but Christophe is no longer listening to the news because, he says, “the news is bad all the time.” From the hitchhiker on the night of the 25th to the 26th, he remembers that he “did not smell very good” and that he had a growing beard. They didn’t discuss much. The man simply told him that he was coming from Paris where he had gone to see “his sick old father,” and that he wanted to take the train to Aix-en-Provence. Christophe dropped him off at a motorway exit, the 30 or the 31, between 4 a.m. and 4.15 a.m. The surveillance cameras at Aix train station allow you to get back on track. He is filmed on the forecourt at 6 am, he wears light pants, a dark jacket. He buys a ticket at 1.20 euro, free destination. Then we lose track.
Despite all the checks, despite all the cameras, it will be impossible to track this man perfectly resembling Dupont de Ligonnès, who could nevertheless have confirmed that he was, at least on this date, still alive.
How can one suddenly evaporate in plain sight, and how could a man who has collected chess all his life accomplish this feat? The XDDL mystery makes it possible to scaffold all the theories. These flourish in books, in docudramas and, of course, on the Internet. We imagine Ligonnès protected by the secrecy of a monastery, flown to the United States, where he can go unnoticed thanks to his English without an accent, or even on the escape alongside a woman he would have manipulated. The police officers in charge of the case do not work on theories or psychological profiles, but according to a scientific approach: they always start from a fact, which opens a track, which they then explore until the end, close, and move on to another. This method is also a way to protect yourself from endless guesswork, or insanity, but it doesn’t always work. Several times, the track looks like a highway towards the fugitive, and the police are convinced that they will finally close this investigation. But they end up stumbling upon the worst thing ever, as was the case with the allusion to Emmanuel Teneur’s sailboat: coincidences.
Coincidence number 1. When the Ligonnès C5 was discovered in the Formula 1 car park in Roquebrune, the night watchman informed them that two reservations had been made in the name of Dupont Xavier, one on April 5 and the another on April 14. The hotel manager then specifies that the first reservation was actually made for April 6. That day, however, XDDL was in Nantes, probably digging the grave of Thomas, murdered the day before. Had he thought of accomplishing his crimes earlier or had he reserved a room for an accomplice, who might have been hiding something for him? The videos of April 5 and 6 are no longer available, but payment for the room was made with a Crédit Agricole credit card. The number gives a name, Faiçal E., and an address. Could it be an accomplice? The checks are launched immediately lead to a man who simply used “Dupont Xavier” as an assumed name - like Ligonnès - to book a night in the same hotel, the same year, the same month, within ten days.
Coincidence number 2. The liaison officer in Miami launches research around the various aliases used by XDDL, for operations of “mystery shopper” or to stay in hotels. In the FBI file, he finds a certain Xavier Laurent, one of Ligonnès’s favorite nicknames, installed in Jacksonville, north of Florida. Jacksonville is not just any city. This is where Hugues, the cousin of XDDL lived, and it is also this locality that Ligonnès and his friend Michel Rétif declared to customs in 1990 during their trip to the United States. At the very end of the personalized letter sent to Michel on April 8, Xavier Ligonnès seemed to allude to it: “I will think about you there. (Not the right to tell you where, but you went there with me...in November 90…a clue to dig. LOL).” But this Xavier Laurent is another twist of fate: the police come across a certain Evan Shaffer, a petty criminal who has chosen this alias to commit crimes.
Coincidence number 3. Ten days before the crimes, XDDL reconnects with a childhood sweetheart, Catherine K., whom he met in Versailles in the 1980s. Between March 22 and 24, they exchange text messages and try to find a date to meet the week of April 12, in Chamonix. These messages intrigue the investigators, some answers seem surprising, almost illogical, and they suspect Ligonnès of having wanted to ensure a logistical relay in his escape. A little later, a certain Patrick O. reports having seen XDDL in the queue of a Sixt car rental agency at Nice airport on April 17, 2011. By peeling the names of dozens of people having rented a car that day, the police officers miss the infarction: in capital letters, white on black, appears the surname of Catherine, who would have rented a vehicle at 1:30 am. A few hours later, their heart rate drops again: it was only a perfect disambiguation.
Each coincidence causes the same chain of reactions. First a eureka!, the certainty of having finally found the tiny detail from which to trace everything. The police then cast their nets like fishermen on the high seas, telephone or banking requisitions, requests for listings, identity checks. Then they wait. It can last from a few hours to several weeks, and inevitably it is a burning, nagging wait, tense by the fear that the track will fly away. Finally, there is the immense disappointment and the obligation to face reality again: Xavier Ligonnès is still nowhere to be found, a track has flown again, and we have to hoist the rock up the mountain again. Those who have worked or are still working on the affair strive to maintain a cold, rational, police facade. But little by little, by dint of chasing a shadow - not even a shadow, a ghost - obsession lurks. One of them, a police officer with a professional Protestant pastor, now out of the investigation, still returned until recently to consult the investigation file every week, saying he simply wanted to put the 12,000 pages of documents in order. For a year, a criminal analyst has also been mobilized. He enters all the elements of the file in a software which digests them and spits out, perhaps, new threads to draw. In the meantime, the two police officers who are still following the investigation - one at the PJ in Nantes, one at the OCRVP, in Paris - “live” the case, as their colleagues say. Among these thousands of pages there is no doubt a clue that has gone unnoticed or, better, a lead that has not yet been explored.
Track number 1. Who typed “fraternité saint-thomas becket” on Google on April 3 at 11:34 pm, before clicking on a link in the Cité-Catholique forum? Is it the same person who, the same night at 2:01 am, from an iPhone, did the search for “communion state mortal sin,” bringing it to the same forum? On April 8, the user of this phone will in any case send the search engine the request “hello Chacou”, which will lead him (her) again to the Cité-Catholique forum. Chacou was one of the pseudonyms of Xavier Ligonnès. Investigators saw crazier coincidences, but still: can it really be someone other than Xavier Ligonnès, who himself connected to Cité-Catholique almost every day of his escape? The last article published on the site about Saint-Thomas Becket, an ultra-traditionalist fraternity which practices mass in Latin, dates from January 2009. It indicates the name of its founder, Father Jean-Pierre Gac, and specifies this: “Born in the diocese of Blois where there are two communities (…), the fraternity has also extended in the diocese of Toulon - a parish is also entrusted to them in Ollioules.” Ollioules is located six kilometers from La Seyne-on-Mer, where XDDL spent its penultimate known night, and 94 kilometers from Roquebrune. Jean-Pierre Gac was questioned by the police but claimed to have never been in contact with the fugitive. Investigators have always believed in the possibility that Ligonnès took refuge in a monastery in the Var. They considered to search them one by one, before understanding that there are dozens and dozens of brotherhoods and fraternities, that they are not always castles of the Purple Rivers but sometimes simple farms, lost in the hinterland. To mount a search, it would be necessary to ensure that they do not communicate with each other, and therefore to visit them all at the same time. The examining magistrate quickly tempered the fervor of the police and declared the operation impossible.
Track number 2. Xavier Ligonnès had two secret Facebook accounts. The first is named after his favorite country singer, Waylon Jennings. One of his nieces had also found him a month before the crimes, sending him a message, “but who is behind this nickname?,” to which XDDL had immediately replied “How did you manage to arrive on the Waylon Jennings Facebook profile? Too clever! Microsoft Advantage??? Kiss.” The second account concerns a certain “George Town” residing in Nantes and is linked to one of Ligonnès’ many email addresses, [email protected]. The police send a requisition to the management of Facebook in Palo Alto to obtain the creation and connection logs of the two profiles. The answer comes in days: the first was created in February 2010, the second in December 2007, when France had barely discovered the social network. Above all, the response indicates that Ligonnès connected to the two accounts on the night of April 4 to 5, between the first assassinations and that of Thomas. The profiles have since been deleted but suggest he could have used them to communicate with a third party. Catherine K., the youthful lover that XDDL contacted a few days before the tragedy, also reported to the police that she had been approached by a certain Philippe Steiner, whom she did not know, around May 20. He sent her a strange message, suggesting that they might have had a relationship in the past. When she went to respond, the profile had already been deleted. Today there are almost 100 Facebook accounts on behalf of Waylon Jennings, some are created and deleted every day.
Track number 3. When the Ligonnès family is having their last meal on April 3, 2011, around 9 pm, a young woman walks through the glass doors of the police station on Place Waldeck-Rousseau in Nantes. Originally from a small village near Vannes, Julie is a BTS student and comes to file a complaint: the Twingo that her father lets her drive has been broken into, probably during the night. There was not much inside, but Julie reported the theft of her car radio as well as the vehicle’s logbook, which she normally stored in a small Renault gray faux leather pouch. This same pouch was found on April 22 in the dresser of the Ligonnès living room where Xavier used to store his papers, during the investigation the day after the discovery of the bodies. The police did not follow this track: they put the break-in of Julie’s car on the account of one of the Ligonnès sons, Arthur, who had already been arrested for theft of a bicycle and driving under the influence of cannabis. But why would Arthur have taken the vehicle papers with the car stereo, and why would he put them in the middle of his father’s papers? And if the theft was committed by Xavier Ligonnès a few hours before killing his family, how can this be explained? Was he able to steal other identity papers to facilitate his escape?
In this case, it is always about cars. Those imported by XDDL from the United States, the Citroën C5 from the escape, the vehicles he claimed had been stolen over the years: the first at the Brest police station in 1998, while living in Pornic, a second at the same time at the Saint-Nazaire police station, and then again, in Nantes, on May 17, 2006, a Golf convertible finally found then sold a few months later to a mechanic, a friend of Cédric M.
Cédric M. is never far away when it comes to cars. He is also a mechanic, that’s how Ligonnès met him in Vannes a few years earlier. He is one of the recipients of the departure letter, therefore a close friend. He was even the first employee of the RDC. Ligonnès regularly went to visit him in Locmalo in the heart of Morbihan, a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Nantes. With Cédric and his partner, Renaud, they went to the local creperie. They had lunch there together on March 31, 2011, four days before the crimes. In the village, it is said that Ligonnès took care of the dark accounts of the “guys,” who have quite a reputation. Could he have built up a slush fund there that no one would have found until now? Cédric and Renaud’s garage is not indicated by any sign. It is at the end of a road. In the yard, wrecks of American cars and a goat on a leash. Inside, Renaud is working on a shiny yellow Cadillac. His attitude is confusing. He is angry with the police who have never come to question him when he is, according to him, “the last to have seen [Xavier] alive. But I will not tell you when, because that the date is important,” he adds before returning to his Cadillac, wrench in hand.
To date, Renaud has still not been heard by investigators.
At the same time, reports continue to flow.
Ligonnès seen in Mulhouse, on the four lanes between Saint-Brieuc and Rennes in a Peugeot 308 and overtaking on the right, Ligonnès seen again in Tunis and Toulouse.
Ligonnès seen, but never caught.

