It's amazing, Molly. The love inside, you take it with you. See ya.

Patrick Swayze’s father was a rodeo clown, and his mother was a dance teacher. His first artistic calling was to the ballet. Is there any greater evidence in popular culture that the artist’s soul transmutes?

The arts is more than learning technique, more than honing craft – artists tune themselves as conduits for the expressions, emotions, energies, sympathies, all the quantifiable and unquantifiable good graces of human existence. By learning one, you are learning all of them – so when at some point somebody comes along, takes away your dance shoes and hands you a surfboard, or a horse to ride, a fake gun to fire, lest we forget – a microphone in a studio, or a potter’s wheel – once you figure out what to do with it, you know how to regard it; you know what it means.

And then maybe somebody gives you back your dancing shoes and a pretty girl to dance with who nobody puts in a corner – and  you become a legend. And then you leave us (sometimes in Spanish) . . .

Patrick Swayze, deeply spiritual artist, pop culture icon, star of stage and screen, has died at 57.

We had the time of our lives, Patrick. And we owe it all to you.

So today I decided to cash in my Y chromosome once and for all by going to see Twilight.  First, let me share the song I would have played over the opening credits if I were the director.  Just start the clip and let it run in the background while you read the post.

Was the movie any good?  I’ve got no complaints, although I suppose I should warn you that I’m notoriously easy to please.  Compared to other movies reviewed by this site, it’s neither good enough to merit one of our flagrantly overthought rave-ups, nor anywhere near bad enough to deserve an increasingly histrionic series of pans.  Still, there are a couple of things worth examining here.