I am happy about being 67 years old. HP blessed me with a fine, resilient body that responds well to the weinie workout at the gym and a moderate diet of mostly healthy food. I share my little yellow house with my two fur people, who never ask where am I going, when will I be home, or complain about the same meal, day after day after day. I have five rooms here, and they are all MINE. And no one looks at me funny when I crawl into bed every night around 8 PM, turn on the TV and watch reruns of Bones or Murder, She Wrote while doing cryptograms or reading the latest Sue Grafton or Janet Evanolvitch tome. Funny, I just can't seem to do one thing at a time, not here in the little yellow house. Until last night, when summertime TV hit a new low, and I wound up watching this International Mystery on one of the many PBS channels in the current lexicon. It was a German who-done-it, with subtitles, and I spent the first half hour wondering why there was a German division of the Venice police force. Then I realized these were Germans PLAYING Italians. How strange and thoroughly international! All the men, even the heroes, were pretty homely guys, some downright scary ugly. All the women looked like Gina Lolobrigida. It totally absorbed my attention because I had to read the subtitles to follow the plot, and the inspector's daughter was a sparkly little redhead that reminded me of mine at age 15, and it was really suspenseful and Venice is so very beautiful. It is easy to forget how very young my country is until I watch films shot in places like Italy, where everything of value is hella-ancient. I did like the lead actor a lot. He was lumpy and frumpy, but also twinkly and smarter than anyone in the story gave him credit for. And his Sofia Loren clone of a wife was two inches taller than he. Brave man.
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