phosfate

Barfy all weekend. Alternated between sleep, videos, and emergency trips to the grocery store.* I moved into my old bed for the duration. While small, it is pleasantly brick-hard and has a whole new set of bears to annoy.

Friday I watched Night of the Living Dead for the first time ever. Even hideously colorized and with a Mike Nelson commentary, it had one of those oh-just-kill-yourself-already endings, like the original version of The Vanishing. And just as the original version of The Vanishing left one with a stern reminder to stay out of European service stations**, Night of the Living Dead was a reminder, as if one was needed, that there is nothing, nothing in the world scarier than a bunch of het-up white boys with guns and meathooks.

Saturday watched a few hours of Prince of E--no. No. The one that isn't a cartoon. The Ten Commandments. I like the way that, when the Jews start to misbehave, the old people and tiny goose-girls disappear, and they all turn into hot babes. This would explain why Aaron's ugly-ass cow held any appeal. I didn't know Hathor was such a party goddess.

I wanted to celebrate the resurrection of Our Lord by going to Grindhouse, but it just wasn't happening. If I'm gonna puke at a movie, I want it to be a tribute to the filmmakers' art, and not a danger to the public as a whole. Maybe next week.

*Includes, at various times, 10 minutes in the fabric shop for peach thread, 20 minutes in B&N for a paper and a Creative Screenwriting, and Taco Bell drive-through for a giant Diet Pepsi. You know, emergency stuff.

**I've only been in one, long before The Vanishing was even thought of, and came out with a can of Fanta and a truly wretched B-D adaptation of The New Avengers in French. So as warnings go, pretty valid.