Alone, I indulged in the virtues of an empty house. Indulgence can take many forms and afterwards I felt like taking in Tideland. I began to watch. But something was missing and my mind kept wandering across the house to the lonely new cartons of Vanilla Hagen Daz hibernating in the freezer just waiting for their Thanksgiving debut with Pecan or Apple Cranberry pie.
Ice cream needs chocolate. I have no chocolate, I thought to myself. Wait, what about the Nutella? Yes. What about the Nutella. I took a huge, mountainous spoon of Nutella and dropped it into a shiny blue Le Crueset pot. I added a pat of salted butter and some Chocolate Silk soy milk. Whisk! Whisk! Whisk! Soon it was one smooth, satiny warm velvet river of wanton lust.
I poured it all over the pristine creamy white round scoops. Wait, more, more, something more. Yes! The fresh new can of cocktail peanuts sighed in ecstasy as I peeled open the cover and dropped their salted bodies liberally into the love.
I turned Tideland back on and as I ate that improvised Sundae(seriously mmmmmmming and ooooooing all the while), I realized that it was better than ANY sex I've ever had. EVER.
Which brings me back to Tideland. This film really didn't need the directors "Gentle Viewer" message at the beginning. This was a period piece. Hardcore 1970's, combining a stunning visual experience with a touch of the macabre. Could this be what it's like to be in a Wyeth painting? Only sometimes. There are elements of Alice in Wonderland combined with a little human taxidermy. Flannery O'Connor could have wrote this had she lived in Haight Ashbury in the late 60's and sucked on a sugar cube.
Like it or not, it's all about coping mechanisms. So when life hands you lemons, make a Sundae. Improvise.