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The Chiropractic Chronicles: Chapter Three.
Today involved the vibrating electrodes on a bucking bronco massage table. Ok, a really slow, elderly bronco. But it was sort of bizarre and fun to be on device that gently and rhythmically stretched my back out for me. Then she 'adjusted' my upper back again, which is basically her pushing down on my spine really hard twice. It is sort of alarming. It doesn't hurt (its not supposed to), but really alarming is the only word I can think of. Maybe startling. I'm sort of sore because of it, though I might also be sore because I decided to wash dishes and maybe that was too soon. I'm glad I didn't try to put the futon cover on.
Low Expectations Cinema: Chapter Forty-Eight.
I finished watching the movie Mr. Brooks this morning. Ok, so I am one of those people who loves the movie Field of Dreams. Not so much that I'd drive to the cornfield in Iowa to visit it. I haven't read the book. I don't own the DVD. But I saw it in the theater, I've seen it on video a couple times, and if I happen to be watching television and it comes on, I will watch it at any time. It is a comforting movie. Much like, um, Robin Hood. I think that's sort of Kevin Costner in general, he's a total doofus, but somewhat appealing and comforting even while rolling your eyes. Then he went all weird and tried to make complicated movies that just ended up being long and tedious and painful and problematic (the buffalo/indian movie that I'm totally strangely blanking on right now, Waterworld, Wyatt Earp, etc.) and I figured I would only see him again in my lifetime when I watch Field of Dreams rerun on cable. Then, earlier this year, I watched The Upside of Anger. (See, Low Expectations Cinema, Chapter Twenty-Seven.) And he was in it. And the appealing doofus was back!
So when I read a review of Mr. Brooks, and he's play the appealing doofus-meets-Dexter (which is a show DYA and I have been watching recently), I was excited to rent it from the big red box, for a fun fluffy movie to watch while eating lunch (or iceing my back). It did not disappoint. It was a powerful triumvirate of my personal favorite bad actors: Kevin Costner, William Hurt, and Demi Moore. William Hurt is actually somewhat subdued, which is good, but really he isn't that far off from that bizarre performance in History of Violence. (I keep thinking William Hurt started down this path with "One True Thing", but maybe he's always been this way and I've never really paid it any mind.) And Demi Moore did just fine as the generic smart lady cop on the trail of the killer. She even got to do some ridiculous stunts and dramatic firefights and have really great hair and outfits. Sadly, Marg Helgenberger is given a craptastic part, and there is a slightly painful storyline involving the daughter (e.g. when DYA walked in the room during one of these scenes, she said, "what's this, a movie of the week?"). Oh, and the ending TOTALLY smacks of "oops, the original ending didn't test well, so we added this one extra mini-scene at the end to give it a 'happy ending'." But, overall, this was a great and entertaining "Bad Movie". If nothing else, because ( click here for mild spoiler )
On Becoming a Published Writer: Chapter Two-Hundred Sixteen.
I haven't written since Sunday, mostly because its uncomfortable to sit (I could barely finish this entry), but I did submit a story today to the Chicago Reader fiction contest. And in the process of going to pull up a story, I realized, wait I have more completed or near-completed pieces than I thought. I completely forgot about these other two stories that can go out with a bit of tweaking. I read an article in Poets and Writers about some new darling and he kinda got on my nerves as a person and the excerpt I didn't think was all that, but than again, I'm willing to admit it could be tainted by some bitter jealousy. Except, he said in one point about how hard he worked to become a writer, and how when he was in school, people would be really talented but would never submit, or would submit once and then forget about it. So I think I will send every story out to a minimum of 10 places. Hey, it worked for 24 Hour Cock. (Not-so?-)Coincidentally, I got two e-mails last night, within minutes of each other, from two different journals where I've submitted in the past, announcing contexts and new issues. So I guess I know where to start. I'm not completely stubborn -- I get it when the Universe sends me obvious signals.
Today involved the vibrating electrodes on a bucking bronco massage table. Ok, a really slow, elderly bronco. But it was sort of bizarre and fun to be on device that gently and rhythmically stretched my back out for me. Then she 'adjusted' my upper back again, which is basically her pushing down on my spine really hard twice. It is sort of alarming. It doesn't hurt (its not supposed to), but really alarming is the only word I can think of. Maybe startling. I'm sort of sore because of it, though I might also be sore because I decided to wash dishes and maybe that was too soon. I'm glad I didn't try to put the futon cover on.
Low Expectations Cinema: Chapter Forty-Eight.
I finished watching the movie Mr. Brooks this morning. Ok, so I am one of those people who loves the movie Field of Dreams. Not so much that I'd drive to the cornfield in Iowa to visit it. I haven't read the book. I don't own the DVD. But I saw it in the theater, I've seen it on video a couple times, and if I happen to be watching television and it comes on, I will watch it at any time. It is a comforting movie. Much like, um, Robin Hood. I think that's sort of Kevin Costner in general, he's a total doofus, but somewhat appealing and comforting even while rolling your eyes. Then he went all weird and tried to make complicated movies that just ended up being long and tedious and painful and problematic (the buffalo/indian movie that I'm totally strangely blanking on right now, Waterworld, Wyatt Earp, etc.) and I figured I would only see him again in my lifetime when I watch Field of Dreams rerun on cable. Then, earlier this year, I watched The Upside of Anger. (See, Low Expectations Cinema, Chapter Twenty-Seven.) And he was in it. And the appealing doofus was back!
So when I read a review of Mr. Brooks, and he's play the appealing doofus-meets-Dexter (which is a show DYA and I have been watching recently), I was excited to rent it from the big red box, for a fun fluffy movie to watch while eating lunch (or iceing my back). It did not disappoint. It was a powerful triumvirate of my personal favorite bad actors: Kevin Costner, William Hurt, and Demi Moore. William Hurt is actually somewhat subdued, which is good, but really he isn't that far off from that bizarre performance in History of Violence. (I keep thinking William Hurt started down this path with "One True Thing", but maybe he's always been this way and I've never really paid it any mind.) And Demi Moore did just fine as the generic smart lady cop on the trail of the killer. She even got to do some ridiculous stunts and dramatic firefights and have really great hair and outfits. Sadly, Marg Helgenberger is given a craptastic part, and there is a slightly painful storyline involving the daughter (e.g. when DYA walked in the room during one of these scenes, she said, "what's this, a movie of the week?"). Oh, and the ending TOTALLY smacks of "oops, the original ending didn't test well, so we added this one extra mini-scene at the end to give it a 'happy ending'." But, overall, this was a great and entertaining "Bad Movie". If nothing else, because ( click here for mild spoiler )
On Becoming a Published Writer: Chapter Two-Hundred Sixteen.
I haven't written since Sunday, mostly because its uncomfortable to sit (I could barely finish this entry), but I did submit a story today to the Chicago Reader fiction contest. And in the process of going to pull up a story, I realized, wait I have more completed or near-completed pieces than I thought. I completely forgot about these other two stories that can go out with a bit of tweaking. I read an article in Poets and Writers about some new darling and he kinda got on my nerves as a person and the excerpt I didn't think was all that, but than again, I'm willing to admit it could be tainted by some bitter jealousy. Except, he said in one point about how hard he worked to become a writer, and how when he was in school, people would be really talented but would never submit, or would submit once and then forget about it. So I think I will send every story out to a minimum of 10 places. Hey, it worked for 24 Hour Cock. (Not-so?-)Coincidentally, I got two e-mails last night, within minutes of each other, from two different journals where I've submitted in the past, announcing contexts and new issues. So I guess I know where to start. I'm not completely stubborn -- I get it when the Universe sends me obvious signals.
