A gloomy old Scandinavian man, his eyes pink rimmed and rheumy, wanted help locating his estranged daughter. He told me she was born and raised in his small farming town in South Dakota, but she had blown town in her late teens and never looked back. All I could think of was the scene in the Big Lebowski when a detective hired to find Tara Reid’s character questions the Dude and explains the situation. “The Knutsens. It's a wandering daughter job. Bunny Lebowski, man. Her real name is Fawn Knutsen. Her parents want her back.” He reaches into his pocket and shows the Dude a photograph. "The Knutsens told me to show her this when I found her. The family farm. Outside of Moorhead, Minnesota. They think it'll make her homesick.”
The photo is of a desolate farm on a snow covered, windblasted wasteland. I always loved that scene because the detective is so sincere, as if that photograph of that frozen tundra dump would entice Tara Reid’s character, a gold digging former porn star living it up in L.A., back home. I printed off some matches of his daughter’s name from Zabbasearch and wished him luck.
3 comments:
This kind of reminds me of my poor Dad calling every Sunday afternoon trying to convince me of the error of my ways living in L.A. and to move back home to Dallas.
But there is something about cat-sized cockroaches, 100+ temperatures and Ross Perot in Dallas that just keep me away. Sorry, Dad.
(hey, Foxy, I've linked you to my blog and there ain't nothing you can do about it!)
How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm once they seen Karl Hungus?
Nihilists?
Blimey.
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