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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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9:58 a.m. - 2011-06-19
I saw myself in a parking lot yesterday. It was funny and weird. We'd just gotten to the movie theater and were crossing the lot to go see 'Super 8' (more on that in a sec) and here I came from the other direction. Same hair, same build, same stride, same white blouse with the cuffs rolled and the shirttails out. The other me appeared to be going back to her car, she was a couple rows over from us going thataway at an angle, but by the time we hit the sidewalk she'd changed direction and was coming back our way again. I was laughing, Wolf was gawping, and Mick was brown-nosing by saying I was much, much prettier when the Other Me cleared her row of cars and I finally saw her bottom half. Nope. All done. This woman was nothing like me�.she had on�brrr�.capri pants. Look, I know I'm in the minority here and that most reading this are capri fans. Y'all dig rockin' the bare shin/stumpy legged thing. But as I told Mick, if someday after I'd been gone for a trip and I get back and I'm wearing capris? It's an impostor, guaranteed, and he should kill it immediately because it's obviously evil. Dressing even a malign replicant me in capris is pure evil. You know how in body snatcher and aliens-in-human-disguise movies the fake ones always have some telltale flaw? Like their pinkies don't bend or there's a tiny valve on the backs of their necks? Well, capris on me would be the dead giveaway. It's an alien here on a stealthy recon mission before a full scale attack or it's a murderous symbiant, one or the other, because it sure as hell would NOT be me. Capris, humph! Be a cool fight scene if I got into a "It's her or me" death grapple though. Everybody loves it when the good one dukes it out with the evil twin impostor. I'd totally kick her capri-wearing ass too. Then dead at my feet, unmasked and leaking nasty green blood, I'd plant my foot on her carcass and declare the world safe from sartorially challenged alien invaders. Though speaking of aliens and clothes, can anyone tell me why aliens are always naked? Except on Star Trek, of course. (And thank goodness for that. I, for one, would have nightmares about a naked Lenard Nimoy.) But otherwise aliens on TV and in movies are always naked. Even fricken Alf. These beings are soooo superior that they effectively travel faster than light and barge around the universe taking over planets, but none of them ever thought of clothes? WTF? Every single alien species likes to go around with their dangly bits hanging free? I'll bet clothes are why they keep trying to invade Earth, they want Prada. And probably some skivvies. Those spaceship seats have got to chafe after 6 or 7 million light years. So, the movie. My guys were delighted by 'Super 8'. I liked it, but wasn't enthralled like Mick and Wolf were. It's a good solid movie, hits all the marks, the actors were mostly unknowns so didn't distract from the overall small town feel of things. I just wasn't engaged with it fully and had time to notice things like the camera work and the set dressing. Which were great, btw, but I should have been wanting to pay closer attention to the action, you know? Maybe it's just over-familiarity with JJ Abrams' style. Especially since he was channeling Spielberg. I'm not being art house sniffy. I like Spielberg. JJ Abrams too. Well-made formula movies are fun. And I adore pictures directed by the Nice Squad: Ron Howard, Penny and Garry Marshall, and Rob Reiner. Their movies are like big squeezy hugs from your best friend. I'm no auteur snob. Anyway. If you're looking for an easy couple hours of gee-whiz cinema give 'Super 8' a try. A solid 3.5 out of 5. On the way home we stopped at B&N, Mick wanted to get an add-on to the gifts he'd already gotten his dad. Wolf got more manga. I'm glad he's reading something, but the whole backwards part is too weird for me. Maybe it was a carry-over from the nicey-nice movie or the gorgeous summer night or I'm too menopause muddled to follow anything difficult, I picked up the first three books of a series by a new-to-me author. Juliet Blackwell. The books are about a witch who runs a vintage clothing store in San Francisco and solves mysteries. Talk about tailor-made! Witchery? Fashion? Snarky first-person voice? A nifty murder too? I am so there. Haven't been this pleased since I stumbled onto Charlotte MacLeod back in the '80s. Got this week's summer reading list selections knocked down. Good deal. I need to find a copy of 'The Stand'. There's a few around the house. Including that horribly bloated second edit re-publish King put out some years ago. Blech. Should be hoss-whipped for that one, Steve-o. 'The Stand' was faboo as it was. That book's part of my life cycle. Must read it every summer. I used to have a similar date with 'The Shining'. Read that every year in mid-November just as winter's moving in and everything is shutting down for the long dark cold. But the last few years watching Jack Torrence lose his mind, it was a bit too much. Too angry. Too unhappy. I am definitely still padding my nest with as much fluff as I can. "No bad things, thank you. All done with bad things." My mantra hasn't quite worked on everything, but I have sense enough not to volunteer for upset and hurt in the name of being entertained. Isn't this the essence of self-care? (Something many of you have been yelling at me about for years, namely that I didn't take care of myself at all.) That it's not just good-for-me stuff like going to the gym and laying off the sauce (and gravy and butter�sigh), but allowing myself nice stuff? That I don't have to come in DFL every time? And not everything I do has to be a virtue? So to that end in my room has central air plus a window a/c unit, a killer comfortable womb of a bed and on the nightstand is a good reading lamp and a stack of happy whodunits.
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