Life in my household:
Went south to a family gathering today, crossed the Big Onion twice, spent three hours in the car. Stuff got said.
Dementia: I think that George Lucas cares even less about continuity that Arthur Conan Doyle did.
Hyena: WOW, that's COLD. True, though.
Later, while discussing the Biblical patriachs:
Hyena: Rebecca... Rebecca was penpals with Clytemnestra.
Dementia: THAT's evocative.
Hyena: It makes the point.
"Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love."
OK, so officially "Die Hard" is this household's favorite Christmas movie, but "Love Actually" is a pretty close second. Yes, it's often saccharine and sometimes stupid, and some of the plot lines are pretty awful, but it has this consistent undercurrent of courage in the face of emotional adversity that just rips my heart out.
They used a fragment of "I am the Doctor" on tonight's "The Librarians." Geekgasm!
First world foolishness: The stairs to the basement are one step short of registering as a "flight" on the FitBit. Dementia corrects for this by doing a kangaroo hop at the top of the stairs, which works but is ridiculous. I have now discovered that if I touch my toes at the bottom of the stairs before starting up, I get the credit. I am reminded of the absurdity of looking out for my personal dignity every time I pass a mirror, but still, one does what one can.
I do not think I have ever entered a movie theater with as much discrepancy between hope and expectation as I did this afternoon for "The Shape of Water". I have been looking forward to this movie since I first heard about it several months ago, and the trailers and the press have been promising, but I fundamentally DO NOT trust Guillermo Del Toro; he is far too willing to sell out story logic for an interesting visual effect.
I came away pretty happy about the whole thing. The movie is far from flawless, but is engaging and fairly solidly constructed. I may even see it again.
Personal dictionary entry:
Black helicopter: Noun. An otherwise pointless cinematic detail which seems to exist solely as a focus onto which critics and film students can hallucinate meaning.
Got up this morning, shovelled the driveway, shovelled the walk, shovelled the neighbor's walks on either side. Tracked down some homeless friends, took them out for Christmas lunch, came home to find the sewer blocked. No shower, no toilet.
Moral: Random acts of kindness make the universe aware of you. The universe is fundamentally hostile. Its awareness is not a good thing.
Cleaned up mess. Tried to clear sewer. Had no luck. Made appointment to have sewer rodded. Bit heads off of kittens. Continued to mess with sewer. Finally found something that seemed to work. Used toilet. Took shower. Felt bad about headless kittens.
Moral: The universe may not be fundamenally hostile, but it definitely has a nasty sense of humor.
Still feel bad about the kittens.
Life in my household:
Dementia was ruminating aloud about the significance of Christopher Eccleston's Ninth Doctor in the success of the second generation of "Doctor Who". As she did so, a part of Hyena's brain raked through his cranial sewer, looking for the quintessential Ninth Doctor quote. He considered, "I'm a master at jiggery-pokery," and the joyfully inflected, "And nobody dies!" before reaching a conclusion a few seconds before Dementia, having apparently gone through a similar process and arrived at an identicle conclusion, said, in a creditable Yorkshire accent, "Lots of planets have a North."
Hyena's laughter rattled the windowpanes.
Life in my household:
Dementia was doing yoga while listenting to a recording of "The Tao of Pooh." Hyena walked in and said, "There's a new Disney movie coming out. It's about an animated bear working as a sailor on the Red Sea in the fourteenth century. It's called..." He held up a sign that read, "The Dhow of Pooh," and then fled. Dementia just rolled her eyes.
Small news department:
Sometime in June I did something to my left wrist, and it started to generate intermittent pain, usually motion related. In July, this caused me to stop wearing my wrist watch. As is my pattern when I have wrist/hand/finger injuries, I massaged and stretched it when I was not otherwise using my hands (watching TV, for instance). The problem kept getting worse for a while, and then stabilized, and then started to get better. One doesn't really notice when an intermittent pain stops, but on Christmas Day I started wearing my wrist watch again. I have reached a time of life when I wonder, with each new injury (and there are always new injuries), if this will be the one that never heals properly. This one wasn't the one. Life goes on.
Yes, I know that I start a lot more stories than I finish, but it really is NOT my fault. I also know that it IS my fault that I occasionally share fragments, but I almost always really believe that they will be completed someday. I also realize that this is an act of irrational optimism on my part.
I ALMOST always really believe that they will be completed someday. I have no clue about the following. But it's lyrical and re-reading it makes me grin, and I share it just because it is a cool bit of language that I would likely have shared if someone else had written it, so why hold back just because it was MY head that it fell out of?
She was born to fisherfolk in a small coastal village. Her parents had named her, "Emerald", for her eyes, but she had never really taken to the name. It had always struck her as a name that evoked silk and porcelain, and she had known, from the time she was very young, that she was a creature of leather and steel.
And THAT gets me 100 km on the rowing machine for December. Two months in a row. Last year I managed to get December, January, and February before life interfered. We shall see.