I didn't get a toothbrush this time. A bit of a dissapointment, yes.
At my dad's this moring, I got out of bed at the hest of my 7:30 alarum, which is a rarity, and immediatly took a shower, which is rarer still. By 8:00, I was ready to face the day, and do bold and daring feats in the four hours that stretched before me and work at noon. A brief diversionary glance at Hollander's Rhyme's Reason confirms the prior construction as a Zeugma, a refinement on the "Z-something" I'd thought it was. Yes, I am the kind of person who has books on poetry theory on his shelves, and unlike Mister Jay Gatsby, most of my books are cut.
These plans of me haciendo crashed to a halt when my Mom called to remind me of my 9:30 dental appointment. Rather than being up early, I was merely on time, and soon found myself late as I forgot the route to the dentist; in my defense, I only go about twice a year, and was distracted by Morning Edition. It went well, in that it was quickly and relatively painlessly and the damage was no more than some minor gingivitis and a reasonable fee.
The basic message was that I needed to brush the gums more, use a bit of Listerine, and for the love of all that is mint-flavored and fluoridated, floss once in a while.
Which is why my mouth currently feels like a Vampire's just after feeding It's an age-old cycle: every six months, I come home from the dentist and spit about half a cup of blood and spit into the sink over the next few days, and then never touch a piece of floss again. My only salve is that no one in the history of mankind flosses enough.
I'd be more inclined to do it if I didn't spend half my flossing time trying to floss out tiny scraps of the floss. I sped through Sourcery and Wyrd Sisters over the past few days, I believe I started the former on Saturday, and the latter on let's say Tuesday. It's interesting, because I've read Going Postal, and this ain't Going Postal by a long shot, but there have been some definate improvements. It's proving remarkably gradual, though, the arc of his career, and while he apparently says that Sourcery is the book which made him more a Daniel Defoe than a Gideon, I think I'll need to read more of his books, perhaps all of them, to be sure exactly when he became "Guilty of Literature. Which suits me just fine
I'm reading The Curse of the Pharoahs now, the follow up/sequel to Crocodile on the Sandbank. I'll let you know how it goes; so far, it's more of the same, but in a good way
Cars, like Aslan, is like everything you've ever heard. The races lack the ritilin-expresso of Dash's battle with the hovercarts, there are perhaps a few to many semi-fart jokes, and the relationship between Lightning McQueen and Sally struck me as a bit stilted, but otherwise it is fantastic. Pixar has mastered CGI, to the point that it is barely noticabe unless you really want to think about it. You are too busy looking at the artistic majesty of their vistas to really bother thinking about the petty technical difficulties of the work. The writing is
How does it rank? There are two tiers of Pixar films. One of them holds A Bugs Life, which is a fine enough film, but, you know. T'other holds all the rest. This one gets on the second, higher tier, although perhaps at the lower end of the higher tier. Stay for the credits, though: it is highly worth your while, because Ratzenberger is worthy of deification
Oh, and as for the Trailers: The Santa Clause 3 is taking one side-gag from A Night at the Opera much, much farther than it ought to; Monster House continues to look mildly amusing, but nothing worth exitement, Horray for Charlotte's Web, and Ratatouille may be the first Pixar teaser trailer which is actually enjoyable. Not "One Man Band" enjoyable, but nothing is that enjoyable. It's really adorable
Now, back to bleeding my gums, like a 17th century dentist. No wonder they used barbers instead.