Next Section-Part 2D
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2020.07.31 15:59 astrochondriac An observation on interracial dating trends involving Asian men in 2020.

I live in a world class city (the biggest one in the United States) and I have seen interracial dating trends shift in a big way to where it involves Asian men. After lurking through this sub, it seems like you guys consider Indians to be Asians too but I have seen a slight difference in trends for Indian men than I have Asian men, I'll touch on both. My post could be completely unique to my city or it could be something you guys are seeing in your city too, let me know.
My observations are from walking around on the streets, going out a lot to bars before lockdowns happened (I am including 2019 here too), going to a lot of events with younger attractive people in it, and from cool Asian guys I've connected with over that time. Here go the trends:
If you are not chasing white girls in 2020, you are missing out on a major market. Younger attractive white women are going interracial in droves with men of all races.
The whiter she looks the more she is desperate to go interracial, I mean it when I say desperate. One of my good friends is a blond guy who complains saying how Asian women, Latin, and darker skinned white women throw themselves at him but he cannot get a blonde that looks good to save his life. My other friend is a Thai guy who cannot keep redheads and blondes off of him, he is built like an athlete and the stereotypical yoga pants ugg boots blondes love him whenever we go out.
Even Indian men, who are known for having the lowest value among women of other races, are having luck and getting good vibes from white girls from what I see.
My theory here is that white women just got fed up with the hypocrisy behind interracial dating. White guys can go for whatever race they want and have been going interracial in droves themselves with Asian and brown women (of all kinds) yet white women are supposed to stay loyal? I think we reached a breaking point where young white women said fuck it and I am seeing it play out so much now. If you wanted to date white girls, no better year than 2020.
Black women are down and love Asian men, of all kinds.
African American women seem to love Indian guys from what I have seen and cool Asian guys get a good reception. It's almost like I have noticed that black women are secretly cheering for Asian men whenever the world gives em shit and want them to come out on top. If you like black women as an Asian guy or Indian guy, go for it. Black guys are okay with black women going interracial although I have seen that if she is lighter skinned, there is somewhat more hostility there. If not a lover, a black woman seems to definitely respect and want to be an ally for a cool masculine Asian man.
Any other minority group than our own, you're mostly shit out of luck.
Now East Asian guys can do well with Latinas from what I have seen but Latinas absolutely hate Indian guys, I've not even seen the cool alpha Indian men get a good reception from them. I notice that as a whole though, women of any other minority group than black and Asian are slowly where Asian women were at the peak of white worship. I'd even argue that Latinas are far bigger white worshipers these days than Asian women are and Middle Eastern women are getting there as well (we have a big enough population in my city).
This carries over on to white women from more swarthy groups too. I notice that women who are from the Balkans or Armenia tend to also hate Indians and Asians, although Asians a lot less so.
East Asian men should definitely count their blessings here though, you have it miles and miles better than your Indian brothers when going for women from these kinds of minority groups. As a guy who has a thing for Latinas, I'd hate to be Indian or Pakistani looking, for some reason they absolutely hate Indian, Pakistani, and Arabic men.
I notice that the hot and younger girls from these groups also seem to hate their own men too and opt to go for white and in some cases black guys instead.
Even though it was an interracial dating thread, women of our own race are coming around now.
I see young and good looking Asian American girls go for Asian guys and I even see it with Indian women. It seems like the trend is that with Asian and Indian women, they are open to going interracial but their obsession with whiteness is more toned down now compared to a Latina or Arab girl who is desperate for a Chad.
If you are an Asian guy, don't ignore your own sisters because of one who sold out hard. If you are an Indian guy who looks cool, you can still get hot Indian girls if you want to please your exotic tastes.
It ain't all bad, I'd be interested to see how this plays out in the coming years.
submitted by astrochondriac to AsianMasculinity [link] [comments]


2020.07.31 12:43 tombstoneshadows28 Full Turner Classic Movies (North American) Schedule for the Month of August, 2020. (All airtimes E.S.T.)

