4/18/07

Spring Fever

Keven has an offer on the table. In a quest to keep his sunny options open, he flies to San Jose tomorrow, barely able to return in time for the Spring Ball on Saturday. He touches down at 5:45pm; the ball begins at 7pm. I think he's just going to meet me at the Overture.

Sigh. Is this blasted semester over with yet? The only advantage we have now over this time last year is that, despite facing a rather sucky summer of relocation and moving hassles, we will be together. Yes, the forecast for today is PITY and MOANING.

Otherwise, we're addicted to "Drive," the new series on Fox. Not only does it star El Fantastico, Nathan Fillion, it's solidly written and makes excellent use of hooks and catchy endings. The obsessive desire to locate every character via Google Earth's zoom feature does grate on my nerves, however. It's no "Firefly" -- and no, we will not let that drop! -- but maybe Fox learned its lesson and actually decided to put some promotional muscle behind a series worthy of it. As opposed to "Standoff," which deserves only to be forgotten. Poor Ron Livingston. I wish he and fellow "Band of Brothers" alum Neal McDonough could get a series to work for them. In fact, why don't we just skip the pretenses and reunite the whole cast? They could make "Band of Brothers: Korea."

I think I need another cup of coffee.

In other news, I completed plotting for RWS last night. I'd been writing with big gaps like "and then the badguy reveals his plan" or "Will stabs a guy for lying." Thanks Casey! But what is the plan? Who was stabbed and what did he lie about? Well, now I know! I love my digital voice recorder. Maybe this means I've actually run out of excuses and have no choice but to get back to a daily word count. Ha! You have no concept of how far I can push my procrastination skills.

On Monday, when the older kids were in school, the girls played outside with our Indian neighbors' four-year-old daughter, Fatima. They did chalk drawings, played dollies in the sandbox, set up house in a tent, and generally enjoyed strutting around the backyard without pesky older boys ruining their games with RC cars and two-wheel bikes.

Unintentionally similar in their clothing, all three wore blue jeans, some sort of girly-colored sneakers, pigtails, pink sunglasses, and sweaters. Not jackets. Sweaters. Juliette in yellow, Ilsa in purple, and Fatu in pink. Keven said they looked like fluorescent Reservoir Dogs, our own cute 'n' tiny hit squad.

So I got to thinking about casting. Obviously, Juliette would have to be Tim Roth's character, Mr. Orange, a hardass bully on the outside who is actually quite sensitive and vulnerable. Ilsa, then, would be the Harvey Keitel baddie, Mr. White. He took Mr. Orange's side in every situation and even died for him. Fatu would be Mr. Pink, like her sweater -- a mostly incomprehensible and pocket-sized Steve Buscemi motormouth who argues with anyone larger than her.

"Let's go to work."

3 comments:

Eliza said...

I do not think you need another cup of coffee.

This morninging my husband informed me that he has downloaded the first three episodes of Drive. We'll probably watch them tonight. I will be fangirling soon, I just know it. Prepare to have your bandwagon jumped.

You do recall that just about everybody ever dies in Reservoir Dogs, right? Eek!

By the way, big congrats on finaling in the Fab Five! And to have your ms examined by a Dorchester editor? SWEET! Best of luck!

Ann(ie) said...

Oooh, where's the job offer?

Fang Bastardson said...

Wow, the squished aspect-ratio of this "Dogs" clip reminds me of growing up in the 60s, watching widescreen epics sqeezed onto our little black & white TV screen. I always thought Charlton Heston must be about 8 feet tall and weight 90 pounds, like something out of a Goya painting.

I still prefer squishing to pan & scan, tho. At least with squishing there's no attempt to hide the fact that the broadcaster is bastardizing the filmmaker's cinematography.

Off-topic? You betcha!

PS: Congrats on the hard-earned success with making the final five. My metaphorical hat's off to you!