persona non sequitur

a review of media by a slightly jaded baby boomer.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

NOTES ABOUT DETAILS TO COME...Well, one of the pictures is "before" and the other is "after." Despite the rude shock that it seems to be (and is) the pup is holding up well. He is still bumping into furniture and has some trouble climbing steps. Still, he's happy (I feed him, he wags his tale; that's how I know).

I moved Laura from the house she was living in away from her dead end boy friend. Friends and in laws lended hands and cars and truck and arms and rope and bungee cords and hauled her furniture away. I drove our large grey truck, which is dubbed "Boxzilla". The guy watched all of us dourly, chain smoking and not even trying to engage in a conversation, appear apologetic or have some sense of remorse. His dog barked. And barked. And barked. Mr. Dead End snarled at his dog a bit.

It was near 90 degrees and I sweated a lot. At some point I open the 'fridge to see if there was any iced water. None. Just a case of Corona beer and two gallon tubs of ice cream. The Ex had a strange idea of diet. He seemed chunkier and pasty faced. Several gallon containers of rum were around the house.

I saw the laptop which numb nuts tried to push his fist through. It still worked, but on the right hand side the screen had a black hole, and electric cracks radiated from it. It still worked, but the usefulness of it had been greatly diminished. The computer had booted up a DVD of SERENITY, it could be watched if the screen were shrunk and moved away from the dark places.

My Mom admitted herself to a hosiptal from what seemed to be grief related stress. She woke up one morning and could not feel her fingers. She's better.

The household wound up with a 25 pound cat that ate everything it could get. It was not the barfing cat. Laura really likes that one. For some reason. The cat here (in the garage) is Neelix, and is the third large orange cat we've had. They're mousey and nice and kind of dumb. It's genetic, according to Tample Grandin. The household is mildly allergic to cats.

My sister said the funeral was a closed coffin deal, and Mom had to be dragged away. It's been six weeks since then. She has let go of a large amount of grief and remorse. She has taken in that what happened was not from anything she did. My father did a strange macabre offering by asking me to see the wood shed Chuck had passed away in. "It still smells," he offered. I passed.

The lawn mower still does not work. Thew grass grows and I use the push mower selectively day by day. It's like rowing a boat and I seem to be losing weight.


SNAKES ON A PLANE was watched by the family, and we declared it fun, though full of holes. If the air conditioning on the plane was lowered to about 50, the snakes might have become lethargic. But aren't planes already near that degree anyway?

Anyway, some dubious acting, some very strange feelings from me while watching the film, such was wondering when Robert Hayes and Leslie Nielson were going to show up. It lacked a singing nun.

And the bottom line is....It satisfied the Fanboy Within.


At 3:52 PM, Blogger Laura said...

Fatter and pasty faced. YES!!! I heart you. He's lost weight since I stopped feeding him, ya know. I know cause I saw him in the gas station. Haha.



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