Saturday, August 01, 2020 (BARBARA STANWYCK day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (suspense) Gambling Lady (1934/66 m/Archie Mayo)
  2. (7:15 AM) (western) Annie Oakley (1935/90 m/George Stevens)
  3. (9:00 AM) (romance) B.F.'s Daughter (1948/108 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  4. (11:00 AM) (suspense) Crime Of Passion (1957/86 m/Gerd Oswald)
  5. (12:30 PM) (western) The Moonlighter (1953/78 m/Roy Rowland)
  6. (2:00 PM) (drama) East Side, West Side (1949/108 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
  7. (4:00 PM) (suspense) The Two Mrs. Carrolls (1947/99 m/Peter Godfrey)
  8. (6:00 PM) (romance) Clash by Night (1952/105 m/Fritz Lang)
  9. (8:00 PM) (comedy) Ball of Fire (1941/112 m/Howard Hawks)
  10. (10:00 PM) (crime)Double Indemnity (1944/108 m/Billy Wilder)
  11. (12:00 AM) (drama) Meet John Doe (1941/123 m/Frank Capra)
  12. (2:15 AM) (suspense) The Mad Miss Manton (1938/80 m/Leigh Jason)
  13. (4:00 AM) (suspense) Lady of Burlesque (1943/90 m/William A. Wellman)
Sunday, August 02, 2020 (ROCK HUDSON day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (western) Winchester '73 (1950/92 m/Anthony Mann)
  2. (8:00 AM) (drama) Something Of Value (1957/113 m/Richard Brooks)
  3. (10:00 AM) (comedy) A Fine Pair (1969/89 m/Francesco Maselli)
  4. (12:00 PM) (drama) All That Heaven Allows (1955/89 m/Douglas Sirk)
  5. (1:45 PM) (premiere) The Golden Blade (1953/81 m/Nathan Juran)
  6. (3:15 PM) (drama) Written on the Wind (1957/99 m/Douglas Sirk)
  7. (5:15 PM) (adventure) Ice Station Zebra (1968/149 m/John Sturges)
  8. (8:00 PM) (comedy) Pillow Talk (1959/102 m/Michael Gordon)
  9. (10:00 PM) (drama) Magnificent Obsession (1954/108 m/Douglas Sirk)
  10. (12:00 AM) (drama) Giant (1956/201 m/George Stevens)
  11. (3:45 AM) (comedy) Pretty Maids All In A Row (1971/91 m/Roger Vadim)
Monday, August 03, 2020 (RITA HAYWORTH day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (western) Renegade Ranger (1938/59 m/David Howard)
  2. (7:15 AM) (comedy) Susan And God (1940/117 m/George Cukor)
  3. (9:15 AM) (comedy) Affectionately Yours (1941/88 m/Lloyd Bacon)
  4. (10:45 AM) (comedy) The Strawberry Blonde (1941/99 m/Raoul Walsh)
  5. (12:30 PM) (adventure) The Happy Thieves (1962/89 m/George Marshall)
  6. (2:15 PM) (musical) My Gal Sal (1942/104 m/Irving Cummings)
  7. (4:00 PM) (musical) Down to Earth (1947/101 m/Alexander Hall)
  8. (6:00 PM) (musical) Cover Girl (1944/107 m/Charles Vidor)
  9. (8:00 PM) (crime) The Lady From Shanghai (1948/87 m/Orson Welles)
  10. (10:00 PM) (suspense) Gilda (1946/110 m/Charles Vidor)
  11. (12:00 AM) (musical) Pal Joey (1957109 m/George Sidney)
  12. (2:00 AM) (musical) You Were Never Lovelier (1942/97 m/William A. Seiter)
  13. (4:00 AM) (western) The Wrath of God (1972/111 m/Ralph Nelson)
Tuesday, August 04, 2020 (S.Z. SAKALL day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (musical) It's A Date (1940/103 m/William A. Seiter)
  2. (7:45 AM) (musical) Cynthia (1947/98 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  3. (9:30 AM) (western)San Antonio (1945/109 m/David Butler)
  4. (11:30 AM) (musical) Romance on the High Seas (1948/99 m/Michael Curtiz)
  5. (1:15 PM) (musical) Tea for Two (1950/98 m/David Butler)
  6. (3:00 PM) (musical) The Daughter of Rosie O'Grady (1950/105 m/David Butler)
  7. (4:45 PM) (drama) Embraceable You (1948/80 m/Felix Jacoves)
  8. (6:15 PM) (comedy) Never Say Goodbye (1946/94 m/James V. Kern)
  9. (8:00 PM) (musical) In the Good Old Summertime (1949/103 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  10. (10:00 PM) (comedy) Christmas in Connecticut (1945/101 m/Peter Godfrey)
  11. (12:00 AM) (musical) Seven Sweethearts (1942/98 m/Frank Borzage)
  12. (2:00 AM) (musical) Lullaby of Broadway (1951/92 m/David Butler)
  13. (4:00 AM) (musical) The Student Prince (1954/107 m/Richard Thorpe)
Wednesday, August 05, 2020 (ANN MILLER day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) Room Service (1938/79 m/William A. Seiter)
  2. (7:45 AM) (comedy) You Can't Take It With You (1938/126 m/Frank Capra)
  3. (10:00 AM) (drama) Tarnished Angel (1938/67 m/Leslie Goodwins)
  4. (11:30 AM) (musical) Too Many Girls (1940/85 m/George Abbott)
  5. (1:15 PM) (premiere) Reveille with Beverly (1943/78 m/Charles Barton)
  6. (2:45 PM) (comedy) Watch the Birdie (1951/71 m/Jack Donohue)
  7. (4:15 PM) (comedy) The Great American Pastime (1957/89 m/Herman Hoffman)
  8. (5:45 PM) (musical) The Opposite Sex (1956/116 m/David Miller)
  9. (8:00 PM) (musical) Hit the Deck (1955/112 m/Roy Rowland)
  10. (10:00 PM) (musical) On the Town (1949/98 m//Gene Kelly)
  11. (12:00 AM) (musical) Kiss Me Kate (1953/110 m/George Sidney)
  12. (2:00 AM) (musical) Easter Parade (1948/103 m/Charles Walters)
  13. (4:00 AM) (musical) Small Town Girl (1953/93 m/Leslie Kardos)
Thursday, August 06, 2020 (BURT LANCASTER day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (western) Vengeance Valley (1951/83 m/Richard Thorpe)
  2. (7:30 AM) (drama) Jim Thorpe--All American (1951/105 m/Michael Curtiz)
  3. (9:30 AM) (adventure) The Flame and the Arrow (1950/88 m/Jacques Tourneur)
  4. (11:15 AM) (adventure) The Crimson Pirate (1952/104 m/Robert Siodmak)
  5. (1:15 PM) (crime) Brute Force (1947/98 m/Jules Dassin)
  6. (3:15 PM) (drama) Seven Days in May (1964/118 m/John Frankenheimer)
  7. (5:30 PM) (war) The Train (1964/133 m/John Frankenheimer)
  8. (8:00 PM) (drama) Elmer Gantry (1960/147 m/Richard Brooks)
  9. (10:45 PM) (drama) Birdman of Alcatraz (1962/149 m/John Frankenheimer)
  10. (1:30 AM) (drama) From Here to Eternity (1953/118 m/Fred Zinnemann)
  11. (3:45 AM) (drama) Atlantic City (1980/104 m/Louis Malle)
Friday, August 07, 2020 (SYLVIA SIDNEY day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (drama) One Third of a Nation (1939/76 m/Dudley Murphy)
  2. (7:30 AM) (drama) An American Tragedy (1931/95 m/Josef von Sternberg)
