The Literate Kitty

There are certain things an Angeleno just accepts as part of life. Insane amounts of traffic, clogging freeways and local access roads alike, for two-thirds of every day. Choppers flying overhead fast and low, at all hours. Perpetual threats of wildfires and earthquakes. The realization that no matter how much you might want to be one of those people who has “beach days”, the chances of such are slim. Some new political scandal, somewhere in the county. Rationalizing those late-night In-and-Out burgers by consuming mass quantities of kale and outrageously-priced juices. Avoiding most of Hollywood like the plague (despite some great theaters and restaurants), due to the overwhelming presence of mentally-unstable transients and gaping tourists (who can never understand why they aren’t running into “stars” at every corner). And—since the arrival of the coronavirus—a resurgence of the rampant crime (that had actually, finally, been on the downswing). Why do we accept all of that? Because...

They say that “kids will be kids”, but, really… what does that even mean, any more?  It was one thing, when people rolled their eyes and (mostly) looked the other way at kids cutting classes, going out drag-racing, sneaking cigarettes (or now, more likely some prescription pills) from their parents’ stashes, or having a little party and raiding the liquor cabinet when the folks were out late. Everybody has to grow up… and doing that means doings some certifiably dumb, or dangerous, or whatever-other-terms-the-adults-in-question-deem-appropriate stuff. No matter what the “stuff” is, one thing is certain: no kid, in the history of ever, wants to get in trouble for doing it.  But here’s the thing [at least, I think ; my only kid has fur, so I’m no expert, here]: some of the stuff parents get mad about is of the “do as I say, not as I do” or “because you’re not old enough” variety… while some of it falls under the “because that’s crazy-dangerous” header.  Joshua Moehl...

Despite a genuine liking for most—and big, big love for at least one*—Tom Cruise films, there was more than a little trepidation (as I struggled mightily to get comfy in an uncomfortable seat, while a ridiculous number of ads and trailers played on and on, all part of my reward? punishment? for the exorbitant $27 ticket price) about Top Gun: Maverick , last night.   As a Gen Xer, I saw Top Gun when it hit the movieplexes, and I was old enough to sort of appreciate the actual dangers which the slick flick only touched on (back when things were still dicey with Russia… erm, make that, back when we were still comfortable acknowledging out loud that things were dicey with Russia )… but plenty young enough not to feel any need to over-dissect anything. It was shiny and pretty and exciting, and that was enough. Cut to three-and-a-half decades later, though, and TG:M has considerably more to answer for, from the likes of me—and probably also from a host of others who fell in love w...

Ask anyone who their favorite fictional private eye is, and you’ll find you’ve cast a pretty wide net—granted, one in which some of the same, bigger, fish show up again and again—but ask for their favorite detecting duo , and the resulting catch will likely be noticeably smaller. [Not that the latter won’t also include some repeats; great writing and plotting, as in blood, will always out.] Me? Honestly, for my all-time faves, I’m torn between a couple of dynamic, modern duos [which sounds way too superhero-y for this particular discussion, but here we are]: Lynley and Havers (from the mighty pen of Elizabeth George), and Robert Galbraith (aka J.K. Rowling)’s Strike and Robin. [Yes, I know, I know . Technically, I should call her “Ellacott”, because a) “and Robin” also skews way too superhero-y, and b) going with last names would be tidier, but… to me, she’s Robin, because she feels more like a good friend. <insert shrugging emoticon here>] So, now that I finally got around t...