Wednesday, 1 June 2011

I'm not going to write about finance ...

Not today, and not tomorrow, and not the day after tomorrow. So it's gonna be three days of fun, fun, fun! (Unless I change my mind. Maybe something unbelievably important will happen. And I'll be compelled to write? What are the odds?) I may mention little things, like: Philip Duff and his Massive Partners. They're really big, apparently. Giants. But that's all you're getting out of me. (I should think. And hope.) I'm too excited, oh, my holiday. Too ... ooo ... ooo EXCITED! So I'm just going to waffle on, and on, and on, about anything that happens to be passing ... through my head (or around my head, like spirits, still get them) - even more than unusual. I've decided that my holiday is going to be my last fandango. Got to get serious. Fandango is my favourite film. American Graffiti is a close second. I love both films. They're quite similar. This is me relaxing, having fun. I'm going to make a REAL fresh start when I return from Cornwall. Yes, I'll be working harder on my blog (REAL grand posts that no one can touch or even imagine touching), but I desperately need those songs I keep threatening to write. I can't do anything with my old songs. They're too uncommercial. Every Last Drop Of My Blood - ? Do me a favour! I need new songs. Ruthless pop smashes like Sugar, Sugar. I need the money. This blog will never become the biggest financial website in the world without billboards; Piccadilly Circus, Times Square - you get the idea. Maybe even TV adverts. ['Hi! I'm Victor Kiam!'] 'Hi! I'm Michael Fowke! I hated reality so much, I created my own.'

I'm going ... nowhere, for one more week.

'There's nothing wrong with going nowhere, son.' Fandango. Texas. A party. Graduation, for some. Gardner Barnes, throwing darts at a picture of his OWN face because he let his angel/the fantasy girl go. Tragic. But great song at the beginning. Waggener, sneaking in the back door because HIS wedding is off (to the fantasy girl). Drafted. Vietnam. It's a farewell fandango for The Groovers! Down the highway, so fast! Sick, with Mexican(?) music. Going after Dom. Phil Hicks, a right pain. Dorman, reading. Lester, comatose. Blue sky through the car window with Carole King on the radio - it's so magical. Cut to fantasy girl in field with Gardner. Then, back to reality: 'It means empty, douche bag, like your head!' Costner really laughing, not acting. Out of gas. Pushing car along lonesome highway. 'Waggener, she's history.' Oh, he still loves her. Worried about getting killed in 'Nam. Train coming. 'Run, son.' Dorman, so cool. They're gonna wreck Phil's car. How many pizzas did he have to make to buy it? A lot. Spooky. Stolen fries. Cute, dumb girls. 'No, it's so neat.' Fireworks in the graveyard. Looks just like 'Nam. Then to sleep; a night with James Dean's ghost. Gardner's dream, like something from my life, the kite near the moon. I actually remember that. Or maybe I just imagined it. A lizard in the morning. Car fixed. 'You know, some day, Philip, when you're old ...' Phil takes his glasses off, twice. (Never mind. We all make mistakes.) Truman Sparks. Up in the sky. Parachute, but no parachute!!! The reserve! Pull the handle, Phil! 'Angels!' Chata Ortega's. Desolate, sad. But: 'It don't all change.' [Those birds!] Head for the border, get Dom! The wedding's back on! Everyone's helping out. 'We lost the band!' The plane is coming. Melancholic late afternoon/evening. Fantasy girl has arrived. Lester wakes up, at last. The ceremony, conducted by Dorman. Dancing. Fandango. The happy couple depart. Gardner has already gone. Lantern goes out. That's their youth. 'Have a nice life.' Gardner on the hill, fades into the future. The end, with Blind Faith. Not perfect, just beautiful.