  3. (9:15 AM) (crime) City Streets (1931/83 m/Rouben Mamoulian)
  4. (11:15 AM) (drama) Street Scene (1931/79 m/King Vidor)
  5. (1:00 PM) (premiere) Mary Burns, Fugitive (1935/84 m/William K. Howard)
  6. (2:30 PM) (crime) You Only Live Once (1937/85 m/Fritz Lang)
  7. (4:15 PM) (crime) Dead End (1937/92 m/William Wyler)
  8. (6:00 PM) (drama) Fury (1936/92 m/Fritz Lang)
  9. (8:00 PM) (premiere) You And Me (1938/90 m/Fritz Lang)
  10. (9:45 PM) (premiere) Thirty Day Princess (1934/75 m/Marion Gering)
  11. (11:15 PM) (suspense) Sabotage (1936/77 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
  12. (12:45 AM) (drama) Les Misérables (1952/106 m/Lewis Milestone)
  13. (2:45 AM) (drama) Summer Wishes, Winter Dreams (1973/88 m/Gilbert Cates)
  14. (4:30 AM) (drama) The Wagons Roll At Night (1941/84 m/Ray Enright)
Saturday, August 08, 2020 (CHARLIE CHAPLIN day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (silent) The Rounders (1914/11 m/Charles Chaplin)
  2. (6:15 AM) (silent) The Knockout (1914/27 m/Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle)
  3. (7:00 AM) (silent) The Pilgrim (1923/41 m/Charles Chaplin)
  4. (7:45 AM) (silent) A Dog's Life (1918/34 m/Charles Chaplin)
  5. (8:30 AM) (silent) The Kid (1921/53 m/Charles Chaplin)
  6. (9:30 AM) (silent) The Gold Rush (1925/89 m/Charlie Chaplin)
  7. (11:15 AM) (silent)The Circus (1928/72 m/Charles Chaplin)
  8. (12:45 PM) (comedy) Monsieur Verdoux (1947/124 m/Charles Chaplin)
  9. (3:00 PM) (romance) Limelight (1952/138 m/Charles Chaplin)
  10. (5:30 PM) (comedy) The Great Dictator (1940/125 m/Charles Chaplin)
  11. (8:00 PM) (silent) City Lights (1931/87 m/Charles Chaplin)
  12. (9:45 PM) (silent) Modern Times (1936/87 m/Charlie Chaplin)
  13. (11:30 PM) (comedy) A King in New York (1957/105 m/Charles Chaplin)
  14. (2:15 AM) (silent) Pay Day (1922/22 m/Charles Chaplin)
  15. (2:45 AM) (silent)Sunnyside (1919/30 m/Charles Chaplin)
  16. (3:30 AM) (silent) The Idle Class (1921/33 m/Charles Chaplin)
  17. (4:15 AM) (silent) Shoulder Arms (1918/38 m/Charles Chaplin)
  18. (5:00 AM) (silent) A Day's Pleasure (1919/18 m/Charles Chaplin)
  19. (5:30 AM) (comedy) Mabel's Married Life (1914/12 m/Mack Sennett)
Sunday, August 09, 2020 (GOLDIE HAWN day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) Protocol (1984/95 m/Herbert Ross)
  2. (8:00 AM) (romance) Swing Shift (1984/100 m/Jonathan Demme)
  3. (10:00 AM) (comedy) Best Friends (1982/109 m/Norman Jewison)
  4. (12:00 PM) (comedy) There's a Girl in My Soup (1970/96 m/Roy Boulting)
  5. (2:00 PM) (comedy) Cactus Flower (1969/104 m/Gene Saks)
  6. (4:00 PM) (drama) Butterflies Are Free (1972/109 m/Milton Katselas)
  7. (6:00 PM) (comedy) Seems Like Old Times (1980/102 m/Jay Sandrich)
  8. (8:00 PM) (crime) Foul Play (1978/116 m/Colin Higgins)
  9. (10:00 PM) (premiere) The First Wives Club (1996/105 m/Hugh Wilson)
  10. (12:00 AM) (comedy) Shampoo (1975/110 m/Hal Ashby)
  11. (2:00 AM) (crime) $ (Dollars) (1971/121 m/Richard Brooks)
  12. (4:15 AM) (premiere) Crisscross (1992/101 m/Chris Menges)
Monday, August 10, 2020 (NORMA SHEARER Day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (silent) The Student Prince in Old Heidelberg (1927/106 m/Ernst Lubitsch)
  2. (8:00 AM) (romance) The Last of Mrs. Cheyney (1929/94 m/Sidney Franklin)
  3. (10:00 AM) (drama) A Free Soul (1931/94 m/Clarence Brown)
  4. (11:45 AM) (drama) The Divorcee (1930/82 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  5. (1:15 PM) (epic) Marie Antoinette (1938/157 m/W. S. Van Dyke II)
  6. (4:00 PM) (romance) Romeo and Juliet (1937/125 m/George Cukor)
  7. (6:15 PM) (romance) Her Cardboard Lover (1942/93 m/George Cukor)
  8. (8:00 PM) (comedy) The Women (1939/133 m/George Cukor)
  9. (10:30 PM) (romance) Smilin' Through (1932/98 m/Sidney Franklin)
  10. (12:30 AM) (romance) The Barretts Of Wimpole Street (1934/110 m/Sidney Franklin)
  11. (2:30 AM) (comedy) Private Lives (1931/84 m/Sidney Franklin)
  12. (4:15 AM) (romance) We Were Dancing (1942/95 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
Tuesday, August 11, 2020 (SAMMY DAVIS, JR. day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) Pepe (1960/158 m/George Sidney)
  2. (9:00 AM) (crime) Johnny Cool (1963/102 m/William Asher)
  3. (11:00 AM) Rufus Jones For President (1933/21 m/Roy Mack)
  4. (11:30 AM) (comedy) One More Time (1970/93 m/Jerry Lewis)
  5. (1:30 PM) (drama) Convicts 4 (1962/106 m/Millard Kaufman)
  6. (3:30 PM) (musical) Robin and the 7 Hoods (1964/123 m/Gordon Douglas)
  7. (5:45 PM) (comedy) Ocean's 11 (1960/127 m/Lewis Milestone)
  8. (8:00 PM) (drama)Anna Lucasta (1958/97 m/Arnold Laven)
  9. (9:45 PM) (drama) A Man Called Adam (1966/104 m/Leo Penn)
  10. (11:30 PM) (musical) Sweet Charity (1969/148 m/Bob Fosse)
  11. (2:15 AM) (premiere) Tap (1989/110 m/Nick Castle Jr.)
  12. (4:15 AM) (comedy) Smorgasbord (1983/90 m/Jerry Lewis)
Wednesday, August 12, 2020 (LANA TURNER day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) Love Finds Andy Hardy (1938/91 m/George B. Seitz)
  2. (8:00 AM) (drama) Cass Timberlane (1947/119 m/George Sidney)
  3. (10:00 AM) (drama) A Life of Her Own (1950/108 m/George Cukor)
  4. (12:00 PM) (musical) The Merry Widow (1952/105 m/Curtis Bernhardt)
  5. (2:00 PM) (drama) Betrayed (1954/109 m/Gottfried Reinhardt)
  6. (4:00 PM) (drama) The Bad and the Beautiful (1952/118 m/Vincente Minnelli)
  7. (6:00 PM) (comedy) Bachelor in Paradise (1961/109 m/Jack Arnold)
  8. (8:00 PM) (drama) Peyton Place (1957/157 m/Mark Robson)
  9. (11:00 PM) (drama) Madame X (1966/100 m/David Lowell Rich)
  10. (1:00 AM) (crime) The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946/113 m/Tay Garnett)
  11. (3:00 AM) (romance) Latin Lovers (1953/104 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
  12. (4:45 AM) (romance) Two Girls On Broadway (1940/73 m/S. Sylvan Simon)
