"That's not writing - that's typing." --Truman Capote
I have this funny, perverse mental habit. Â When someone tells me, “You HAVE to watch X. Â You will LOVE X,” I immediately find myself averse to ever looking at such a thing.
My mother is a very smart woman.
She now precedes all recommendations with, “So – you will HATE this. Â You don’t want to watch/read/listen to it.” Â For some reason, this actually works.
Funny little thing, brains.
This week is one of those funny, stubby weeks – a few days of work, a few days off, John is picking up my mom from the airport and working an odd, late day tomorrow due to a faculty senate meeting.
As a result, we have that semi-giddy, let-off-the-leash feeling you get when life is off kilter. Â We watched Nick Hornby’s Fever Pitch this evening – growing up in Red Sox Nation, we felt both the hero and the heroine’s pain. Â And also their triumph. Â It was a surprisingly nuanced movie. Â If you like sport, or love someone who likes sport, I can recommend it.
I’m not ready to go to bed yet, and I can hear John upstairs laughing at Milo. Â It’s a good sound. Â Hearty and loud. Â It makes me look forward to the holiday weekend.
“Is that the guy from the hive thing?”
“‘Every sci fi show has a hive of some kind. Â Can you narrow that down for me?”
“You know, as we were driving up to your house, we almost couldn’t find your exit?”
“Really?”
“Yeah – it’s 404.”
…
…
groan.
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