Letters to Holly

Monday, October 1

She's 'Death Proof'-proof

Your Sis didn't like Death Proof, much to my sadness. We talked about it the next morning (over homemade pancakes), and she admitted she doesn't know enough about horror movies to appreciate the genre. But I also think she hasn't seen enough bad movies, trash movies, or Southern bootleg racing/pistol-packin' mama movies to dig it either. It held up for me on this second viewing. There's some additional footage, most notably the Act One subplot lapdance that was "cut" from the theatrical release. The Stuntman Mike character is fascinating. he's a boy with a toy (a killing car) but he's almost cartoonish and likable even as he's committing vehicular homicide.

The soundtrack remains stellar as does the film's best moment: Rosario Dawson's character gets a close-up of her face as we watch her shift from fear to bliss, and it's so pure a moment, so simple a shot, that it defines what we look for in movies. It's moments like this that make Tarantino a quality filmmaker. Not the gore and music and language and camera choices.

She worked most of Sunday while I finished the laundry and went over lines. I memorized up to half of the second act, and that was just with one witness. I also got a suit at the local Humane Society store for $5.

Speaking of the pancakes, the bacon smoke set off the fire alarm and filled the house with smoke. Tasty, comforting smoke. Late that night, just as we're abut to hit the hay, Your Sis decided we needed to reset the alarm. I do so. And then it started beeping every minute because the battery was dead. And we had no 9-volts. I throw my clothes back on and drive to the local convenience store (not many are open at 10 p.m. on Sunday in Mayberry), buy one, drive back home and install it. No more beeps. But this was not the cap I needed to the weekend.

I hope you did well on your test and that you can breathe easier when it's done.

Picture of the Day
The suit. I already had the tie, and I need to excavate my old pocketwatch chain. I'm stunned the local store had a suit that fit me so well without any noticeable stains or funky smells. And five bucks?! This is a divine gift.

Unsolicited Moment of Personal Reflection
Today is the sixth anniversary of my arrival home to find my wife had run away. I admit to a bit of shame for the failed marriage, but mostly I feel gratitude. I'm not saying she did the right thing. Nothing of her manner of departure and behavior was commendable. Or advisable. Or sensible. But my life improved many times over within a month of her leaving. And it's remained better since. Not one subsequent day has gone by that I would trade for another day with the ex.

That day was ultimately the most influential moment of my life, post-college, and I like to use the anniversary to take stock of what I've done since then. But I do this for 9/11 too as the days are only three weeks removed. I don't look wistfully out a window. I don't get teary eyed. I get happy. And very very relieved. But I do suppress the urge to email the ex and ask if she still thinks she did the right thing. Because I'm dead certain she's not better off for leaving what she claimed was a dismal relationship. This is the only bit of ego I regularly allow myself: She left the best thing she had.

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