pedestrian saga

On Friday I barfed three times, at ever-shrinking intervals, for no good reason. My appetite disappeared entirely, and I shrank into a pathetic heap on the sofa and in bed (alternatively, in between trips to the bathroom). I passed the day and the night seeking to remain as still as possible, slipping into a vampiric stupor, a vestige of my true self (me! the one obsessed with rich food—ice cream and fruit pies, nachos and fettuccine all’Alfredo, Chianti and Fat Tire, curried peas and precious roasted garlic!) I missed the apparently awesome vault by my favorite OSU gymnast, Mandi Rodriguez, at the last home meet of the season.

Scott came to the rescue with a bottle of nuclear pink pepperminty slime-dicine, and yesterday I managed to choke down (and keep down) a few glasses of Cran-Raspberry, a small bowl of granola, and six stale water crackers. Still bereft of all epicurean desires, I pulled Twentieth Century Eightball off my bookshelf and burrowed into the sofa to enjoy the misanthropic pornography of Daniel Clowes. Late in the afternoon, I got the crazy notion to do something useful and decided to cut the grass. So when Scott wasn’t looking, I hauled our new old reel mower out of the shed and set to work. Maddy ran wide circles around me as I staggered across the back lawn, stopping to catch my breath and steady myself after each pass. Not the bliss of before.

The good news is that I ate a full plate of peas and pasta for supper (though sadly recoiled at Scott’s objectively wonderful garlic sauté) and Inland Empire is playing at 3:00 and 6:40 today. Depending on how lunch goes, I may just be ready to take it on.

That’s right, baby Annagail, I would say to her right now if we were hangin’ out together, dreams really do come true!

Last Sunday, for instance, I ran a humble little hand-me-down reel mower across my own patch of grass. As I’ve dreamed of doing. It was bliss!

And this weekend, David Lynch’s Inland Empire, the most anticipated movie of the biennium here at Pedestrian Saga, is actually playing…at…the Darkside. (more…)

Last Sunday, I went back to the Darkside after a long hiatus (blame Netflix) and watched El laberinto del fauno. Don’t listen to the critics on this one. Some ne-fairy-ous puck slipped ‘em all a Mickey or something (Andrew O’Hehir, what possessed you?) because this flick is not even close to being “convincing,” “glorious,” “lovely,” “magical,” “gorgeously executed,” or “rewarding.” (Den-nis!) It is ugly, flat, and entirely unmoving. I hereby pan Pan’s Labyrinth. (more…)

NB: Hoover works better if I change the bag every once in a while. Buy two packages, get one free at Fred Meyer = nine bags. Stocked! Let the fur-bustin’ begin!

Annagail, Annagail, beautiful little five-and-a-half-pound abstraction, you are the sparkle in my brother’s voice, transmitted through a cell phone three thousand miles…I can’t wait to meet you in June!

Congratulations, Jim and Jen!