...
Mom had a fit when I told her I wanted to marry Harry Belefonte... something like, "If you ever bring home one of those...." I was like, what? Singers? "No, he's... well, he's a... oh, never mind, just not one of those." So I just quickly switched over to Liberace not to incur her wrath.... I'm here listening to this documentary, shaking my head over the need to cloak "negro music" with a white boy... and guess who was the biggest Elvis fan in Mill Valley... yep... took me and my little sister to every Elvis movie that came out. Anyway, I wonder sometimes what it would be like if kids just got left to think everyone walking around and talking and laughing and singing and dancing were just plain generic humans.
I'm wondering also if having lost the local movie rental place isn't beginning to place me at something of a cultural disadvantage... notwithstanding my antipathy for what we have to call culture these days... because... deep sigh... it took me something like ten minutes to remember whose voice the narrator's is. Fuck. Immediate recognition that it's someone I love and I can't place it? Crikey.
