I've had this teapot for...a while, let's just say. I finally used it yesterday to try to power through my work. Didn't really help; I've been rather exhausted this week. I think I need more protein.
Yesterday was a lost day. I spent all morning doing research for work then slept. Got up, watched my friend's little boy, went to see Thor. Aside from the movie, not a sterling day, although I did get my cheap 'n cheerful scarf started. And partially frogged and restarted. And again. And one last time, and I think it's going to stay the way it is now.
I also, just as an FYI, have a new roommate for the nonce. My aunt went away for a week and she brought one of her cats down to stay here (the other kitties pick on her and it's making the kitty nervous.)
She's staying in my sun room/office, so we'll see how having a needy, desperate for affection animal stropping my ankles constantly affects my ability to work.
And now, on to commentary about the movie....
I go to the movies alone a lot. As often as I can, to be honest. I prefer going to movies alone; having a person next to me in the theater makes me nervous. But the ratio of scary, deep-down comic book fan to me at this showing was a bit unnerving. Don't get me wrong, I like a comic book hero as much as the next girl, and I really love movies based on comic books, but I don't know details about these characters like the color of the underside of their cape or where and when they were born and what they like for dinner. These people do, and they do not hesitate to whine about anything they feel is non-cannon. Aloud. Sometimes during the movie which is, as you can imagine, a bit of a downer for those of us in the audience who really don't care. I've read some comic books, you know, and the non-cannon crap in some of them is a lot worse than the non-cannon stuff in the movies, so shut it already.
That all said, there were more people there than I had anticipated (I love going to 'private showings'--movies either extremely early or late on a weekday when you can safely anticipate a very small audience, like one or two other people), and they were obviously hard core comic book fans. Anyone wearing a winged hat and carrying a hammer has got to be a hard core fan; I tremble to think of any other reason they might sally forth out-of-doors like that otherwise. I was tense with anticipation of their displeasure, but, shockingly, with the exception of one guy (who might not have been huffing in upset over the movie; it is allergy season, he might have been sneezing or blowing his nose) they were very quiet. I was the only one who actually laughed at the appropriate places, though, which makes me feel a bit awkward.
I like Thor. It's loud technicolor, like my dreams, and the men all cried and then went on to kick serious ass, proving sensitive men can kill you casually while wearing skin-tight leather. The 'bad guy' (no spoilers here, although anyone who's read the old legends knows who the bad apple is before the opening credits even roll) is more conflicted and angsty than evil, and you like him although he's doing naughty things. My favorite type of bad guy--you don't want him to win, because that would be morally wrong, but you don't want him to completely lose, either, because you understand his motivation and you feel it sometimes, too. You cheer for both the hero and the villain, and a good time is had by all.
I love cognitive dissonance.
And the actor who plays the, shall we say, Very Misguided Guy With Redeeming Qualities is some pretty hot real estate. It's sad; I'm getting to the point where a lot of the hot guys in movies are younger than I am and I'm starting to feel like a dirty old woman. Well, not old, but certainly a little crinkly around the edges.
Still. Le sigh. The true reason I like comic book movies (referring herein to Thor in particular): you have the good guy with washboard abs of titanium, the bad guy oozing Sexy Bad Boy all over the scenery (the cape helps a lot) and the good guy's buddies all being snarky cute. It's an awful lot of hot testosterone, colored in by someone on a bad acid trip with sound provided by one of those junkyard machines that crunches cars. A total head rush.
I need more. Maybe it will wake me the heck up and I could manage some productivity this week!
* Ok, ok, two were old and the third was already dying before he took Precious, so calling her killer is a bit harsh. Funny, but harsh. I apologize.