I love old men whistling while they concentrate. It makes me think of days when men were happy to do hard, honest, hands-on work, and wear a hat and tie all the time.
This bookarts class is stuffed with old men, and they're having a ball. I'll post more about the class later, but I just thought I'd share this...
Last night, while I was cooking up a storm to cater for the class, I was watching 12 Monkeys on DVD. I was telling BB that I prefer it out of Terry Gillam's other movies, because it's a lot tighter, and manages to convey TG's interests (madness, dystopia, plumbing) better than his other films. We talked a bit about Brazil, my second favorite TG movie, and I mentioned that I'm always haunted by the music, that little jazz-latin piece of the same name.
Today, one of the lovely old men was concentrating hard on folding his bookcloth just so, and in the midst changed his whistle tune from some obscure jolly little number to... Brazil!
Eerie.
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