Caught on Film
I'm marching to the beat of the hum drum this week. Get it? Humdrum? It's one of those holding-pattern times, when everything worth doing or worth thinking about doing is locked into some future date, leaving me with little to do but sit and wait for those moments to arrive. The beginning of November we're in Salt Lake City; the middle of November we're in England; the end of December we're in Salt Lake City again. For now, though, we're here (I won't say "just here" because "here" is unapologetically great), but in the meantime, all I can seem to do is hang around, watching Netflix and tourettically showing Simon the "funky moves" (their words, not mine) that I learned on my latest workout video, embarked upon to fight the spread that occurs when one watches as many movies as one does when one has nothing else to do while waiting for the real fun to begin. My thumbs are getting a lot of exercise as well, what with all the twiddling.
Speaking of movies, when Amanda asked for recommendations the other day, I thought, hey, I watch a lot of movies, I should play too! So I went to my handy-dandy blog sidebar to see what was worth passing along, and it was then that I realized, gosh, we watch way more than "a lot" of movies--we watch a shit-ton of movies. Although I don't know the specific parameters of "shit-ton," I'm fairly certain that ten movies in one week falls into that category. Simon stands firmly behind his belief that whereas TV is a waste of time, Film is An Artistic Experience, but surely even he would agree that this is excessive.
Thus, I have nothing to write about (unless you want an essay on why Shakespeare in Love still bothers me after all these years, which, trust me, you don't). Even les annoyances quotidienne, which are always good for a paragraph at least, are minor and barely sentence-worthy: I have a bunch of gross zits in my right armpit. Moths have invaded our house. I made corn muffins yesterday after work. See what I mean?
Ooh, here's something: This morning while talking to a friend about her ten-month-old baby's fondness for biting people with her fresh chompers, I actually contributed to the conversation this little gem: "Oh, she sounds like my cat! Biting for fun! Thinking it's a game! It's insane!" I all but said, "Kids these days!" and heaved an exaggerated sigh and winked a knowing parental wink. My friend just sort of looked at me, like "Did you just compare your cat to my child?" and I could do nothing more but look back at her, like "I know--I KNOW--and I'm sorry." At least I didn't pull out a wallet of 2x3s featuring the little scamp in party dress or admit that the highlight of yesterday evening was letting the cat select between two Netflix by rubbing her moist snout on the one she preferred. Or that this process took upwards of five minutes, and traversed more than one room, and involved Simon as well, because for some reason we became obsessed with making the cat choose the movie--CHOOSE! YOU MUST CHOOOOOOSE!--as if we couldn't do it ourselves, as if the cat cared, as if the cat could even process the movie and not just see it as another scramble of pixels on the noisebox.
O, exciting future, hazy and exciting and perfect in the distance, I can't wait for you to arrive. Come soon. Save us from ourselves.Previous Next