My main man in the film critic category, Boston critic Chandler Swain, (chandlerswainreviews) has nominated me for The Versatile Blogger Award. Thank you, Chandler. Though I don’t have the shadowy contacts to send him his sought-after Havana Cubanos nor the stash for his 20-year-old bourbon, I’ll just put on my town crier hat and tell you his blog is one of the most original in the world of film review. His detailed analyses of the finer points of film, and his (to me) unparalleled range of knowledge, makes a visit to his site, not just a reading, but an adventure. It is also harrowing, often intimidating, and altogether intellectually challenging, like braving the New York Times crossword puzzle. It gives your brain a workout. Chandler Swain is monumentally educated and terrifyingly brilliant. I love it. So if you love film, the minutiae of film, and the challenge of brain-teasing logic, you’ll love this blog. (I confess, I also love the old film pictures he posts).
Now, in order to become a member of the illustrious order of Versatile Bloggers (like knights, but we brandish a virtual pen rather than a sword) there is a process I must undergo, which I will call my ordination ceremony. After complying with this process, I may display the emblem of The Versatile Bloggers Award, after first looking up the word versatile for the correct spelling. But that’s just me. The main thing, though, is that it is an honor to be recognized by a fellow blogger. Thank you, again, Chandler, and may all your problems be little ones.
Okay. The order of the order is:
1. Display the award on your page – (check)
2. Post your nomination/award at the same time as you thank the blogger who nominated you — (check)
3. Present 15 deserving bloggers with their own nomination/award – (check)
4. Link these blogs and let them know about their nominations along with a comment — (half a check – I’m getting there)
5. Post seven interesting things about yourself (I almost ran out of fuel but – check)
My nominations reflect my interests – eclectic. Mainly if it’s sound, clear writing, with points that are thought-provoking, I’ll read it. And the ones I’ve nominated fulfill these requirements. I am also of the opinion that good reading and thinking do not have to include trash mouths or trash minds. I haven’t encountered any among these. Hope you will elect to read and enjoy some or all of them. They are in no particular order except for subject, and the last blog “classic mystery”, is one I’ve just discovered, but look forward to reading more.
(B)elieve (L)ots (O)f (G)ood (BLOG) reading here:
- 365 Veterans
- We’re Not Lost, Sergeant, We’re In……France
- life on the open road
- two minutes of grace
- Suddenly Jesus
- dad poet
- poetry commentary
- photo botos
- westerns reboot
- Crazy Cool Comics
- movie smack down
- classic mystery
The following is seven interesting things about myself. If I’m wrong and you doze off, there will either be (a) an embedded electrical current among the sentences that will give you a slight shock, or (b) a pop quiz afterward. And you don’t get to choose.
#1. Sometimes I mis-hear stuff. Like the lyrics to songs. Take “The Gambler” by Kenny Rogers when it comes to the line — “on a train bound for Norway, I met up with a gambler” –. As I was singing along one day, Mike said, “What are you saying?” I said “on a train bound for Norway.” He said, “You can’t get from America to Norway by train.” “Then what the devil is he saying?” I said. “Kenny is saying – on a train bound for NOWHERE – not NORWAY.”
#2. I’m a terrible cook. I finally found the branch of my family that I get that culinarily undelightful DNA from. Cousin Joan and I went to a family reunion once and the only thing fit to eat was the KFC we had brought. Two big buckets. By the time the menfolk got through swarming The Colonel like ants at a picnic, just about all that was left of the buckets was the logo. And not a crumb in sight. I know the women tried, bless their hearts, and no man would ever admit it, but our KFC was an answer to prayer that day.
#3. God protects me from attacks of hubris. He does. For every compliment I get, I have to suffer a left-handed one, or simply a misunderstanding. Take for instance when I first went to work as a reporter for a newspaper. I was riding a bus one day and the woman beside me asked what I did for a living. That little glow began deep in my heart — you know the one. And I said, “I work for the newspaper.” — “Oh,” says she, with a pitying look. “I could never get up before daylight and deliver newspapers.”
#4. It’s the hubris again. Yes. Pride does goeth before a fall. When I first started the newspaper column “The Village Smith”, the forerunner of my blog “The Village Smith”, I became quite popular about town. My teeny-tiny, and brief, moment in the sun. A friend introduced me to her boss one day. “Oh,” she said. “You’re THAT Linda Smith.” I smiled humbly. “You don’t look a thing like you write,” she said. “You write so intelligently.”
5. Writing started early for me. When I won a regional wide Civitan Club writing and speech contest at the age of 15, I was taken to the state capitol where I was presented at a tea at the governor’s mansion. I was such a shy country girl that the then-governor-elect Lurleen Wallace had to hunt me down in order to introduce herself. But she was a social veteran. She cordially and graciously introduced me to the ladies. I never did know who they were. Everything went by in such a blur, they could have been little green ladies in tea gowns for all I knew.
6. My first ever job was as an operator for Southern Bell back when we plugged in to a switchboard. One of the things our supervisors constantly made us aware of was the possibility of emergency phone calls like wrecks or heart attack victims. I lived in terror of getting such a call. One day I plugged in to hear a rasping, choking, breathless voice trying desperately to say something. I could tell it was a man. “SIR!” I screamed, “What’s your name. Are you having trouble breathing? Do you need an ambulance? JUST TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE! I’LL GET HELP TO YOU RIGHT AWAY!!” More heavy breathing. Words I couldn’t understand. A name. I thought. But when I repeated it back as innocently as a lamb, the phone line exploded with such vicious, electrifying and colorful phraseology — all of it maligning my intelligence — and such imagery as I never thought to hear come over the telephone line. Understanding was no longer a problem. It was my first encounter with an obscene phone call. His encounter with me may even have cured him.
#7. I’m running out of ideas here. Okay. Okay. One time . . . (chuckle) . . . no . . . wait, wait. Sorry. Can’t tell that one. Let me think. Oh. Okay. I once won a contest for “The Bravest Woman in the World”. It was sponsored by the local movie theater and each contestant had to write, in 500 words or less, why she thought she was the bravest woman. My major points were that I had once killed a spider at ten paces, and drove an entire van-load of Girl Scouts on a field trip. Can’t get any braver than that. When my essay was selected, I then had to sit ALONE through a midnight showing of “Prophecy”, the old 1979 horror flick. I was then given 25 Susan B. Anthony silver dollars, and was escorted out of the theater hailed as the world’s bravest woman.
Yep. Those are my stories and I’m stickin’ to ’em. Hope I’ve done all this in correct and fanatical order. If not, someone can smack my hand. Ta-taa. Catch ya later.
Your friend, Linda