Thursday, August 13, 2020 (JOHN BARRYMORE day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (silent) Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920/68 m/John S. Robertson)
  2. (7:15 AM) (silent) Don Juan (1926/112 m/Alan Crosland)
  3. (9:15 AM) (silent) When A Man Loves (1927/112 m/Alan Crosland)
  4. (11:15 AM) (drama) State's Attorney (1932/79 m/George Archainbaud)
  5. (12:45 PM) (drama) Rasputin and the Empress (1932/121 m/Richard Boleslavsky)
  6. (3:00 PM) (drama) Night Flight (1933/85 m/Clarence Brown)
  7. (4:30 PM) (suspense) Bulldog Drummond Comes Back (1937/59 m/Louis King)
  8. (5:45 PM) (musical) Maytime (1937/132 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  9. (8:00 PM) (drama) Grand Hotel (1932/113 m/Edmund Goulding)
  10. (10:00 PM) (comedy) Dinner at Eight (1933/111 m/George Cukor)
  11. (12:00 AM) (premiere) Night Club Scandal (1937/70 m/Ralph Murphy)
  12. (1:30 AM) (comedy) Arsene Lupin (1932/84 m/Jack Conway)
  13. (3:00 AM) (horror) Svengali (1931/81 m/Archie Mayo)
  14. (4:30 AM) (comedy) The Great Man Votes (1939/72 m/Garson Kanin)
Friday, August 14, 2020 (STEVE McQUEEN day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) The Honeymoon Machine (1961/87 m/Richard Thorpe)
  2. (7:30 AM) (comedy) Soldier in the Rain (1963/87 m/Ralph Nelson)
  3. (9:00 AM) (drama) An Enemy of the People (1978/107 m/George Schaefer)
  4. (11:00 AM) (war) The Sand Pebbles (1966/179 m/Robert Wise)
  5. (2:00 PM) (crime) The Getaway (1972/123 m/Sam Peckinpah)
  6. (4:15 PM) (crime) Bullitt (1968/114 m/Peter Yates)
  7. (6:15 PM) (drama) The Cincinnati Kid (1965/103 m/Norman Jewison)
  8. (8:00 PM) (romance) The Thomas Crown Affair (1968/102 m/Norman Jewison)
  9. (10:00 PM) (war) The Great Escape (1963/172 m/John Sturges)
  10. (1:00 AM) (adventure) Papillon (1973/151 m/Franklin J. Schaffner)
  11. (3:45 AM) (war) Never So Few(1959/124 m/John Sturges)
Saturday, August 15, 2020 (NINA FOCH day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (musical) Fast Company (1953/68 m/John Sturges)
  2. (7:15 AM) (crime) Escape in the Fog (1945/63 m/Oscar Boetticher Jr.)
  3. (8:45 AM) (musical) Sombrero (1953/103 m/Norman Foster)
  4. (10:30 AM) (horror) Cry of the Werewolf (1944/63 m/Henry Levin)
  5. (12:00 PM) (crime) The Dark Past (1948/74 m/Rudolph Maté)
  6. (1:45 PM) (adventure) Scaramouche (1952/115 m/George Sidney)
  7. (4:00 PM) (romance) Cash McCall (1960/102 m//Joseph Pevney)
  8. (6:00 PM) (drama) Executive Suite (1954/105 m/Robert Wise)
  9. (8:00 PM) (musical) An American in Paris (1951/113 m/Vincente Minnelli)
  10. (10:15 PM) (suspense) My Name Is Julia Ross (1945/65 m/Joseph H. Lewis)
  11. (11:30 PM) (crime) Illegal (1955/88 m/Lewis Allen)
  12. (1:15 AM) (crime) The Undercover Man (1949/84 m/Joseph H. Lewis)
  13. (3:00 AM) (suspense) I Love A Mystery (1945/69 m/Henry Levin)
  14. (4:30 AM) (comedy) Young Man With Ideas (1952/85 m/Mitchell Leisen)
Sunday, August 16, 2020 (CARY GRANT day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) Sylvia Scarlett (1935/95 m/George Cukor)
  2. (8:00 AM) (romance) Topper (1937/97 m/Norman Z. McLeod)
  3. (10:00 AM) (comedy) Bringing Up Baby (1938/102 m/Howard Hawks)
  4. (11:45 AM) (comedy) His Girl Friday (1940/92 m/Howard Hawks)
  5. (1:30 PM) (comedy) The Talk Of The Town (1942/117 m/George Stevens)
  6. (3:45 PM) (comedy) Arsenic and Old Lace (1944/118 m/Frank Capra)
  7. (6:00 PM) (comedy) Room For One More (1952/95 m/Norman Taurog)
  8. (8:00 PM) (suspense) To Catch A Thief (1955/106 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
  9. (10:00 PM) (suspense) Charade (1963/113 m/Stanley Donen)
  10. (12:15 AM) (comedy) Dream Wife (1953/99 m/Sidney Sheldon)
  11. (2:15 AM) (drama) Crisis (1950/96 m/Richard Brooks)
  12. (4:00 AM) (comedy) Once Upon a Honeymoon (1942/115 m/Leo McCarey)
Monday, August 17, 2020 (MAUREEN O'HARA day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (suspense) Jamaica Inn (1939/99 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
  2. (8:00 AM) (drama) A Woman's Secret (1949/85 m/Nicholas Ray)
  3. (10:00 AM) (suspense) The Fallen Sparrow (1943/94 m/Richard Wallace)
  4. (12:00 PM) (western) The Rare Breed (1966/97 m/Andrew V. McLaglen)
  5. (2:00 PM) (adventure) At Sword's Point (1951/81 m/Lewis Allen)
  6. (3:45 PM) (adventure) Sinbad the Sailor (1947/117 m/Richard Wallace)
  7. (6:00 PM) (adventure) The Wings of Eagles (1957/110 m/John Ford)
  8. (8:00 PM) (horror) The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1939/117 m/William Dieterle)
  9. (10:15 PM) (comedy) Miracle on 34th Street (1947/96 m/George Seaton)
  10. (12:00 AM) (drama) This Land Is Mine (1943/103 m/Jean Renoir)
  11. (2:00 AM) (comedy) Sitting Pretty (1948/84 m/Walter Lang)
  12. (3:45 AM) (drama) Spencer's Mountain (1963/118 m/Delmer Daves)
Tuesday, August 18, 2020 (WARREN BEATTY day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) Promise Her Anything (1966/97 m/Arthur Hiller)
  2. (8:00 AM) (comedy) Kaleidoscope (1966/103 m/Jack Smight)
  3. (10:00 AM) (crime) Mickey One (1965/93 m/Arthur Penn)
  4. (12:00 PM) (drama) Lilith (1964/114 m/Robert Rossen)
  5. (2:00 PM) (drama) The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone (1961/104 m/José Quintero)
  6. (3:45 PM) (drama) Splendor in the Grass (1961/124 m/Elia Kazan)
  7. (6:00 PM) (crime) Bonnie and Clyde (1967/111 m/Arthur Penn)
  8. (8:00 PM) (epic) Reds (1981/195 m/Warren Beatty)
  9. (11:30 PM) (crime) Bugsy (1991/136 m/Barry Levinson)
  10. (2:00 AM) (western) McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971/121 m/Robert Altman)
  11. (4:15 AM) (comedy) The Fortune (1975/88 m/Mike Nichols)
Wednesday, August 19, 2020 (DOLORES DEL RIO day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (silent) The Trail of '98 (1928/88 m/Clarence Brown)
  2. (7:45 AM) (suspense) What Price Glory (1926/121 m/Raoul Walsh)
  3. (10:00 AM) (musical) I Live For Love (1935/64 m/Busby Berkeley)
  4. (11:30 AM) (premiere) Devil's Playground (1937/73 m/Erle C. Kenton)
