Weekend Update: Week 2

I can't get these weekend updates written on Sunday. Oh sure, it will look like I posted on Sunday because I'm going to lie and cheat tweak the date a bit, but I still have to make my confession here. Week 2: FAIL. Let me distract you with the cuteness of my granddaughter.

I stayed at Mamá's and all I got were these purple slippers. They weren't very tasty. In fact, they tasted like feet. I prefer booby.

•  Coraline spent the night Friday night--her first overnight with Mamá! I'll write more on that later in the week. For now I'll just say this time we got through it with only one fussy spell, about three cups of spit up, but no poopy diapers. And when I asked Elvira if she got laid, she said, Hell, yes, three times!* Oh, Elvira. You are your mother's daughter! I'm so proud.
•  Colorado was supposed to come for an overnight Saturday, but she got stuck at work. So instead I went to a last-minute party without her, where I filled up on homemade cheeseburger pizza**, homemade ice cream, cookies, cherry lambic, and karaoke. I gained three fucking pounds in one night. After hours of karaoke, we mellowed out the end of the evening by passing a three-foot-tall hooka. I may have been a little sleepy by the time I made my way through the cold to my van, but I woke up as soon as the engine fired up. In fact, I have no doubt the entire fucking neighborhood woke up because my muffler seems to have given up on this life. My van sounds like a B-52 eating up runway. My ears burned as I imagined the neighbors cursing me from their warm beds the whole long five minutes it took me to scrape a heavy layer of frost off my windows. Nothing shouts "trailer trash comin' down the street" like the sound of a blown out muffler. Nobody wants trailer trash in their neighborhood.

•  Sunday afternoon I took in a funny, charming play titled Heroes at a local community theater. It's a French play adapted by Tom Stoppard about three elderly men who live in an old soldiers home. I wasn't so sure a stone dog and three old guys sitting on a park bench talking would keep me awake, but I didn't close my eyes once. Probably because I slept through church .... no, I mean I didn't even get up and go. They have noise ordinances out there in the suburbs.

• Sunday night I went back to the classy downtown art theater for My Week with Marilyn, a movie based on two of Colin Clark's "memoirs."*** I liked the old guys on the bench better. I think the movie was meant to be precious and sweet in a "how I lost my innocence" sort of way, but what I saw in  Monroe's character was a typical addict fucking with other people's lives and then charming them out of their righteous anger. And the author, whether the story is true or not, came across as a  big old fawning co-dependent who welcomed being used so he could stand in line and feel self-important about "saving" Marilyn Monroe. For a whole fucking week. Even by writing this possibly fictional memoir, he still appears to be trying to be some kind of hero in her story, years later. If there's any truth to it at all, it's that the people around Monroe were the ones who needed to be saved from the effects of her behavior--typical of alcoholics and addicts-- coupled with her cruel charisma--again, typical. The one bright spot was Kenneth Branagh playing Olivier, but he's fucking Kenneth Branagh playing Olivier. How could he fail? I'm much more looking forward to seeing the fearless Glenn Close in Albert Nobbs. By the time My Week with Marilyn was over, I was looking forward to grading a monster stack of papers.

• Next I graded a monster stack of papers.

 Weekend Wrap-Up

What made me laugh: 

And what made me say "Hey, I did that shit once and I had the bruises to prove it!":

That's it for tonight. Have a great week!


* Comment deleted by the Reticulated Censor.
** Ground beef, onions, pickles, mustard and the usual tomato sauce and cheese. It was a mouth orgasm.
*** Some doubt has been cast as to their veracity. I have to say the movie seemed more like a young man's fantasy than reality, but who knows. He waited until after most of the characters were dead to publish his diaries.