Busy isn’t even a word I’d associate with my past week at work. Frenzied? Maybe. Mental soccer riot? Certainly. My brain is throwing a major tantrum and I want nothing more than to send it into the corner for a time-out.
The bags under my eyes have been packed for weeks, waiting for word on when we’re leaving for the Bahamas. Just so you know, I have no immediate plans to travel to the Bahamas. I think my eyebags will be waiting for a good, long time.
Lips? Mere husks of themselves. Hair? Falling out in clumps and turning white at an alarmingly rapid pace. Nose? Who has time to consider The Nose when grant deadlines are being hurled at me left and right like iron throwing stars?
One more month and I am OFF FOR THE SUMMER. So I can write the next 200 pages of book numero dos. But not to fear! I’m sure I’ll find something else I can neurotically obsess over by then.
This weekend we saw Grindhouse. The first time I saw the previews for this movie, with Rose McGowan’s machine-gun stump-leg, I actually thought to myself: The only way I’m seeing that movie is if someone throws a sack over my head, ties me to a dolly, wheels me to the theater, pays for my ticket, ties me into a seat, props my eyes open with toothpicks, and duct-tapes my mouth shut so I can’t scream or eat a full bucket of heart-stabbing movie theater popcorn with extra butter.
But you know what? I went, out of love for my husband. And despite my preconceptions, I actually enjoyed the movie. (Or, movies, rather. It was a double-feature.) It was campy, it was over the top, it had a cheeseball seventies-feel that I--as one who wrote a college paper on the Blaxploitation movies of that era--could truly appreciate.
Three more things: It had fake horror movie previews, fun cameos, and even a fake ad for a Mexican restaurant, which featured off-color photos of greasy meals that really scored on my personal camp-o-meter. It did well on Rotten Tomatoes, and I usually find my opinions jiving with that particular barometer. Plus, a crazy man came in and stood in the row below us, staring at us for a good twenty seconds, then sat down and laughed at nonsensical moments, and after film #1 he shouted a garbled, “Can’t believe (something something) movies like (something) ever!” He then stood up and stared at us again while I averted my eyes to the left so deeply I almost pulled an ocular muscle. A rollicking good time was had by all.
This weekend will feature Adventures in Landscaping, coming to a lawn near me. I hope to be able to stand upright after the experience. (Lift with the legs, Hercules!) Well, as long as I can open my eyes enough to watch The Sopranos on HBO and Planet Earth on The Discovery Channel Sunday night, I’ll be happy.
Don't even get me started on the to-be-read books on my bedside pile. There are twenty-three.