Remembering something about it consisted of an image of Hemmings, a young London too cool fashion photographer, driving a Rolls Royce convertible at the beginning of the movie and cavorting with two young women who'd shown up on his doorstep expressing a need to get to know him better could they come inside? Cavorting with naked women who'd shown up unannounced on your doorstep was pretty arty stuff in the early 70's and so I, at the time, forgave the overly pretentious Rolls Royce. Good of me, don't you think?

Hemmings' character in the Blow-Up I saw last night seemed juvenile and pretentious (although that may be harsh as his character was, after all, a photographer; too much ego to stomach, but a photographer with a great studio/loft and, you know, like the car, English.) and although I'd say his character was pretentious in a way I myself have never been, I, of course, can't. Say that.

Anyway, cut to the chase, the ending was nice, nice to have the DVD, nice to remember the time and the place and the person with whom I first saw the flick. English, that lady, a participant in a little hipper version of that very London scene they were trying to portray who taught me to take the tobacco from a cigarette and, with three artfully constructed cigarette papers, roll it into a thing-a-ma-bob with a small folded piece of cardboard at one end and a sprinkling of hash in the tobacco at the other end to make it all come out right.

Which means?

Oh, I don't know. I started with Blow-Up, a perfectly rational beginning, lost interest somehow in the middle and muddled it up with the reference to an old friend and a tobacco hashish cigarette, something I haven't thought about in years. I think the mind is deteriorating, memories randomly popping into my brain and this journal is rapidly making less and less sense. Still like the pictures, though.