TCM is weirding me out. First there were giant ants in the river behind me. Now there’s a guy named Brick bossing John Wayne around. Next up is the Thin Man, which I haven’t been in a long time. Then a loser writer in the Third Man, Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo and I do little enough as it is, and finally A Thousand Clowns, about a do little writer. What is Robert Osborne trying to tell me? If this is narcissism, you can have it.
The first machine landed right near my folks’ house. Just a couple miles away. I was watching and knew the area they were talking about. Then I realized the flying wing was dropping the bomb on the hills maybe a mile from our house. I recognized them. I could look out the sliding glass door and see the same outline as I could on the TV. That was the early seventies and as cool a late night television experience as I’ve ever had, matched only by the realization a couple decades ago that giant ants were nesting in the Los Angeles River a couple hundred yards behind my back. I swore I could smell the formic acid, but it was only the weed.