I forgot to tell you that when I ran into that little kid the other night from the neighborhood, the kid who used to own Snowflake before his untimely postman-eating demise, she had a question for me.
"Do you have a lot of markers in your house?"
I mean, it was in the context of precisely nothing. We'd all said hi to each other, she'd asked if Edsel was still shy (well, let's see. The part where he's wrapped his leash around me 50 times and is behind me, trying to crawl up inside me, might tip you off, but whatever. Bright child.) and then she came out with that query.
In some countries, that is the traditional greeting. ¡Hola! How's it going on your number of markers?
"You know, I don't," I told her. "I don't think I have any. I don't have kids, so markers never really come up."
I may have alluded once or twice to the lack of brightness of these ragamuffins in my neighborhood, and I could see those wheels trying to churn.
"You don't? You don't have kids?"
She looked completely taken aback. "Well, when are you going to have any?"
Am seriously wondering if my mother hired her.
Anyway, hiiiii! How is everyone? It's the holiday weekend, so no one is going to read me at all, ever. You'll all be busy with the grilling and the eating of baked beans and the getting out your white shoes. Truth be told, I've been wearing white pants for a couple weeks, and I've been rocking them, too. All this in white pants, man. Woooo!
I've been working out 45 minutes, five times a week, due to this stupid challenge I'm in at work (my team is in second place) (have hired someone to bang Team #1 right in the knees, though), and yesterday I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror--
--I like that. "Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror." Like I'm not Buffalo Bill in Silence of the Lambs in that mirror all day. Anyway, I saw myself and man! I looked good! See? Am back to being Buffalo Bill again.
Come on, Precious!
Should I get that poor kid a pack of markers? Or will her negligent parents think I'm a molester?
But none of this is why I forced you to log on here today. I brought you here because Ned has Nedflixed the terrible movie we saw last Sunday, and man, was it terrible. It was my fault, too: I picked it.
Long ago, I dated someone who said I always wanted to see any movie that showed someone standing in a field. It was really one of the more astute observations anyone's ever made of me. And sure enough. Oh, field! I pick this one!
As soon as it was over, there was an old lady behind us, who said, "Jesus." Completely exasperated. We loved her. Anyway, here is Nedflix.
To the Wonder
The name of Jesus Christ, delivered derisively from one of our fellow moviegoers in the back of the theater, was the first feedback June and I received upon the conclusion of To the Wonder, the new film by Terrence Malick. Malick is the director of such obtuse head scratchers as The Tree of Life and The Thin Red Line, and To the Wonder doesn’t disappoint in that arena. What it does disappoint in, however, is everything else.
To the Wonder stars Ben Affleck and Olga Kurylrnko as Neil and Marina, two young lovers with nothing better to do. Having met and fallen in love in Mont Saint-Michel, they return to Oklahoma to set up house. Life is pretty good when you’re hanging out in Mont Saint-Michel, falling in love and gazing off meaningfully with your own inner dialogue playing in your head. That shit gets old pretty fast in Oklahoma though, and Neil and Marina run into problems once reality sets in.
Rachel McAdams and Javier Bardem make inexplicable appearances in the movie, neither much affecting the lives of the main characters at all. Bardem’s role is not a small one, yet we see him with Marina only once or twice, and never do we hear his take on her situation. His role seems to be a parallel one with its own issues and crisis, but not one that makes much comment on the movie’s main theme. McAdams’ character has the good sense to walk away early.
Most of the dialogue in To the Wonder, as with many of Malick’s films, is delivered in whispered voiceover narration. While this device does significantly reduce having to listen to Ben Affleck flap his yapper, it gets old pretty fast as well. I don’t intrinsically dislike Malick’s films. They are always well shot, and I believe he has something to say. What he does say he delivers with subtlety and without clobbering his viewer over the head. Sometimes, though, you wish he’d just say it.