Packing and More Packing

The Corporate Shill’s son and the Redheaded Kid have the same name, so my dad calls and I’m all “Zach’s coloring and watching SpongeBob” and my dad’s all “Why are you talking about him like he’s an idiot?”  “Because he’s two!”

I clearly need to hire the Shill as my personal motivator.  She’s all “pack this. Pack that.  Pack some more stuff.  Here’s our plan for tomorrow, which will involve more packing.”  I’m all “Noooooo.” and she’s all “You can whine and cry and pack at the same time, B.”

Even though someone stuck tape to her belly, Mrs. Wigglebottom was surprisingly good… Um, I mean, completely expectedly good, just like I’ve spent hours a day training her to be… with the kid.  She had to show him her bone and then act a little distressed by the tape on her belly and after that, she pretty much just slept by the door in that manner dogs have where they seem to keep one eye open while they snore.

I think our goal for tomorrow is to conquer the altar and the books in my room.

Monday, the cable is gone, so I’ll have nothing to do in the evenings after work but pack.  I have to back myself into corners about packing like that or it would never get done.  My dad said we could just leave it for Saturday, but that seems unfair.

I went shopping today for a bookcase, too.  That was an adventure in stupidity.  I want something nice for the den because I made a promise to myself that there would be no particle board shelves in my actual house.  I basically want a large box with an open side, with five or six shelves.  I want to pay, I don’t know, around $600 for it, I think.

I went to that furniture place on Whitebridge Road and, first, to find a bookcase that didn’t have fancy lights or glass shelves that also lit up was nearly impossible and then, when she did find me something I liked, it was $1,600.  I mean, it was good looking, but it’s not like it fucked you until you couldn’t stand and then sang you to sleep and then left you a poem about how much it longs to be with you because you are the most magnificent girl in the world and if only it had met you under other circumstances it could happily spend its whole life losing itself in your eyes but alas, it must return to the village of its people and continue to fight for their freedom.  I don’t require that poem to actually be true, mind you, but I expect a lie I can cry wistfully over later for $1,600.

I also feel like I should have picked up a bunch of small plastic trays at Target, but I did not and so I’m sitting here wistfully over that.

The Shill and I also had a good head-shaking laugh at the giant line of people trying to get gas at the KwikMart on West End.  People, if you would stop buying gas like nincompoops, we would have gas.  There is no real shortage yet, just a bunch of panicking assholes.

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An Evening of Fairy Tales

I finished watching Pan’s Labrynth and came upstairs to check my email and found that one of you had sent me a link to Neil Gaiman’s “Snow, Glass, Apples.”  That seemed like a pretty big coincidence, but you never know with stuff like that.  What’s coincidence?  What has actual meaning?  It’s up to each interpreter I suppose.

I loved Pan’s Labyrnth and I can’t believe I waited for so long to see it.  But my success with The Devil’s Backbone made me feel like taking a chance on this one.  And so I did and so, as you know, it’s beautiful and amazing and everything you’ve heard.  Like The Devil’s Backbone, it’s subtitled, so if you’re not a quick reader, I guess it sucks, but the thing I thought, as a non-Spanish speaker, that was so good about Pan’s Labrynth is that reading is such a critical componant to the movie that reading along while watching seems like an intrinsic element of the movie.

I keep thinking of these two and The Orphanage as a group, which may or may not be exactly fair.  But the thing that strikes me about all three is how they are movies with children at their center but they are not children’s movies.  Maybe I just don’t watch enough movies, but I’m struck by that.  It seems to me with American movies, if children are at the center of the movie, it’s a movie for children.

I’m also struck by the way, in all these movies, that the supernatural elements might be perceived as scary, but they are never as threatening as the real world events in the movie.  Anyway, I thought it was great.

And I like that Neil Gaiman story, so you should read it.  I’m mulling it over, that retelling of stories we all know.  I wonder how our modern ideas about copyright affect that.  Are there modern characters we all feel are ours so much that we want to configure and reconfigure the elements of their narratives?

I guess we do in movies.  It’s funny.  The other day I was looking for that quote from Ulysseus, the whole “yes I said yes” thing that Molly says at the end of the book and the Wikipedia entry about it says that Kate Bush wanted to use it in a song, but she couldn’t get permission from the Joyce estate.

I ask you, have you ever heard anything so counter to Modernism?  That there should be things off-limits to your reworking?

Anyway, I find that funny.