A couple of months ago, I read "'Tis," the followup book to Frank McCourt's Pulitzer Prize winning "Angela's Ashes." Then coincidentally, in July, Frank McCourt died at the age of 78. (I don't believe that my reading his book actually had anything to do with his death. Like I said, it was just a coincidence.)
It had been years since I read "Angela's Ashes," so I watched the movie last night (released in 1999, so it was an old one). I decided it would be my own last tribute to the great Frank McCourt.
The movie is especially meaningful since the U.S. is in the middle of an economic crisis. But after watching "Angela's Ashes," there's a whole new meaning to the complaints, "There's nothing to eat!" or "I don't have a thing to wear." Limmerick, Ireland, in the 1930s and 1940s was a pretty grim place for a kid to grow up. Luckily, McCourt was able to find humor even in the darkest of situations--and you can't beat an Irish accent for delivering humor.
Watching "Angela's Ashes" in my air-conditioned living room (with a kitchen full of food and a closet full of clean clothes) was a great way to spend a hot, humid Friday night.