As mentioned in Saturday’s impromptu post (with actual photographs!), ice happened over the weekend. As I generally have no interest in seeing whether or not I can replicate Tony Hawk-ish 1080-degree spin in a motor vehicle, I took it as an opportunity to not go anywhere unless absolutely necessary.
Yes, I do realize that the roads were all very well salted and drivable by noon. Did I ask your opinion? I didn’t think so.
The long and short of it is that if you want to know what I did over the weekend (and why wouldn’t you really? I am the very definition of entertainment, obviously), the answer’s pretty simple: damn near nothing.
And it was glorious.
Of course, when I say nothing, I actually mean “nothing further away from my house than the mailbox”. Try as I might, I couldn’t not get the mail; my Publisher’s Clearing House entry might have come!
The most important point here is that even with an admirable amount of domestic productivity, I managed to avoid putting on a pair of socks nearly the entire weekend. If that’s not winning, well, I don’t know what is.
We built the Fire of Melodramatic Hissing and then basked before it all evening. For the record, though, if you’ve never attempted to collect an armload of firewood that’s been encased in ice, let me assure it’s enough to frustrate even the most patient of us. Seriously, it was like trying to hold half-a-dozen Crisco-covered bowling pins in the crook of your arm.
Our happy circumstances also allowed for plenty of time for leisurely entertainment. In fact, I sat and watched a DVD Saturday night. I don’t care what anyone tells you, I Am Number Four is every bit as mediocre as your instincts told you. Honestly, I’m surprised to have made it through the whole movie. In fact, after the first 5 minutes, I was ready to cut and run like a playa hearing the words, “I’m looking for commitment” on a blind date.
Look, I understand that “starting with the action” is a popular writer’s trick, but when the audience doesn’t know anything about what’s going on and don’t yet give two flying wet noodles about the characters, a big fiery boom is kind of just a extraneous pyrotechnics followed by some screaming.
Much to my surprise, though, I stuck it out, largely because Saturday Night Live was a repeat. And sure, the movie’s got a cute doggy, a few youthful, attractive ladies, that guy that kind of reminds me of that other guy from the Transformers movies, and an angsty teenage fella with uber-bright LEDs in the palms of his hands. All the elements for success, right? Well, I guess, but a story would have been appreciated too.
Having a weekend uninterrupted by trips to the store or any of the myriad of other places I find myself between workdays meant bonus reading time. I spent most of that with The Hunger Games, and it was much more well-written.
Truth be told, I’ve been trying to read The Hunger Games off and on for nearly a year now, and just haven’t gotten into it. On Saturday, though, I started the kind of reading marathon that I haven’t managed to accomplish very often since before the onset of my parent-of-young-children days.
As for the book itself, once it hooked me, I enjoyed it very much. The way Collins handled the brutality of the Games while simultaneously dealing with Katniss’ internal conflict was impressive. That said, I have to admit I’m not sure about the ending. I don’t want to say anything spoilery, but it seemed to me the reader is clearly shown evidence of certain aspects of personal growth throughout, all to come to naught in the end. It was like watching a boy scout spends six hours rubbing sticks together and then throw a bucket of water on his work just as it began to smolder.
But hey, there are sequels! Maybe I’ll give the next one a shot and see what happens.
And either way, at least I’m looking forward to the film version now.
Between those two things and a love of making slow-cooked stews, I’m looking forward to icy weekends of the future.
Which probably guarantees nothing but clear skies from now until April.