in bed with Clint Eastwood
Sunday, March 5 2000
Ferocious storms tore through San Diego all day long. Cold winds howled, rain pelted down, and there was little to do but stay under the covers watching the Superstation Clint Eastwood marathon on cable teevee. I've seen all of these flicks before (my mother and I went through something of a Clint Eastwood phase back in the mid 80s), but it's always fun to watch familiar movies again. I'm realizing that, through the years, layers of my naïvité are gradually pealing off onion-style, revealing an increasingly jaded and cynical person at the core. Now I've reached the point where movies like Pale Rider and The Gauntlet come across as grossly unrealistic fantasies verging on unwatchable. But still I watch, mostly to gauge how much I've changed in the past 15 years.
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