Andare, Partire, Tornare

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Happy trails

One of my favorite books is going to be reprinted. Yay for Pamela Dean! Huzzah for Tam Lin!

Had a movie-watching sort of weekend, especially since I phoned in sick for Sunday at the ‘Mart (shh, that’s just between us). Saturday, Bemo, Boop and I watched Troy, which was neither as bad as I had feared, nor really all that great. The acting was mostly adequate, except for the bright spots of Peter O’Toole, the underused Sean Bean, and Eric Bana (too stolid, but convincingly so). Now if they could only have gotten a better script, and excised all those wailing women on the score. It worked in Gladiator because it didn’t happen ever five freaking minutes, Wolfgang. Cut it out.

Sunday night, Persia and I (and Cherbear, although she left early) watched Bubba Ho-tep, a movie that manages to blend a genuinely evocative look at the state of the elderly in modern life and the fear and pain of growing helpless and (literally) impotent, with a rampaging killer mummy that sucks your soul out via your asshole. Plus it has Elvis and JFK. So, y’know, go out and rent it, unless you’re offended by dirty talk (and in that case, what the hell are you doing here?)

Aaaaand, we just got word that our building will be closed as part of the national day of mourning for Regan. I admit to having some sadness for his passing (don’t tell me about all the horrible crap he did – I know that already. Trust me.) But he was the first president I have any recollection of, probably because for the first six years of my life, I was mostly in another country, so although I should be able to remember Carter, I just don’t. I suppose I can also take it as a nice one-day-too-late birthday present, because folks, I’m staring down the barrel of twenty-nine years on this planet. I can’t say it’s disturbing me too much right now, but if you hear of a woman standing in the middle of the Reflecting Pool, drunkenly brandishing an empty bottle of vodka and screaming “I am a young woman, damnit! Young! Do you hear me? I am still sexxxxxay!”? Well – don’t be surprised if it turns out to be me.

And in other news, the kittens have plateaued somewhat. They love to play with any toy I brandish at them, but then Dexter will catch my eye, and his little kitty brain will go “Dear god, I’m interacting with IT” and he’ll go cower in his potty box until he forgets and comes out to pounce on the toy mousie again. Miles seems to be slightly better, but he still hates to be picked up. Gracie, at the very least, doesn’t bother to hiss at them anymore, although she still regards them with regal distain.

If I get up to any wild birthday escapades, I’ll be sure and let everybody know, although let’s be serious here – my wild streak generally expresses itself by having two…TWO! drinks an evening. Somebody take this lampshade off my head.

1:05 p.m. - 2004-06-08

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