  5. (1:00 PM) (adventure) The Man From Dakota (1940/75 m/Leslie Fenton)
  6. (2:30 PM) (drama) Journey Into Fear (1942/68 m/Norman Foster)
  7. (4:00 PM) (drama) The Fugitive (1947/100 m/John Ford)
  8. (6:00 PM) (romance) More Than a Miracle (1967/103 m/Francesco Rosi)
  9. (8:00 PM) (adventure) Bird of Paradise (1932/82 m/King Vidor)
  10. (9:45 PM) (musical) In Caliente (1935/84 m/Lloyd Bacon)
  11. (11:30 PM) (musical) Flying Down To Rio (1933/89 m/Thornton Freeland)
  12. (1:15 AM) (drama) Madame Du Barry (1934/79 m/William Dieterle)
  13. (3:00 AM) (western) Cheyenne Autumn (1964/155 m/John Ford)
Thursday, August 20, 2020 (WILLIAM POWELL day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) The Key (1934/71 m/Michael Curtiz)
  2. (7:30 AM) (suspense) The Kennel Murder Case (1933/73 m/Michael Curtiz)
  3. (9:00 AM) (musical) The Great Ziegfeld (1936/176 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  4. (12:00 PM) (suspense) The Thin Man (1934/91 m/W. S. Van Dyke II)
  5. (2:00 PM) (suspense) Another Thin Man (1939/103 m/W. S. Van Dyke II)
  6. (4:00 PM) (comedy) I Love You Again (1940/99 m/W. S. Van Dyke II)
  7. (6:00 PM) (comedy) Libeled Lady (1936/98 m/Jack Conway)
  8. (8:00 PM) (premiere) The Senator Was Indiscreet (1947/81 m/George S. Kaufman)
  9. (9:45 PM) (comedy) Life with Father (1947/118 m/Michael Curtiz)
  10. (12:00 AM) (drama) One Way Passage (1932/67 m/Tay Garnett)
  11. (1:30 AM) (romance) Jewel Robbery (1932/68 m /William Dieterle)
  12. (3:00 AM) (romance) Reckless (1935/97 m/Victor Fleming)
  13. (4:45 AM) (comedy) High Pressure (1932/73 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
Friday, August 21, 2020 (DIANA DORS day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (crime) Good Time Girl (1948/91 m/David MacDonald)
  2. (7:45 AM) (drama) Oliver Twist (1948/116 m/David Lean)
  3. (9:45 AM) (comedy) Here Come the Huggetts (1948/93 m/Ken Annakin)
  4. (11:30 AM) (crime) Man Bait (1952/78 m/Terence Fisher)
  5. (1:00 PM) (comedy) An Alligator Named Daisy (1957/88 m/J. Lee Thompson)
  6. (2:30 PM) (comedy) I Married a Woman (1958/84 m/Hal Kanter)
  7. (4:15 PM) (crime) King of the Roaring 20s: The Story of Arnold Rothstein (1961/106 m/Joseph M. Newman)
  8. (6:15 PM) (premiere) Danger Route (1967/89 m/Seth Holt)
  9. (8:00 PM) (crime) The Long Haul (1957/88 m/Ken Hughes)
  10. (10:00 PM) (premiere) The Weak and the Wicked (1954/81 m/J. Lee-Thompson)
  11. (12:00 AM) (crime) The Unholy Wife (1957/94 m/John Farrow)
  12. (2:00 AM) (horror) From Beyond the Grave (1973/98 m/Kevin Connor)
  13. (4:00 AM) (comedy) As Long As They're Happy (1957/87 m/J. Lee Thompson)
Saturday, August 22, 2020 (JOHN WAYNE day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (western) The Big Stampede (1932/54 m/Tenny Wright)
  2. (7:00 AM) (western) The Telegraph Trail (1933/54 m/Tenny Wright)
  3. (8:00 AM) (war) Flying Leathernecks (1951/102 m/Nicholas Ray)
  4. (10:00 AM) (comedy) Trouble Along the Way (1953/110 m/Michael Curtiz)
  5. (12:00 PM) (western) Angel And The Badman (1947/100 m/James Ed(war)d Grant)
  6. (2:00 PM) (western) 3 Godfathers (1949/106 m/John Ford)
  7. (4:00 PM) (western) Stagecoach (1939/96 m/John Ford)
  8. (5:45 PM) (western) Fort Apache (1948/128 m/John Ford)
  9. (8:00 PM) (western) The Searchers (1956/119 m/John Ford)
  10. (10:15 PM) (war) Operation Pacific (1951/109 m//George Waggner)
  11. (12:15 AM) (war) Back to Bataan (1945/95 m/Edward Dmytryk)
  12. (2:00 AM) (adventure) The Comancheros (1961/107 m/Michael Curtiz)
  13. (4:00 AM) (suspense) Big Jim McLain (1952/90 m/Edward Ludwig)
Sunday, August 23, 2020 (OLIVIA de HAVILLAND day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (comedy) The Male Animal (1942/101 m/Elliott Nugent)
  2. (8:00 AM) (comedy) Princess O'Rourke (1943/94 m/Norman Krasna)
  3. (10:00 AM) (drama) Light in the Piazza (drama/1962/102 m/Guy Green)
  4. (12:00 AM) (drama) In This Our Life (1942/97 m/John Huston)
  5. (1:45 PM) (adventure) Captain Blood (1935/119 m/Michael Curtiz)
  6. (4:00 PM) (western) Dodge City (1939/104 m/Michael Curtiz)
  7. (6:00 PM) (adventure) The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938/102 m/Michael Curtiz)
  8. (8:00 PM) (epic) Gone With the Wind (1939/238 m/Victor Fleming)
  9. (12:00 AM) (drama) The Heiress (1949/115 m/William Wyler)
  10. (2:15 AM) (drama) To Each His Own (1946/122 m/Mitchell Leisen)
  11. (4:30 AM) (comedy) Hard to Get (1938/82 m/Ray Enright)
Monday, August 24, 2020 (GEORGE RAFT day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (drama) Manpower (1941/103 m/Raoul Walsh)
  2. (8:00 AM) (suspense) Background To Danger (1943/80 m/Raoul Walsh)
  3. (9:30 AM) (suspense) Johnny Angel (1946/79 m/Edwin L. Marin)
  4. (11:00 AM) (crime) Race Street (1948/79 m//Edwin L. Marin)
  5. (12:30 PM) (adventure) Outpost in Morocco (1949/91 m/Robert Florey)
  6. (2:30 PM) (crime) Red Light (1949/83 m//Roy Del Ruth)
  7. (4:15 PM) (crime) A Dangerous Profession (1950/79 m/Ted Tetzlaff)
  8. (5:45 PM) (comedy) Some Like It Hot (1959/122 m/Billy Wilder)
  9. (8:00 PM) (drama) They Drive by Night (1940/95 m/Raoul Walsh)
  10. (10:00 PM) (crime) Each Dawn I Die (1939/92 m/William Keighley)
  11. (11:45 PM) (suspense) Nocturne (1946/87 m/Edwin L. Marin)
  12. (1:30 AM) (premiere) Loan Shark (1952/79 m/Seymour Friedman)
  13. (3:00 AM) (premiere) I'll Get You (1953/78 m/Seymour Friedman)
  14. (4:30 AM) (adventure) Invisible Stripes (1940/81 m/Lloyd Bacon)
Tuesday, August 25, 2020 (ANNE SHIRLEY day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (drama) Chasing Yesterday (1935/77 m/George Nicholls Jr.)
  2. (7:30 AM) (drama) A Man to Remember (1938/78 m/Garson Kanin)
  3. (9:00 AM) (comedy) Chatterbox (1936/68 m/George Nicholls Jr.)
  4. (10:15 AM) (romance) M'liss (1936/66 m/George Nicholls Jr.)
  5. (11:30 AM) (comedy) Make Way for a Lady (1936/65 m/David Burton)
  6. (1:00 PM) (comedy) Too Many Wives (1937/61 m/Ben Holmes)
