I have recently begun (because I am still a bit of a Luddite and chronically underfunded) the process of moving the vast crowd of films my wife and I own onto an external hard-drive thousands of times more capacious than the brain of Johnny Mnemonic, so that we may watch them on the big TV in the living room without having to walk to shelf to DVD player and back to chair like we’re cavemen. Oh, no, we’re joining the world of… the current decade, more or less, using the home computer to send files to a phone which then transmits them to a doodad plugged into our television. SIMPLE!
This pursuit has given a couple of subsidiary enjoyments. The most frequent is the feeling of virtuous rectitude each time I get to the message from my DVD-to-file software telling me I have to affirm that the file is only for non-commercial home use, because that’s exactly what I’m at.
The other is being reminded of the existence of some of the stuff in our collection. Some, like Fiend Without a Face, are extremely subjective sources of enjoyment. Others are generally held up as classics by people qualified to make that kind of pronouncement.
For example, one is always well repaid for a re-watching of Alien.
Today’s pen: Montblanc 32
Today’s ink: Montblanc Racing Green