ever measure November in words? it's rather a strange way to experience a month. you don't usually think, on November 6th, "hunh, the month's a fifth of the way over" - do you? and you certainly don't spaz about the fact that one-fifth of fifty-thousand is ten-thousand... oh, no. especially when you aren't participating in NaNoWriMo, as I have repeatedly stated I'm not.
I am an odd, odd girl...
went to see The Incredibles last night. actually, I went to see it three times. unfortunately, I'll sound less fanatic (never my goal... Pixar is my Dulcinea - ::attacks windmill::) when I add that I only managed to see the movie once. the first theater, in a semi-ritzy part of town, was blocked by an ever-growing number of fire trucks, which made up for their lack of visible purpose with increasingly audible shrieks. honestly, I think the fire (?) would have disturbed the area far less than said emergency vehicles. however, the fire department, as usual not agreeing with me, continued to work on whatever they were working on. and the rather persistent idiots in adjacent lanes continued to try and drive through the mess... until finally a police cruiser parked perpendicular to the street, on the street, successfully blocking off the lanes. we decided, seeing as we did not - at that moment - have the helicopter access necessary to approach the theater from above that we'd try a different theater. which we did. movie theater at the (particularly) Evil Mall. said theater was sold out, of course. which I might have guessed when we pulled into the seriously congested parking lot and I noted that somehow the majority of the population here has developed the mistaken notion that the Evil Mall is at all interesting. but, no. we had to go in long enough to see Evil Mall in all its glory, complete with its new hanging ads for - oh, yes - the OC... (they're putting billboards in malls now; the world really is coming to an end) and long enough to forget almost entirely where we had parked, so we could spend a brisk fifteen minutes pacing the parking lot, while my mom proved that she knows nothing, and I repeat nothing, about her car except the color.
honestly, there could have been a silver SUV, and... but that's really not important now.
so. she asked if I remembered any other showtimes, and I mentioned the last one I'd bothered to memorize, a 7:20 show at a third theater. when we drove around said theater at 7:15, lines packed the sidewalk, and I very much expected our side to surrender. but no. Mom pulls the car around to the back lot, searches - fruitlessly - for a spot ("they don't trust us to find the car again") before pulling into the adjacent...ish lot ("we're going to pretend this is close") and jumping from the car. ever-ready, I eject myself from the passenger seat and we sprint toward the theater. "this is some hard-core Pixar fanage," I say, only to spot a van dropping off a woman who begins racing toward the box office as well. I laugh; I take comfort in the fact that we are not alone. (I try not to imagine this woman getting the last tickets while I fall to my knees and scream, "Noooo!") ...eh-hem. we stand in line. there are - of course - three lines, and we do - of course - pick the one with patrons who need to present identification that needs to be checked through a sister-theater in Niger... but eventually we do acquire tickets and - refusing to be foiled by the manager's direction of "straight ahead" (into the concession stand) find seats in the theater during the previews.
I was a tidbit spastic. previews for the upcoming Pixar film did result in shrieking. and when the Pixar lamp appeared, I did grab my mom's arm and shake it a tad wildly. I did say, "it's the Pixar lamp!" with the kind of loyalty one usually reserves for kind pets and the more lovable blood relatives. I said, "The Pixar lamp!" and "Eeeee!" and "Eeeeee!" and "The weird cartoon that's never as good as the full length film!" and "THE PIXAR LAMP! THE FEATURE PRESENTATION!" further exclamations, although there were many, were thankfully drowned out by the shrieking, laughing, and squealing of my fellow audience members. in fact, we burst into spontaneous applause at so many points during this spectacular viewing experience, I'm certain I missed 1/3 of the script. which would be a problem, of course, if I weren't me, and/or my being me didn't immediately inform us that I will see this movie a hundred zillion times.
addendum: when we left the theater, there were fireworks going off. there was absolutely no reason for fireworks to be going off, except that the movie was so good. also - a/n: I will always, without exception, change to the present tense in the middle of a silly story. you, as the reader, deal.
I refuse to tell you any of the reasons it was so fantastic. mainly because there is no stand-out awesome aspect of this movie. by which I mean, there is no non-stand-out-awesome aspect of this movie. although, a girl does develop certain loyalties. (Edna. Edna, my sub-four-foot idol...) yes, I'm pulling a Reading Rainbow and insisting that "you don't have to take my word for it." ::cut to the scary kids with their recommendations:: you will see it yourself. you will.
...so in terms of antics, that taps me out. sad, really. but things have not been tremendously horrible for the past twenty-four hours, which is always appreciated. I wrote Dave a letter, something I've only been meaning to do for six months or so. I hit the 17% mark in the piece I'm not writing for the NaNoWriMo festivities in which I'm not participating. granted, that still means I'm behind...or would be if I were doing this...which, seriously, I'm not (sheesh)... I thought a bit about how strange it is to say, "yeay, residential!" the way I did in my last entry. yes, getting the treatment you need is a very good thing... but needing it... basically sucks. I can't really read that without thinking of how I felt when I found out I would in fact "get" to go. which was slightly more ambivalent. but this needed to happen, and she's a hell of a lot safer now, and things could indeed get better. I do not doubt she'll save her life again, although I hate that she has to do so... I guess I'll go into the injustice of that another time. it's a long, long tirade from a very sturdy soapbox. *sigh*
in related-but-good news, I scanned the other recipients of her address e-mail and caught sight of Stacy's name. which means if I decide to, I can say something to someone-I-know-who-also-knows-[This Person] about how much this sucks. which I'd very much appreciate. I need to write Stacy anyway. and Mandy. And Rosie. and about 85 percent of the people I know. grargh.
hmm. hey, wait a minute, how many words was this? ...I could work it in; sure I could. ...must pass twenty percent mark...must catch up with speedy month... ::naps::
~me