- Clothes: went shopping at Wal-Mart. Bought six shirts, assorted unmentionables, and a pair of pants for under 100$. It's hard to describe why this is a Big Deal to me, why instead of cringing because, you know, Wal-Mart, emblem of smalltown corporate takeovers and cheap, mass-produced products, I'm actually squeeful, but I'll give it a shot. It's the part where I could walk into a department store -- the lowest-end department store around -- and find clothes that fit me. At 6, 7, 8 bucks a pop, instead of paying 29.99 on clearance if I'm lucky, at a large-size specialty shop. It's a weird thing to be pleased about, but it's a reflection of money and culture in the lower middle-class Midwest -- I'm not worried about being able to fit into something I see in a fashion mag; I'm more concerned with being able to walk into a store and come out with clothes that fit me and look good without bankrupting myself. And it's been so long since I could, and now I can and I did, and it makes me so quietly happy.
Also I discovered (not necessarily while shopping, but earlier, and then reinforced when trying on clothes) that while it might be a comforting mental trick to buy shirts/blouses that are quite a bit too large, they don't actually look good on me. In fact, things that hang on me actually make me look larger and more shapeless than I am, and clothes that are more fitted look better, bulges and all. And it's only taken me 32 years to figure that one out...
Most surreal non-argument about clothes ever: maeyan staring at me in shock and horror when she discovered the package of underwear in the cart was her brand. In her size. Gasp! For how will we ever tell them apart once they hit the laundry room? But I was not about to put them back and get 'my' brand instead, for 'her' brand was on sale, and had pretty colors. (If they were all pretty colored ones there would have been no issue, but it was a multi-pack, and some of them were white, thus the potential for confusion.) The Great Panty War of Ought Five was luckily averted when we discovered that the ones I was buying just say 'Hanes' on the waistband, while all of hers say 'Hanes Her Way,' so we can still tell them apart.
- Movies: From the list of ghostie movies people kindly recommended, so far I've managed to see only Stir of Echoes (very well done and entertaining, and I never felt gypped by a rushed or nonsensical ending, as I often do in supernatural films) and Event Horizon (Wow, that was gross. But very good for what it was, which was more or less 'Hellraiser in Space' only more coherent than Hellraiser actually is.)
From my own list of horror wanna-sees, I saw White Noise (great buildup, crappy ending), Boogeyman (Okay, and not as scary as I was afraid it was going to be, I think because the monster got a face, and that face was not one that particularly frightens me), and Saw (Eww. Eww. Eww. Ewwewwwewwwewwewwewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
wwwww. Also, the logic broke down in places, and in general, my god, what a depressing movie in terms of saying anything about humanity in general. Right -- dear movie, you do not exist. Goodbye.)
I also rented Unbreakable, since it's one of the few M. Night films I hadn't seen. Someone -- TBQ maybe? -- mentioned that it was kind of disappointing that the twist in this superhero movie is that...drumroll... the guy's really a superhero? Granted I thus went into this movie knowing that particular twist, but I didn't really read it that way by the end - it didn't seem to me that the hero really being a superhero was ever going to be in doubt. The twist as I read it, minor as it was, was the revelation of the villain, and I have to admit to getting got by it. I picked it up before it was openly admitted, but very late in the game, and pretty much at the point where Shamalamadingdong was saying "here's your last clue, dumbass..." As a sidenote, the one part of this movie that gave me the urpies was when Samuel L. Jackson's character was chasing guy-with-gun down the stairs, and kept moving faster and faster and slipping just a little more, and then that headlong tumble... Gah. Flashbacks and mental nastiness. Let's just say hand-rails and I are much closer friends than we used to be before last August.
In newish movie news, last night maeyan and I saw Hitch at the second-run theater nearby. Damn fine movie, for the light comedy genre. It reminded me nostalgically of Back When Eddie Murphy Did Good Movies, and I was giggling out loud and pounding on my knees on more than one occasion.
Also, picked up our tickets for the June 23rd Serenity showing today. We were going to actually go last night to see a movie and pick up the tickets at the same time, but a) there was nothing playing there that we were especially interested in, and b) due to the general heat and the fact that both rooms with AC had their doors shut while the delivery guys were here, both of us crashed so hard in the afternoon after our new fridge was delivered, that we ended up napping until it was far too late to get all the way up to the north side of the city in time for the last showing, even if there had been something worth seeing. So see above re Hitch at 2nd-run theater, and then I drove up and picked up the tickets today, without a. Er. Hitch. The guy at the box office mentioned that they sold out in about 2.5 hours, and people were coming in from as far as Greenwood to get them. (Greenwood is an Indianapolis suburb, all of 25 miles away or so.) I sort of grinned, and pointed out that Boston sold out in about 2.5 minutes, iirc.
