Monday, July 23, 2018

Chlorine Blade Lines in Backed Up Septic Tanks

"I will not hide from you that I am sending you into the midst of the wolves."-- Stendhal,  rouge et noir, loc 4183


Memories of New Jersey drive throughs begin to fade, not as vivid as those Nick Gillespie possess, such that he would declare the Garden State “the greatest state on earth,” in a moment of superlative appreciation. It seems the charming ignominy of dilapidated beachfront properties is closer to the truth, with the seediness of Burt Lancaster’s Atlantic City reverberating through the dull grey sand beneath Wildwood’s Boardwalk, with its titillation of cheap carny thrills, Keystone Cop rides a senile grandmother might retrieve in a lucid flash, Gerald Ford on black and white badly received VHF, vainly attempting to save the GOP from the wavering barometer of agrarian sensibilities which would translate into President Carter's self-flagellation, with his residual sympathizers congregating around his last public Bible lectures by virtue of rather expensive glioma-shrinking drugs. Farmland in Georgia isn’t as temperate as Jersey’s perhaps, not that the dowager has geographic expertise in regional topsoil, remembering northern Jersey as more sedate, darker, not so many beach bodies jiggling swimsuit love handles. When things go rancid in this state, within Trenton's environs, or beyond its borders, as in the Thomas Tramaglini arrest, they spoil in rather dramatic fashion.
If this had been the late summer of 1981, the most flagellant controversy surrounding a superintendent would have been the schedule for driving school over the summer. This was the dowager's first journalism article, in a high school publication better designed, according to Tassoni, than the inter-departmental magazine we produced on a perennial basis. At the time Tramaglini's arrest, a forgettable reference to the flashback of Potter's protagonist in The Singing Detective was made. A childhood actor stands in for Gambion to defecate in a school aquarium, but a more tolerant allusion to the accommodation of such a bizarre eccentricity which is more shameful than menacing is The Vanishing of Pato. On the whole, this two part mystery is Rai's copy of the English formula for putting the pieces together in the traditional whodunit, directed with the fabled provincialism of Italy in mind before helping to cement the United States as the new age global power. In Pato, Nino Frassica has an exchange with a commoner about a villager who eats feces in palm leaves with warm milk. The humor lay in the actors dragging out the details of such a repast. 
While public defecation is not a precise parallel with the criminal intersection of penalizing or victimizing chronic afflictions (such as incontinence), runner's trots may not be the sole reason for Tramaglini's furtive expression in his photographic image. Bad table manners convey social hostility towards the infantile freedom of relief. 

No comments:

Post a Comment