If Tavis Smiley were to ask what gets me up in the morning, aside from two temperamental felines swatting each other over my naked stomach that has not known a proper male caress in a long time, I'd tell the intrepid, if grating interviewer, "Coffee." Humidity throws this already spastic contortion of flesh out of whack. Sinuses, which trouble the ablests among us as well, so limping along like a rag picker, barely eating, I could not bring myself to go to my Joe's today, but resorted to their instant coffee packets over brewing in my Krups. I do not really have a good reason why I do not complete my usual automatic drip cycle, maybe it is the secret lizard lurking in my primal brain that an old and wicked gypsy has not accessed, but the Trader Joe's instant travel packets are not bad for the price.
I opted out of seeing the dynamic Slumdog Millionaire this evening, choosing to stay with known formulas, which might surprise those of you who understand that I make demands of my aesthetics, but I wasn't ready to absorb yet more Eastern narratives to fill the empty vessel of Western materialism, so I stayed with what I knew. A small snippet about Stephen King's fantasy-horror constructs: As terrible as the movie Thinner is, the idea of physically wasting away due to moral culpability is interesting, and in better hands might have been a better tale. Joe Mantegna, always reliable on delivery, is the only actor here to put in a lucid performance; it is interesting that his brutality, pitted against extra-sensory ability, leaves his character unscathed.
Some of you may know I am not partial to King's work, and so what else is new? Junk food of the mind is just as bad as that which generate body toxins, however.
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