'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

movie update, and other sick thoughts

9 to 5 actually IS still available in the U.S. on DVD. Why Netflix won't shell out for replacement copies (or whatever), who knows.

How to Tell If You Have a Fever Without a Thermometer:

1. You are cold in many layers under many layers even after hiking the heat up to 65 and a half.
2. There is a full moon.

(#2 may not apply.)

I'm not even sure there's a full moon tonight. Just looked like it out the window earlier.

I watched the extras of 9 to 5 and sorta skimmed along the commentary track for a bit, then set it aside for a second viewing of The Man Who Wasn't There. That's a really fine little movie--- just ends kinda weakly. And, no, I don't mean cuz it's not (MILD SPOILER ALERT! skip to end of paragraph if you don't want to know anything at all) a happy ending. But there's this one absolutely hilarious bit I somehow missed the first time. (Do I recall that the sound was bad in the theater that night? I know the sound was bad in that Woody Allen movie with Tracy Ullman.) It's when Billy Bob's doing voiceover over his passed-out wife, talking about how they came to be married, and then the phone rings. And he has to leave for a while, and we follow that whole scene, and then he comes back, and she's still passed out, and he just picks up where he left off. Repeats the last sentence, in fact, to make it completely clear what's going down. Funniest damned thing. I swear.

I have chills.

The noir movie kinda goes with having a cold. You stumble into the kitchen like some hapless doomed solitary narrator, draped in mismatched layers over sweatpants and slippers, knock back a water, plug in the broken stove and fire up the flame, melt a bit of butter, crack an egg into the pan, scramble it, push the mess about to make a place for a plate, serve it out, and eat it. Force down a glass of water. Feel very slovenly-bachelory. Imagine your voiceover. It's laconic city, and you're the star of the show.

Would it be bold of me to e-mail in sick already? You can bet they won't want me around that place tomorrow. I am given to understand that we have a number of workers who are especially certain not only that they'll catch any germ, but that the one they caught is definitely the one somebody else brought into the workplace, and it's all that person's fault. I'm not saying I'm not sympathetic in the least, and I'm not saying I don't think it's inconsiderate for the sick to show up and hack all over everybody. That's a big part of why I won't go in if I'm too mucus-y, even if (by some chance) I sleep and wake up feeling a little better (and not freezing cold). But I am saying there's something about that certainty that feels to me, comes off to me, a little deluded. Bordering on paranoid. And over-simple. And unrealistic, and a little grandiose, and even a tad hostile and self-centered and ---I could go on, but for all I know I've already offended a bunch of ya, so I might as well stop digging the hole.

If I had a lodger, I have been imagining, how would this experience be different. I think I prefer these circumstances to the particular circumstances I'm imagining, under the circumstances.

Oh, I have another movie thing for you. Prepare to be shocked: Waiting for the Moon, the Linda Hunt movie about Gertie and Alice, doesn't suck! How 'bout them apples? After all these years of hearing how terrible it is. It's slow as all get-out, sort of, and rambly and impressionistic, and wholly invented, but it didn't completely bite.

I do like to look at images of Linda Hunt's face for long periods of time, however, so YMMV.

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