New lows in human behaviour: on the top floor of a double-decker bus the other day, my friend witnessed a woman instructing her two-year-old daughter to lift her dress and wee on the floor. While this was going on, the woman yelled at anyone who dared to make eye contact. “I’m the only one who’s going to smell it!” (In an enclosed space in 35-degree heat? Does your kid piss Febreze or something?) “What’s the big deal? A dog would do it!” (Good point. Are you going to encourage your daughter to hump your leg next?) People are so great. I don’t understand why there aren’t more spontaneous outbreaks of mass hugging. Sorry, did I say hugging? I meant genocide.
So I finally saw The Wedding Crashers. I wasn’t expecting a whole lot, but the movie was widely touted as the best comedy of the year, so I was hoping it would at least be, you know, funny. Not so. Vince Vaughn did a great job of bugging his eyes out and talking really fast, which is always entertaining, but Owen Wilson was nauseatingly sincere throughout most of the film (yawn), and Christopher Walken didn’t threaten to kill anyone even ONCE. The hell? Why hire Christopher Walken and not allow him to frighten the life out of people? That’s like using an AK47 as a paperweight. Thumbs down.
As you might have guessed, I haven’t been doing a whole lot. Now that the stress of immigration and suburban life are all in the past, I’m finding that unemployment quite agrees with me. We’ve got enough saved up so that I don’t have to find a new job straight away – SiC is spending his days alternately encouraging me to take some time off and work on my writing and inadvertently resenting me as he sits in a stuffy office and I lounge in bed all day half naked in front of the fan. (Can’t really blame him there. I hate myself a bit.) Yep, I could get used to this. Maybe we can come to some sort of permanent arrangement: SiC can bring home the bacon and I can, er, bring him his slippers. Sorry, did I say slippers? I meant blow jobs.