Hmm ... Musing

I guess I'm back to the randomness that makes up this blog.

I watched "Catch and Release" earlier this week, and it was a pretty good movie, I have to say. It's set in Boulder, of all places, which made me happy ... even movie directors realize that there is a large chunk of America between the two coasts ...

And then I watched "Mission Impossible: 2." Why? WHY???? I want my $2 and my life back. It had no plot. It had a lot of slow-mo scenes to emphasize Tom Cruise's and Thandie Newton's hair, lots of sultry looks between the two, zero lead-in as to why we should care about either character .... and, it seemed, no plot. It was a 180-degree turn from what made the first movie so great. There was nothing intelligent about it, no twists in the plot because, as I said before, there was no plot. I truly, truly pity the people who paid $6 or $7 or $8 to see it in a theater. And then had to sit there for the whole thing. There should have been riots. Tom Cruise and his hair should have been run out of the country and not allowed back in until he had personally apologized to every person who was tricked into watching his movie.

*****

The worst thing about being single and far from home is being sick when you're single and far from home. You start to remember all the times your mom would come in a put her hand on your forhead, rub your back, take your temperature, give you cold ginger ale and crackers, put cool, clean sheets on your bed, wrap you up in a blanket and just hold you ... you rememember all of that as you're staggering to the bathroom, hoping you don't faint along the way, and wondering if you have the strenth to open the can of soup or to lift the ginormous bottle of ginger ale to the glass ... You remember all of that while you're struggling to change the sheets on your own bed before you pass out, when you're taking a bath to make the pain go away and hoping you don't drown in the bathtub, when you feel too weak to even take the thermometer out of your mouth, much less look at it ... And you start to think, "I could move back into my parents' house ..."

But I can't. They rented out my bedroom. And the Creepy Man lives in the basement.

****

You know what I hate about Web sites these days?? Those stupid mortgage rate ads. You know which ones I'm talking about -- they've got psychotic dancing people, silhouettes, or -- in today's ad on the Weather Channel page -- a dancing alien. They're obnoxious. They're ugly. And I will never click on one, even when the day comes when I need a mortgage. They try to personalize it by saying that rates have fallen AGAIN in (pick a state). I think this is more obnoxious. You should be able to block the ads that you don't want to see when you're cruising the Web ... just a thought. There's at least one rant for today.

****

This is quite possibly the most disjointed post I've created to date. It has no point; never did. And it's now been spread out over two days. I feel like I'm just kind of bouncing all over the place. Reading back through this thing, I kind of am. *sigh*

I hate the Top-Whatever radio station here in Laramie. There are no DJs. Nada. No one talks to you, except the same pervert-sounding guy who tells you that this is "The new Planet 96.9." I'd have second thoughts about allowing my children to talk to someone who perpetually sounded like that. And "new" in this case is definitely not better.

What's worse -- there's no one to tell you who or what you're listening to. I'm serious. There are computer-generated stations that at least have some chick with a phony British accent who tells you at the end of each song what it is you've just listened to ... just in case you cared. But this is not the case on this radio station. The non-XMed among us in Laramie will be talking about "that song" on the radio, but you never know if your "that song" is the same as the "that song" that someone else is talking about ... because the new station owners left their brain on the bargaining table. Nerds.

I feel cheated.

***

I had something else profound to add to this mishmash of thoughts ...

Ah -- I found a journal entry today, from just over five years ago, where I had written down that I weighed 222 pounds. Ouch. I've recently seen photos from that time. It was not pretty. I was not pretty. Up through about two years ago, I looked and felt that way ... What a load (literally) off my back.

Suddenly, however heavy I thought I was this morning just didn't seem so bad, and carrots didn't seem like a terrible alternative to getting a pastry at Starbucks. In fact, I skipped Starbucks altoghether (Jesse would be proud, since he was pounding his fist on the bar last night in a loud anti-Starbucks rant ...). Because, no matter how bad I think I look or weigh now, it's nowhere near as bad as it was then. And no matter how much I might be craving the entire half-gallon of ice cream, the yummy pastry or the mouth-watering double-bacon cheeseburger with extra cheese and extra bacon ... none of it is worth risking a re-approach of those days/weights/looks.

Viva Weight Watchers.