--- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "Yifu" <yifuxero@...> wrote:
>
> Steve McQueen, unknown photographer:
> http://www.museumsyndicate.com/images/8/79595.jpg

If you've never seen it, I can recommend a charming little
movie (pretty much the ultimate Santa Fe movie, actually,
because it was filmed there and written by a local folk
hero who writes a column for the local paper and directed
by a local, Jennifr Goodman) called "The Tao Of Steve." 
It's based (loosely) on the mystique of Steve McQueen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D-B23kX0cXk

It's really fun, partly because Donal Logue (later so good
in the short-lived TV series "Terriers") shines in it. The
author of the film Duncan North was, like the Dex character 
loosely based on him, a philosophy major at St. Johns College 
there in Santa Fe, and a remarkably funny and witty guy in
person. Lots of Santa Fe regulars appeared in this film as
bit players. I even stumbled onto the set during filming,
and was invited to participate as an unpaid extra in a 
crowd scene, but they wound up cutting it out of the film.
Sigh. Such is the fleeting nature of fame. :-)

I still have a crush on Greer Goodman, who played Syd in 
the film, Dex's love interest. We got to chat a few times
and she's just as quick on her feet and smart as her 
character is. She went to Dartmouth and actually studied
Buddhism and philosphy there, so she was My Kinda Babe. 

For those who'll try to turn me liking the Dex character
as some kind of example of my wayward ways, I kinda cop 
to it. He's a great personification of the type of guy 
written about by my first hero, Richard FariƱa, way back
in 1962. I identified.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZwRyodoPV4

He's the kind of guy
Puts on a motorcycle jacket
And he weighs about
A hundred and five

He's the kind of surfer
Got a ho daddy haircut
And you wonder how
He'll ever survive

He's the kind of frogman
Wearing twenty pounds
Of counter weights and
Sinking in the sea like a stone

He's the kind of soldier
Got no sense of direction
And they send him
In the jungle alone

But when the
Frost's on the pumpkin
And the litle girls are jumping
He's a hard loving son of a gun

He's got em waiting downstairs
Just to sample his affairs
And they call him
A spoonful of fun

He's the kind of person
Going riding on a skateboard
And his mind's raging
Out of control

He's the kind of person
Goes to drive a Maserati
Puts his key inside
The wrong little hole

He's the kind of ski bum
Tearing wild down the mountain
Hits a patch where
There ain't any snow

He's the kind of cowboy
Got a hot trigger finger
Shoots his boot cause
He's drawing kind of slow

But when he comes in for bowling
He's an expert at rolling
Sets the pins up
And lays em right down

He's got em taking off their heels
And they like the way he feels
And they call him a carnival clown

Well, he's got a parachute
And screaming like Geronimo
And makes a little hole
In the ground

He's the kind of logger
When the man hollers, timber
Got to stop and look
Around for the sound

He's the kind of artist
Rents a groovy little attic
And discovers that he
Can't grow a beard

He's the human cannonball
Come in for a landing
And he wonders where
The net disappeared

But when he takes off his shoes
It won't come as news
That they're lining up
On threes and in twos

He's got em pounding on the door
Got em begging for some more
He's got em pounding on the door
Got em begging for some more
And they call him
Whatever they choose


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