When the rush is over
I once bought a decoupage placard that read,
When the rush is over, I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.
I’ve earned it, and no one is going to keep me from it.
Kinda funny considering I was 9 or 10 when I bought it. Well, I no longer see the appeal of a nervous breakdown, unless it’s the temptation of relinquishing all adult responsibilities. Isn’t it odd, though, that no one says “Aunt Jane had a nervous breakdown” nowadays? It’s as if a disease vanished overnight.
I’m tired — not only from the long commute, but also from the strain of yapping at headhunters on the phone and constantly thinking about priorities (good weather? good educational opportunities for Jake? medical care for Karen? money?) and wondering “Am I too old?” (and wondering, “Shall I eat a peach?”) and swinging from one day thinking I’ll have to choose between several attractive offers to the next day thinking no one will make an offer. It’s enough to make anyone sigh. Repeatedly.
But no, I don’t want that nervous breakdown anymore.
But a vacation sure would be nice.
D.
Quest for spoilers
Karen won’t see Watchmen unless she knows that the ending is faithful in spirit to the ending of the graphic novel, and I don’t really want to go see it by myself, so this morning I’ve been looking for spoilers. I found this interesting article by Meredith Woerner, “How 9/11 Changed Watchmen.” At a minimum, Zack Snyder has turned the volume way, way down on the ending’s carnage. Okay, so we get no squid. I can live with that. But if you dial down the savage violence of the ending, doesn’t it pull the story’s sting?
Sadly, I haven’t found any true play-by-play spoilers. The more I hear about the ending, the more I worry. They’ve included scenes of Dr. Manhattan vaporizing the Viet Cong, but they’ve hamstrung the ending. In the comment thread to Ms. Woerner’s article, AngryLagomorph writes:
it really does come down to that: you can’t show masses of AMERICANS being slaughtered. we’re all that really matters anyway and its our movie so 😛
Indeed. And another great comment from cletar:
So, because of 9/11, there’s no giant squid? Maybe your 9/11 memories are different than mine, but I don’t remember a giant squid figuring into 9/11.
You know what would have made the New York carnage look completely unlike 9/11? A huge-ass squid, that’s what.
That comment thread looks fascinating . . . too bad I gotta go do my Saturday shopping 🙂
Of course, the ending could have been worse — here’s the ending as massaged by the major studios. Very funny.
Totally off topic, but my research this morning led to this old gem: Studio Script Notes on ‘The Passion,’ by Steve Martin.
The ferret lady
You’ve heard of cat ladies, right? They take in stray after stray until their homes explode in a giant hairball. Today, I received an email from a reader, Luke, who has an interesting story to tell about a ferret lady.
So if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to cram over a hundred ferrets under one roof, follow me below the fold.
Predators
Here’s a quizlet for you: guess Will Smith’s total lifetime box office — the gross for all of his movies put together. See if you can nail the right order of magnitude.
Ferrets are cute, don’t you think?
And degus are cute, too:
We’ve had degus and ferrets for years now. The degus are getting old, and gradually our team of four became a team of three, which became a team of two. One of the remaining two had been losing weight and hair recently, a clear sign of the end. Two nights ago, the end came.
The ferrets were out and about when I noticed my dead degu. The ferrets had never shown much interest in the degus; their cage sits atop the degu cage, so it’s not like they haven’t smelled or seen them before. So I really didn’t think about it when I set the dead degu aside while cleaning up the ferret cage.
Bueller (that dork above) grabbed the degu by the neck and ran off with her. It took quite an effort to prise the corpse away from my ferret, but I eventually managed it. After that, Bueller ran around like the cock of the walk.
End of story, right? I’m afraid not. Last night soon after Jake let the ferrets out for their evening run, I heard squealing. I assumed the ferrets were playing rough so I went downstairs to have a look. Bueller had broken into the degu cage and had killed the last degu. I had to hold his head under the water faucet before he would release her. (Yes, yes, I shouldn’t waterboard my pets. But at the time, I had a faint hope she might be alive.)
After that, Bueller broke into the degu cage again, apparently seeing it as some sort of rodent vending machine. And he did the same thing again today. He worked his way in and waited. And waited. Eventually he got bored, but it took him the better part of half an hour.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been surprised. According to Wikipedia, there are places where ferrets are still used to hunt rabbits. The amazing thing is that our ferrets never tried this before.
Did Bueller do her a favor? She was old for a degu, but in good shape. Still, degus are gregarious creatures, and lone degus (I’m told) don’t do well. Maybe I’m just trying to find some sort of silver lining to what was essentially a very violent act.
This from the guy who used to keep boa constrictors. But those were feeder rats, not pets. And Babe isn’t bacon, he’s a sheep-pig.
Maybe I’ll just eat tofu. It’s hard to have sympathy for soy beans.
Quizlet answer: $2,520,925,686
That’s a lot of box office.
D.
An Interview with Paul Meloy
My interview with Paul is posted at The Fix. And a damn fine interview it is, too. Here’s one of my favorite bits — we got into it on the way dreams figure into his work:
I don’t believe dreams are there just to do us a favour. As if the unconscious is some benign sorting office. There’s no reason to believe that the unconscious isn’t as polluted and pathological as our conscious mind. I think you have to apply a bit of discernment with dreams. Sometimes it’s easy to recognise a symbol and interpret it, or attribute aspects to your anima or animus, or your sexuality. Sometimes it’s a bit of wish fulfilment, a bit of fantasy or frustrated desire being played out. Sometimes dreams are plagued by a sense of nostalgia or longing that remains in your psyche and dogs you all the next day. And maybe there’s a receiving apparatus for visions built in there, too.
Enjoy.
D.
Same scene, different script
The other day, one of my patients (a retired English teacher, of course) ragged on me for getting lie/lay wrong. Of COURSE I know the damn difference. It was a SLIP, okay?
This is dedicated to her:
D.
just working
Seems like the last few days have been a blur. Sometimes I feel like Billy Pilgrim, existing simultaneously in all moments of my life — or am I confusing him with Dr. Manhattan? Part of me right now is the faithful service-oriented doc (gotta keep up that NPS!), part is gritting my teeth on commute, part is lying in bed at 5:50 AM wondering if another ten minutes horizontal is going to make much difference to the big picture. Eat, Treat, Drive, and Sleep. What a life.
I love the work, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I could get used to this routine. Folks have had to do much worse over the years, right? I mean, I’m not in a bloody coal mine. And I’m making more money, enough that we’re actually SAVING money for a change.
Still, I wish I had more free time. I leave my chores to the weekend, so by the time Saturday rolls around most of my time is spent shopping, doing the laundry, cleaning. Yes, Lucie, I know — get domestic help — but until my longterm future resolves itself, we’re reluctant to increase our spending.
Selling the house in Harbor would be a big help.
Getting a permanent spot would be an even bigger help.
Meanwhile, I keep working and hoping.
D.
Is it just me,
or is our President channeling a certain starship captain?
If the man starts shouting “KHAAAAAAN!” I’m leaving the room.
D.