In the absence of colour
You have to be “of a certain age’ to get it. This afternoon, I watched the movie Pleasantville, and without revealing too much of the plot line; think of living a in a world devoid of colour.
I spent years enthralled by TV without chroma. I mean, I knew that Lucy had red hair, but she was just as funny with her hair in shades of grey, or covered by a monochrome kerchief. Ditto for cowboys that rode horses that were shades of grey. No need for browns, or “golden Palomino”, when the horse was as smart as Trigger. Black hats and white hats broke the world into two warring factions.
Police cars were black and white (really), and the flashing lights never caught attention in the same way that the wail of an acoustic siren could. Train locomotives were uniformly black. There, proof that colour was overrated.
Not much happening around here. I still haven’t found my two tees (blue and yellow, if colour means anything). The wah pedal, from the pawn shop, functions, although my cheap guitar cords are noisy (just like my chords). I still need to sort the latest history book acquisitions into the collection downstairs. Have to have something to recall the subtle pleasure of holidays in the weeks to come.
The new pan has successfully seared steak, two days running. How long before someone destroys the ait-stick coating with too much heat or metal utensils? I’ve got quite a collection of scarred pans around here. Time to send someone to cooking school.
