The Literate Kitty

Yesterday was an anniversary, of sorts, for me, and I decided to sit down and write something about it. (It isn't a good memory--although it's an important one--so I don't allow myself to go back there too often.)  Writing has a way of opening your mind, though, and--as my fingers flew, in stops and starts across the keyboard, reliving moments from that day--I realized that something important was in the re-telling... a measure of grace, if you will. Just like that, what began as a cathartic exercise felt like a little story that needed telling.  So today, this post is a break from the usual reviews, to do just that: to share a moment of human experience. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ The Welfare Check You read things, in books… situations, small details, bits that you grasp, insomuch as you can, and then move on… to the next sentence, the next paragraph, the next chapter.  For me—lover of mysteries, crime tales, and thrillers—one of those “things” has always been the police. Techn

Whenever something has a ton of hype, my knee-jerk response is to do anything BUT that thing (read the book, see the movie, stream the show, eat at the restaurant, wear the item, etc.)... unless, of course, it really  sounds amazing (in which case not doing so would be like shooting myself in the foot, and that would just be stupid). Last weekend,  Promising Young Woman (a new theatrical release, available via Amazon to rent/stream at home during the ongoing pandemic) was the must-do. It has crazy-good hype, and it's a psychological thriller ( and it doesn't involve any huge explosions, superheroes, or sophomoric humor!)? Count. Me. In. [Quick note to anyone new, here: No averting of your eyes needed; my place is, as always, a spoiler-free zone.] Promising Young Woman doesn't waste any time getting right to the plot. It opens with a bar scene, late on what's probably a Friday night (noisy, crowded), zeroing in on a high-top with three guys--yuppies--being, well,

Pollution. Overcrowding. Poverty. Disease. Hunger. Rampant crime. Political upheaval and uncertainty. A pandemic. People struggling to survive just one more day, and then another.   And a few of them, here and there, deciding—for one reason or another—that they’re not gonna take it any more [hopefully you just started bobbing your head to Twisted Sister, but if you weren’t, until right this second, you’re welcome ]. It could be today, tomorrow, or at some point not so far into the future, as in A.D. Enderly’s serpentine, dystopian sci-fi series debut, Complex . _______________ Everything basically sucks, in this dog-eat-dog world—especially if you’re just a nobody, trying to live your life—and Val knows that better than most. At 18, she’s already been the “parent” in her family for a couple years, responsible for food, shelter, and the general well-being of not only herself, but also of her younger sister, Kat. Sure, things could be easier… if she agreed to basically sign he

Los Angeles. Whatever you may think about it, it would be hard to name another place that’s home to so very, very many hopes, dreams, and ambitions… or to as much heartache, disappointment, and disillusionment. Everyone here envisions their fantasies taking flight on a magnificent set of wings… but in The City of Angels, such wings are rarely given freely or won easily… and the scrappy, feathery bits that most of us try our best to cobble together? Never manage to feel like quite enough. And yet, we stay… and more come, from all over, every year: the dreamers and the schemers, the escapees and the seekers, the visionaries and the desperate. (For a place that sees next-to-no lightning [I mean, storms? we’d have as much luck wishing for a stampede of unicorns down Wilshire Boulevard, as we would seeing a thunderstorm], we seem insanely hopeful, as a people, that those electrical bolts are gonna strike, and our dreams all come true.) You see, we don’t cling to those dreams, setback a