  7. (2:15 PM) (drama) Mother Carey's Chickens (1938/82 m/Rowland V. Lee)
  8. (3:45 PM) (drama) Sorority House (1939/64 m/John Farrow)
  9. (5:00 PM) (drama) Unexpected Uncle (1941/67 m/Peter Godfrey)
  10. (6:15 PM) (adventure) Bombardier (1943/99 m/Richard Wallace)
  11. (8:00 PM) (drama) Anne of Green Gables (1934/78 m/George Nicholls Jr.)
  12. (9:30 PM) (premiere) Steamboat Round the Bend (1935/96 m/John Ford)
  13. (11:00 PM) (drama) Stella Dallas (1937/106 m/King Vidor)
  14. (1:00 AM) (suspense) Murder, My Sweet (1944/95 m/Edward Dmytryk)
  15. (2:45 AM) (drama) Saturday's Children (1940/102 m/Vincent Sherman)
  16. (4:30 AM) (musical) Music in Manhattan (1944/81 m/John H. Auer)
Wednesday, August 26, 2020 (LAURENCE OLIVIER day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) Westward Passage (1932/73 m/Robert Milton)
  2. (7:15 AM) (comedy) The Divorce Of Lady X (1938/91 m/Tim Whelan)
  3. (9:00 AM) (romance) 21 Days (1940/75 m/Basil Dean)
  4. (10:30 AM) (romance) That Hamilton Woman (1941/125 m/Alexander Korda)
  5. (12:45 PM) (romance) Pride and Prejudice (1940/118 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  6. (2:45 PM) (epic) Henry V (1944/137 m/Laurence Olivier)
  7. (5:15 PM) (drama) Hamlet (1948/154 m/Laurence Olivier)
  8. (8:00 PM) (romance) Wuthering Heights (1939/104 m/William Wyler)
  9. (10:00 PM) (romance) A Little Romance (1979/110 m/George Roy Hill)
  10. (12:00 AM) (drama) The Entertainer (1960/104 m/Tony Richardson)
  11. (2:00 AM) (comedy) The Prince and the Showgirl (1957/117 m/Laurence Olivier)
  12. (4:00 AM) (musical) The Beggar's Opera (1953/94 m/Peter Brook)
Thursday, August 27, 2020 (CLAUDETTE COLBERT day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) Parrish (1961/138 m/Delmer Daves)
  2. (8:30 AM) (drama) The Secret Heart (1946/97 m/Robert Z. Leonard)
  3. (10:30 AM) (suspense) The Secret Fury (1950/86 m/Mel Ferrer)
  4. (12:15 PM) (comedy) It's a Wonderful World (1939/86 m/W. S. Van Dyke II)
  5. (2:00 PM) (comedy) Without Reservations (1946/101 m/Mervyn LeRoy)
  6. (4:00 PM) (war) Three Came Home (1950/105 m/Jean Negulesco)
  7. (6:00 PM) (drama) Tomorrow Is Forever (1946/104 m/Irving Pichel)
  8. (8:00 PM) (comedy) It Happened One Night (1934/105 m/Frank Capra)
  9. (10:00 PM) (comedy) The Egg And I (1947/108 m/Chester Erskine)
  10. (12:00 AM) (comedy) The Palm Beach Story (1942/88 m/Preston Sturges)
  11. (1:45 AM) (adventure) Drums Along the Mohawk (1939/104 m//John Ford)
  12. (3:45 AM) (adventure) Boom Town (1940/119 m/Jack Conway)
Friday, August 28, 2020 (PAUL HENREID day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (war) Joan of Paris (1942/91 m/Robert Stevenson)
  2. (8:00 AM) (drama) Deception (1946/112 m/Irving Rapper)
  3. (10:00 AM) (western) Song of Love (1947/118 m/Clarence Brown)
  4. (12:15 PM) (crime) Hollow Triumph (1948/82 m/Steve Sekely)
  5. (2:00 PM) (drama) In Our Time (1944/111 m/Vincent Sherman)
  6. (4:00 PM) (drama) Between Two Worlds (1944/112 m/Edward A. Blatt)
  7. (6:00 PM) (drama) Of Human Bondage (1946/106 m/Edmund Goulding)
  8. (8:00 PM) (romance) Now, Voyager (1942/117 m/Irving Rapper)
  9. (10:15 PM) (premiere) For Men Only (1951/93 m/Paul Henreid)
  10. (12:00 AM) (romance) Casablanca (1942/103 m/Michael Curtiz)
  11. (2:00 AM) (adventure) The Spanish Main (1945/101 m/Frank Borzage)
  12. (4:00 AM) (adventure) The Conspirators (1944/101 m/Jean Negulesco)
Saturday, August 29, 2020 (EVA MARIE SAINT day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) The Sandpiper (1965/117 m/Vincente Minnelli)
  2. (8:00 AM) (documentary) Eva Marie Saint: Live From the TCM Classic Film Festival (2014/59 m/?)
  3. (9:00 AM) (war) 36 Hours (1964/115 m/George Seaton)
  4. (11:00 AM) (adventure) Grand Prix (1966/176 m/John Frankenheimer)
  5. (2:00 PM) (drama) All Fall Down (1962/110 m/John Frankenheimer)
  6. (4:00 PM) (western) The Stalking Moon (1968/109 m/Robert Mulligan)
  7. (6:00 PM) (drama) On the Waterfront (1954/108 m//Elia Kazan)
  8. (8:00 PM) (suspense) North by Northwest (1959/136 m/Alfred Hitchcock)
  9. (10:30 PM) (drama) A Hatful of Rain (1957/108 m/Fred Zinnemann)
  10. (12:30 AM) (drama) Raintree County (1957/166 m/Edward Dmytryk)
  11. (3:45 AM) (drama) Loving (1970/89 m/Irvin Kershner)
Sunday, August 30, 2020 (CHARLTON HESTON day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (suspense) Skyjacked (1972/101 m/John Guillermin)
  2. (7:45 AM) (adventure) The Wreck of the Mary Deare (1959/105 m/Michael Anderson)
  3. (9:30 AM) (horror) The Omega Man (1971/98 m/Boris Sagal)
  4. (11:15 AM) (adventure) The Three Musketeers (1973/107 m/Richard Lester)
  5. (1:15 PM) (epic) 55 Days at Peking (1963/154 m/Nicholas Ray)
  6. (4:00 PM) (epic) Ben-Hur (1959/222 m/William Wyler)
  7. (8:00 PM) (crime) Touch of Evil (1958/111 m/Orson Welles)
  8. (10:00 PM) (epic) Khartoum (1966/136 m/Basil Dearden)
  9. (12:15 AM) (adventure) Planet of the Apes (1968/112 m/Franklin J. Schaffner)
  10. (2:15 AM) (horror) Soylent Green (1973/97 m/Richard O. Fleischer)
  11. (4:00 AM) (drama) Number One (1969/105 m/Tom Gries)
Monday, August 31, 2020 (ALAIN DELON day)
  1. (6:00 AM) (romance) The Yellow Rolls-Royce (1964/123 m/Anthony Asquith)
  2. (8:05 AM) (suspense) Scorpio (1973/114 m/Michael Winner)
  3. (10:00 AM) (horror) Spirits of the Dead (1968/121 m/Roger Vadim)
  4. (12:15 PM) (drama) Once A Thief (1965/106 m/Ralph Nelson)
  5. (2:15 PM) (western) Red Sun (1971/115 m/Terence Young)
  6. (4:15 PM) (drama) Have I the Right to Kill (1963/102 m/Alain Cavalier)
  7. (6:00 PM) (crime) Purple Noon (1961/117 m/René Clément)
  8. (8:00 PM) (drama) Rocco and His Brothers (1960/179 m/Luchino Visconti)
  9. (11:15 PM) (premiere) Le Samourai (1967/105 m/Jean-Pierre Melville)
  10. (1:15 AM) (drama) L'Eclisse (1962/126 m/Michelangelo Antonioni)
  11. (3:30 AM) (western) Lost Command (1966/130 m//Mark Robson)
submitted by tombstoneshadows28 to movies [link] [comments]


