The ghosts of Christmas presents
The get-together here in San Rafael, Calif. with all those foreign-looking and -sounding individuals yesterday was ... OK. I managed to hide here in my parents' comptuer room for half of it, and the other half was reasonably civil, filled with fake smiles and saccharine-flavored words wrapped up in hypocritical niceties. They left after about six-and-a-half hours, and I felt I did well to please my mum. Maybe I should try changing careers and ply my skills in the public relations field.
Beyond that, my parents generously bestowed upon me a fairly sizable check tucked away in a Christmas card, as well as miscellaneous other knick-knacks. They also seemed to like the Catalina Island vacation present that I gave them, which is better than my mom thanking me with 10 bullwhip lashes, I suppose. My sister gave me a Star Trek: The Next Generation watch, and I guess I can use it whenever my "leaves" watch gets run over by a runaway Vegas rollerblader, I guess.
Last night, my sister and I hijacked a movie from my parents rather bloated collection of DVDs, and we made them watch it: Rebecca (1940), directed by Alfred Hitchcock and starring Laurence Olivier. The movie was a classic of the most dazzling kind, and since I've wanted to see it since high school, it was a genuine purge to finally view it. I love classics, especially mesmerizing ones like this, and I'm now also officially in love with Joan Fontaine (I can see where pragmatists was coming from with that recent entry).
The lovely Fontaine is alive today, so I might just try stalking her. Shouldn't be too hard to stalk a ripe old lady of 86, y'know.
Now, I have to scurry off to my (real) dad's house, and attend that little get-together with my other sister, her husband and little son, and my stepmom. It'll be brunch, exchanging of presents and other stimulating Christmas jollies (held on the day after Christmas). Maybe I can rush the proceedings a bit and be out of there in...say, 10 minutes?
See you all in exactly half an hour.
Beyond that, my parents generously bestowed upon me a fairly sizable check tucked away in a Christmas card, as well as miscellaneous other knick-knacks. They also seemed to like the Catalina Island vacation present that I gave them, which is better than my mom thanking me with 10 bullwhip lashes, I suppose. My sister gave me a Star Trek: The Next Generation watch, and I guess I can use it whenever my "leaves" watch gets run over by a runaway Vegas rollerblader, I guess.
Last night, my sister and I hijacked a movie from my parents rather bloated collection of DVDs, and we made them watch it: Rebecca (1940), directed by Alfred Hitchcock and starring Laurence Olivier. The movie was a classic of the most dazzling kind, and since I've wanted to see it since high school, it was a genuine purge to finally view it. I love classics, especially mesmerizing ones like this, and I'm now also officially in love with Joan Fontaine (I can see where pragmatists was coming from with that recent entry).
The lovely Fontaine is alive today, so I might just try stalking her. Shouldn't be too hard to stalk a ripe old lady of 86, y'know.
Now, I have to scurry off to my (real) dad's house, and attend that little get-together with my other sister, her husband and little son, and my stepmom. It'll be brunch, exchanging of presents and other stimulating Christmas jollies (held on the day after Christmas). Maybe I can rush the proceedings a bit and be out of there in...say, 10 minutes?
See you all in exactly half an hour.