January 6th, 2006

Brad @ Burning Man

Damn you, Marv. Taking one more day off.

OK, taking one more day off to straighten my head out. Why? Because on the way home from dinner tonight, on a whim I went ahead and picked up the widescreen special edition of Sin City. When I got it home, I found out that one of the extras, which I hadn't noticed, is a paperback book version of the complete run of Marv's story, "The Hard Goodbye," which I just finished a little while ago.

When I went to see the movie, minidoc was sitting next to me, and when Marv says to the psycho killer who's thrashing him hard, "Is that the best you got?", she turned to me and whispered, "Brad, I didn't know they made a movie about you!" It stuck in my head, and in my craw a little bit, because up until that point I'd mostly been identifying with Detective Hartigan: an older man, tired, not in great health, determined to try to use his last chance to fix one more wrong even if it kills him, with no reasonable expectation of winning or of making it out alive either way. I identified. But I saw her point. Like Marv, I can take a heck of a beating. I'm not a whole lot prettier than Marv. Like Marv, I'm a bit of a clothes horse, but in odd ways. Like Marv, I'll go to the ends of the earth for a pretty girl who treats me nicely, who acts as if I'm a male of her own species as opposed to some vaguely frightening thing.

And like Marv, I have a condition. Mine's less severe than Marv, but I'm familiar with the sensation of questioning my own perceptions. (Have I told the story about the restaurant that moved, from a space that's no longer there, to a space where it couldn't have been before, that didn't exist before?) Like Marv, I know that it's not good when you have a condition to not take your medicine. I'm not Marv. I've never been to prison, and the only two times I've gone to jail it was for less than a full day each time, and no, it wasn't especially hellish for me; heck, one of the times was almost fun. (I'm sure I told that story, right?) When a drunk driver killed my personal Goldie, the drunk died shortly there after, but not by my hand; I didn't get to do him right for her. I don't want to be Marv.

But one of the only ways that the original "The Hard Goodbye" is different from the movie is that it's got a whole heck of a lot more of Marv's internal narration in it, maybe twice as much. (I liked the movie better.) And now, it's taking me heroic effort not to think and talk like Marv. So I think I'll sleep now. And then take my medicine.