Uncle Hyena (unclehyena) wrote,
Uncle Hyena

Planet, Illness, Feast

Only one movie this week, and a great deal of lying about feeling miserable...

I got off work on Sunday, and we had dinner and bought tickets for a double feature. The second half of the double feature was supposed to be "The Blind Side", and we learned that the first show had sold out. We DO NOT like crowded theaters...

"Planet 51" is exactly what it is advertised as, an animated adventure aimed mostly at kids. It's a good answer to the question of where to take the kids if you have already seen "A Christmas Carol." Dementia, who was still recovering from last week's communicable nastiness, slept through about 20 minutes of it, and didn't feel she missed much.

During the movie, I ran out of gas. I realized that sitting through a longish movie in a crowded theater sounded more like torture than entertainment, and we traipsed to the box office to cash in our tickets. As it turned out, I was able to sell the tickets to a pair of young men who were trying to cajole a manager into selling tickets she didn't have.

I was running a 99 degree fever (against a normal of 97.5) by the time we got home, and 101 by the time I got to bed. I barely surfaced on Monday; on Tuesday the fever broke in the small hours, so I hit the pain killers and finally got some decent sleep. I was well enough by Wednesday evening to go to work (though the standards are odd: Unusually light work load, double time, and the fact that it is RUDE to call in on a Holiday; if you can find the building, and aren't under quarantine, you show up). I deteriorated steadily through the shift, THEN had to deal with pretending to host the in-laws for Dementia's first holiday dinner in more than a decade, then crashed hard. As of now, I am back at work, and once again vaguely losing the battle with oblivion.

I think this completed my disenchantment with any event in which the food is focal. The food is not, can not, be worth the time and trouble spent in preparation and clean up. I will ALWAYS be happy-- no, HAPPIER-- with pizza or sloppy joes. I am there for the conversation, and the food just gets in the way. If the whole point of the exercise really IS the food, you probably don't want me there, anyway (Really. What's the point of bringing a blind man to an exhibit of Impressionist art?).

Uncle Hyena
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