- Books: While hanging out on the north side of town, I hit the Barnes & Noble, and spent money I shouldn't have on:
Smoke and Shadows and Smoke and Mirrors -- Tanya Huff's new spin-off of the Vicky Nelson/Henry Fitzroy "Blood [insert plot-related word here]" series. The Blood... books are about Vicky, a female cop who is losing her sight due to a degenerative eye disease, Mike, her former partner and sometime boyfriend, and Henry, a bisexual-but-we-mostly-see-him-with-Vick
y vampire who happens to be the bastard son of Henry VIII. The Smoke... series is about Tony Foster, a former hustler and street kid who is a friend and voluntary blood donor (probably occasional lover; I can't remember if it was implied or openly stated in the Blood books) of Henry's. Where Henry is bi but we mostly see him with females, Tony is openly gay, so I'm hoping the slashy quotient (already pretty high in the first series, because to me the only logical solution to its issues is Vicky/Mike/Henry=OT3) is even higher here.
The Second Summoning also by Huff, sequel to Summon the Keeper.
Whispering Nickel Idols, the newest Garrett, PI, novel from Glen Cook.
Spirits in the Wires, which I think is Charles DeLint's newest Newford novel.
Turnabout, a YA novel by Margaret Peterson Haddix, about two old women who participate in a gov't experiment on reversing aging, then discover that the drug that's supposed to stop the process at a certain point is actually deadly, so they have to go on the run, while growing younger, and trying to find someone who can theoretically help and take care of them when they get too young to take care of themselves.
- Miscellanea: As usual, I've taken out my ear studs earlier than I was actually supposed to. I'm rediscovering my earring collection, which is fairly small, but larger than I remembered it being. *plays with dangly silver hearts* Sekrit msg to sarabi: the two pair you gave me are great; I wore the wee purple and white flowers to work with my new purple t-shirt (from K-Mart, because I am a hi-fashion goddess!) and felt all color-coordinated and girly.
Did I mention we got a new fridge? We got a new fridge. For more than we could afford, but such is life; one needs someplace to stash one's frozen dinners. The Lowe's delivery guys were very nice, and did not bitch about various doors that they had to de- and re- hinge to get the new fridge in and old fridge out. And now our food is cold.
It is hot - and I have been borderline comatose all weekend because of that. My bedroom is cool enough, due to the window AC and the fact that I keep the door shut (more to keep one particular cat off my bedspread than to keep in the cold, but the side-effect is nice) but even that seems like it's just barely taking the edge off the heat. And it's only June. *Fears August*
- ObBuffy: Reports of the fandom's death have been slightly exaggerated. Chill, mes amis. Canon ends, things slow down, people move on, people stay on, new people move in. I point happily at Doctor Who fandom, which survived 15 years with no new moving-picture canon except for one much-maligned tv movie. Sky not falling, Spike still hot, Xander still gay, news at 11.
- ObWho:Captain Jack was a young man when he went to sea. Oh me young ladies, go and kiss him goodbye. He was barely a child of twenty and three. Oh tell him, go and tell him for me, he can marry the mermaid that lives in the sea!
Ancient 7Doc-Ace poem, slightly rewritten, because originally it was Ace POV, yet the voice is clearly not hers. Set (vaguely) during that bit in Silver Nemesis when they take that totally pointless break on the hillside to... listen for alien transmissions, was it? Or possibly to send them. With Ace's boombox. Because it was 1988, and you could do that with the boomboxes back then. As an aside, it freaks me out to realize how close Ace was to actually being my age at the time the show was broadcast - for some reason I was thinking she was much older than me (probably because Sophie Aldred was) but she was 17 when I was 14 -- making her the last 'live-not-on-tape' companion who was anywhere near my age.
You, with your hat tumbled off
On the hill above the stream,
Chewing on a daisy,
Running fingers through
Pulling out dandelion fluff
Are for a moment...
Singer of nursery rhymes
And bawdy medieval rounds
In wicked counterpoint.
For a moment,
There on the slope,
There are no stars in your eyes,
Not even the tossing sea.
With the world at her back,
The reflection of a thousand reflections,
Your matching eyes an endless
Hall of mirrors.
One single, unbreathing moment.
The sound of the water, though,
Louder than time,
And the stars are back in your eyes,
Your hat lopsided on your head,
Crinkling your hair down over your ears.
The daisy, missing a few petals,
Is tucked in your hatband
And you are down the hill.
She is Sancho once more,
Watching you tilt at windmills
With your umbrella.
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