Having gotten myself and my stuff by various paths back to Southern California (though I am at a loss to say we all arrived in one piece, as said stuff has yet to be unpacked, and cannot be unpacked until a date by which the promise of moving-company reimbursement will no doubt have passed), and having dealt with the year’s worth of nonsense mail that piled up in the office, and having passed on the manuscript of my Stupid Book to a couple of friendly readers, and having done what organizational tasks can actually be accomplished at this point —
— having done all that, I recognized this weekend that I exist in the blissful and much too rare state of having Nothing in Particular to Do. And thus, I spent the weekend lying around reading summer novels and watching summer DVD releases.
I read one book that has topped the bestseller lists for some weeks, which I found moving and fluid, and wildly inappropriate as a birthday gift for the aunt to whom I’d sent it last month.
I read another, recommended to me by the highest of authorities (authorities whom, it may interest you to know, have now moved on to the book above) but, while the book was a fast-paced, congenial read, it has nonetheless caused a significant revision in my list of the top-ten fictional characters I’d most like to slap around.
I also watched two movies recently released on DVD, one of which I found thoroughly charming, if perhaps not quite worthy of an entire companion DVD of “special features,” and the other of which left me with a bad taste in my mouth, the acrid after-effects of a very very High Concept that simply doesn’t pay off (despite a brilliant performance by a former Dancer, of the Dirty variety).