And that brings us to the "rarrgh". Doc was really sick, so he stayed home. asleep on the couch. I had plans to turn on all the lights and plug the laptop into the speakers and clean the kitchen and make brownies tonight. Vacuum. Clean up. Lights, noise, Fun. I think I deserve that, and if I can derive it from a few hours alone singing at the cats and dog, who's to complain? But he's home and he's asleep and he's really harshing my groove.
I'm going to go outside where the dog is hanging out and have a smoke. Clear my head.
Okay, I'm going to try to watch American Sniper. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow night. But I've been badmouthing it so I really need to watch it, or at least try.
Okay, the first thirty minutes are exposition and dead boring. The dialog is stilted and immature. And again I think to myself, "THIS is what we want people all over the world to think our soldiers are? This big, dumb lug who never learns beyond physical confrontation how to get what he wants." We fought hard to lose the shackles of John Wayne and the American Cowboy image. This just brings it right on back. But instead of a fascinating adventure in the old west, like we have always been able to count on Clint Eastwood for, we get this faux cowboy. Who can't make it as a "modern day cowboy" (is there even room in this age of animal rights for a man to make his living off being a cowboy on a rodeo circuit?), so he goes off to be a SEAL. And of course he's built and cut and a marvel at target practice, except when he's sexually frustrated by his new girlfriend, who he knocks up before leaving on his first tour. Great values there, I tell you what.
I'll watch the rest tomorrow. With any luck, with a clean house and a fresh baked brownie in my hand.
Simon's in the window, meowing at Billy Bob outside who is meowing back. Strange creatures roam these halls and these streets.