oooo, I would love to write something witty & theatrical, but I am just beat. It occurs to me that everything, as my dad used to say, has already been writ & thought.
Listening to a pennant ballgame, those radio voices I love. After that's over, it'll be football (but I don't do dat.) Can't say I'll miss the commercials, but you know it's a comforting routine: eat & knit & rehearse Bach & listen to Kruk & Kuip & Flemming & Miller. I do love me a walk-off win.
And, of course, later we'll watch episodes of something: Nashville or Justified or Sherlock Holmes. I also watch my own list of old or new stuff that's not the old man's bailiwick, like The Walking Dead or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Absolutely floored to find out that Spike is an American actor.
This doesn't preclude watching full length movies of course; we're longtime film-o-philes. We've always got our list of current screenings, but I think I decided a while back after a protracted attempt to make a decision on what to invest in seeing—granted nine bucks isn't going to break the bank—that for me it really boils down to a gut-feeling: kind of like a guy proposing. If I get excited at the prospect—by the director, or actor(s)–then it's easy just to say 'yes!'. It's really not about the money. It's more the principle of the thing.
Like Steve, my compact core exerciser-horsie. Why would I send Steve back when he's only partially noisy? Well, that's simple. The store that sells him exclusively committed the mistake of sending out yet another one of their emails. These emails are now daily instead of seemingly random, like an eccentric friend's correspondence getting more desperate. Since my son fixed my laptop, I get the full color, clickable versions of these emails again, as was my wish, online security be damned.
First thing I notice about this current come-on is that Steve is prominently featured, along with a customer testimonial pronouncing him '100 percent SILENT!!!!!' (yes, five exclamation points). I've already had my chat with customer service regarding Steve's groaning, & we agreed that as long as he seemed to be functioning, perhaps the r-r-r-r-r was just the sound he was supposed to make. He's not plugged in, by the way; his carbon footprint is light, as well as his heft. We've become old buddies, even though I have to wear headphones to ride & watch.
So getting this email was like a rude slap: 'hey, lady, you're being taken for a ride, an' ya don't even KNOW it!!!!!' This would not stand. I am my mother's daughter after all. (What does it mean that the last four phone messages I've gotten from my mom, she says 'Hello, Claudine...this is your daughter, I just wanted to let you know [fill in the blank]' Of course I delete them & I don't tell her anything. But I digress.)
Three days and many emails later, plus a phone call to & a sound file of Steve's odd racket, and the word comes back: Steve is, in fact, defective in absentia. He will be packed up & sent to a glue factory & I will get SteveV2 to replace him; soon I will forget there ever was an original & we'll grow old together. Maybe the ghostly reverberations of wrrrrring will haunt the house on cold nights...
Giants just won the World Series!!!!!