I intended to come back from vacation with some really delightful posts, but I was hit by jetlag like I didn't think was possible for people under 45. I have come to the conclusion that jetlag is really parent lag. Jetlag is nothing unless you are a person who has to go to bed at 8:47pm and arise at 5:31 am on a daily basis. For normal folk, you just drink some coffee, spend time out doors until you can justifiably go to bed. Maybe you wake up early the next day but by the day after its nothing. As a parent, however, you have no choice but to get up with your child at 2:30 in the morning so that they can crawl around until 8 am. THAT gives you jetlag. Despite never having had a profession besides being a student (ie., expert sleep deprivation), I have never in my life known such physical exhaustion.
Anyway, it took five days, but we're all normal now, and yesterday my brain began to function again. Huzzah! In the meantime I watched more movies than I think I've watched in the last two years combined. None of them were incredible, though The Man Who Would Be King with Sean Connery and Michael Caine (and Christopher Plummer) was definitely very good. Are there any contemporary actors who have the Sean Connery smirk? Pierce Brosnan tries. Owen Wilson has the smirk naturally but he plays the idiot too much. I don't watch enough movies for this conversation so I'll stop now.
We've been getting lots of rain, though not as much as Southern California. Two of my Southern Cal friends (John/Jon) have some nice things to say. This morning LR and I watched huge gusts of rain sweep across the mall parking lot outside our balcony, with thunder rolls in the background. I used to say I liked rain and "weather" in general. Now, I think I am more just stunned by it. Weather is something that is sublime and awe-inspiring rather than something to be liked or disliked, as though it is a new paperback. If my soul is feeling young I will go out and stomp through mud, feel my face smart from so many faerie pricks of rain and get cold down my neck, and if it feels old it will curl up in a comfy chair with cocoa. The point is that it deserves to be reflected on in some fashion, otherwise how do we know what to think feel or do when a tsunami hits?
In any case, that is exactly what I have been doing today. We came back from vacation with a list of inspiring activities to do around the Bay, only to find out that our car is still not reparied. A rain-induced power outage is further slowing the tedious process. We took a trip to the closest mall/theatre complex and saw meet the fockers. I think I essentially agree with Nathan J. In that while I dreaded walking in there, and didn't enjoy it that much, it has somehow been the subject material for several conversations today. Like a lot of contemporary comedies, I think more thought was put into the movie than most people give Hollywood credit for. I've decided that I don't want to be Fockerized, though.
Onwards and Upwards.
As a post-script, and speaking of movies, Master and Commander inspired me to buy a CD of Bach's Cello suites played by Mtislav Rostropovich a while ago. Besides things like "wee willy winkie," "little nutbrownhare" and "momma's gonna buy you a mockingbird", the first suite has been going through my head incessantly (which it is quite welcome to do, especially if it captures and violently kills the damned wee willy). The prelude was in the film, but it is all quite moving--well, I can' t ever describe classical pieces correctly so I won't try.