2020.07.29 14:14 MulciberTenebras Turner Classic Movies (TCM) - The Full U.S. Schedule for August 2020, aka the "Summer Under the Stars"

Saturday - August 1st, 2020

Barbara Stanwyck

Sunday - August 2nd, 2020

Rock Hudson

Monday – August 3rd, 2020

Rita Hayworth

Tuesday - August 4th, 2020

S.Z. Sakall

Wednesday - August 5th, 2020

Ann Miller

Thursday - August 6th, 2020

Burt Lancaster

Friday - August 7th, 2020

Sylvia Sidney

Saturday - August 8th, 2020

Charlie Chaplin

Sunday - August 9th, 2020

Goldie Hawn

Monday - August 10th, 2020

Norma Shearer

Tuesday – August 11th, 2020

Sammy Davis Jr.

Wednesday - August 12th, 2020

*Lana Turner *

Thursday – August 13th, 2020

John Barrymore

Friday – August 14th, 2020

Steve McQueen

Saturday – August 15th, 2020

Nina Foch

Sunday - August 16th, 2020

Cary Grant

Monday - August 17th, 2020

Maureen O’Hara

Tuesday - August 18th, 2020

Warren Beatty

Wednesday - August 19th, 2020

Dolores Del Rio

Thursday - August 20th, 2020

William Powell

Friday - August 21st, 2020

Diana Dors

Saturday - August 22nd, 2020

Natalie Wood

Sunday – August 23rd, 2020

Olivia de Havilland

Monday – August 24th, 2020

George Raft

Tuesday – August 25th, 2020

Anne Shirley

Wednesday – August 26th, 2020

Lawrence Olivier

Thursday – August 27th, 2020

Claudette Colbert

Friday – August 28th, 2020

Paul Henreid

Saturday – August 29th, 2020

Eva Marie Saint

Sunday – August 30th, 2020

Charlton Heston

Monday – August 31st, 2020

Alain Delon

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2020.07.20 18:09 20Julgewgaw F-ree Adu-lt Male Por-n

F-ree Adu-lt Male Por-n
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