1) There’s nobody to have fun with.
2) None of the things I regard as fun are available to me any more.
Consequently, I have to fall back on the next best thing, and that’s the meaning of life. Nevertheless, I did need to be brought back down today, and guess what I found on one of the Freeview channels:
I love Ghostbusters. I truly do. I’ve watched those films many, many times, but they still tickle my fancy afresh every time. They take me back to those two Christmases living alone on a wilder part of the Northumberland coast, doing what I wanted to do (consuming malt scotch, mince pies and TV mostly) instead of forcing myself to pretend to get on with in-laws, or getting yelled at for admitting that the sweater the dear lady bought me is the absolute essence of what I most dislike in sweaters. Freedom and Ghostbusters belong together. But there’s more.
Ghostbusters is gold dust. It grounds, balances and amuses me. It brings me back to that ‘what the hell, let’s just get on with it’ mindset. Peter Venkman reminds me of me when I was younger, and I fall in love with Janine all over again. And what greater spur do I need to prick the sides of my intent to see New York once more before I die than Ghostbusters? That establishing shot of the Manhattan skyline has such power, energy, and unpretentious grandeur. Forget what some of it stands for, it’s the spirit underpinning it that I’m interested in. I was seventeen the last time I saw it for real. Maybe, one of these days…