For once, my wife gave me a task that was in my wheelhouse . . . . a task which I not only completed, but also enjoyed (unlike the time she assigned me the Christmas mission of buying her some sexy lingerie and I went to Victoria's Secret in the mall and saw the word "panties" and started blushing and then a cute girl asked if I needed help and I got nervous and ran out of the store and then got my friend Celine to go to the mall and pick out some things that Catherine would like and on Christmas when Catherine saw what Celine picked out, she was happy and amazed by my good taste and I told her Celine "helped me," but didn't tell her the truth: that I didn't even go on the mission . . . and I would have gotten away with it if another teacher hadn't spilled the beans and told my wife the whole sordid tale-- that Celine picked out the lingerie and showed it to all the women in the English department, so Catherine made me return the lingerie-- except for one item she couldn't part with-- and then she made me go buy lingerie all by myself as punishment . . . even though I thought it was pretty clever of me to complete the task in the fashion I did) because this task-- to use the internet to find a good movie-- was right up my alley . . . she said, "Find us a good movie to stream on Netflix," and so I went on-line and found some spectacular reviews for a thriller from 1991 called One False Move, starring Billy Bob Thornton as a violent drug dealer from Los Angeles and Bill Paxton as the small town Arkansas sheriff that collides with him and his violent companions . . . it's tense, graphic, ambiguous, and well-acted-- and you never know which direction it's going to take . . . is Dale "Hurricane" Dixon a heroic small town cop like Marge Gunderson in Fargo . . . or is he an inept yokel like Marshall Link Appleyard in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance . . . I'm still not sure of the answer, but I do know this: the film may be worth watching just for Billy Bob Thornton's hair: ten mullet pony-tails out of ten.
3 comments:
Perhaps you would be more comfortable buying your wife's underpants via the internet. That would have avoided the whole pantie fiasco.
that's a brilliant idea-- but it would have required foresight.
So, I was thinking about that time in high school when we bet on who could write the longest sentence and you said there was no doubt it was you, but I begged to differ, thinking I was by far the more clever one between the two of us, and then we started writing, and we got to a point where it just seemed kind of ridiculous, because there was no punctuation or opportunities to take a breath, and we joked that when we got older we would start a blog page where we would write one crazy-long sentence a day, every day, only back then we didn't know what a blog was, and now I joined Facebook and see that you have actually followed through with this crazy notion, and that you write a hilariously long blog a day, all in one sentence, although now you have discovered punctuation (and parentheticals) and what is most impressive is that you don't use semicolons - because that would be cheating under any respectable author's rules - but you nevertheless seem to get out your entire thought (and then some, through the creative use of parentheticals, which, as I noted above, I admire) while at the same time writing quite an entertaining piece each day that your students must love and I have thoroughly enjoyed, and so I hope you keep up the good work and keep these crazy non-run-on-sentences coming, because I, for one, get a real kick out of them and look forward to catching up with them on my train ride home from New York (which is long and tedious and generally in need of a pick-me-up, which you have provided for me since I made the fateful decision to join Facebook), and I also hope that we can catch up sometime, now that I completely made up that story about when we were kids -- but do really enjoy the daily blogs --seeing as how I live only about 15 miles from you up the Parkway, and I am very happy to see you are doing so well. Best, Erik
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