Thursday is the new Tuesday, too

Another day like pretty much any other. I finished reading Half the Blood of Brooklyn, which was quick and bloody, if maybe not quite as good as the two books before it. I didn’t move directly into the next book in the series, though, despite having a copy with me on the train. I think I need to take a short break, even just for a day or two, from Joe Pitt and his fellow New York vampires.

We had a fair amount of rain here today, but it was actually quite pleasant because of it. As temperatures have come down recently — and after the hot July we had, where else could temperatures go? — the humidity seems to have cranked back up. But with the rain came a pretty nice breeze and pleasant walking-around-Manhattan weather. (So it’s good those vampires are fake…right?)

Anyway, happy as always that tomorrow is Friday.

Sunday, such as it was

Mostly just a quiet Sunday at home with the New York Times crossword.

I joined my friend Maurice for our weekly writing group, where we spent a lot more time talking about writing (and grammar and style guides) than actually writing, but it’s all good. I’ve got an interesting story percolating lately, and I’m hoping I can keep the momentum going on it.

I had to get off the parkway on my way home, thanks to some serious traffic and an empty gas tank, and it actually took some maneuvering to find a gas station that hadn’t been knocked out completely by the massive thunderstorm an hour earlier. But then I did, and managed to get about twenty bucks worth of gas in the tank, and then get on the expressway and bypass most of that traffic. At least until I got closer to home, where police were directing traffic and blocking turn lanes…and all of this sounds potentially a lot more interesting than it actually was. It was capped by me going to the supermarket and buying some fruit.

Heady stuff, busy day, indeed!

“You’re some sort of big, fat, smart-bug, aren’t you?”

It was uncomfortably hot today, well into the high 90s and sweltering, and I spent most of it indoors. I felt especially bad for our dog when I had to take him outside for a walk. He hasn’t been feeling too well lately, continuing to throw up on occasion, and for the past day or two walking with a bit of a limp. We don’t know if it’s the heat, his weight, arthritis, something in one of his front paws, or some combination of those things. But my mother’s taking him to the vet on Monday, so hopefully he’ll feel better soon.

I spent most of this evening watching Starship Troopers, which I haven’t seen since it was in theaters in 1997. I didn’t much like the movie back then, but Scott Tobias’ recent in-depth review made me want to reconsider it:

Though Starship Troopers is a generalized critique of war, Verhoeven’s preoccupation with World War II dominates the look of the film, which is loaded with Nazi allusions and compositions on loan from Leni Riefenstahl, whose propaganda films lionized order and physical beauty. Only here, the fascists are our heroes in the Federation, the governing body that’s working to ensure that humans, not bugs, control the galaxy. And for some critics and viewers, that’s where the confusion sets in: Was Starship Troopers an endorsement of fascism? Or at the very least, a thoughtless, juvenile celebration of young people sacrificing themselves for the good of mankind? Audiences are naturally inclined to root for the gung-ho hero in space adventures like these, and certainly the bugs, whose motives are somewhere between inscrutable and nonexistent, seem like ghastly adversaries, worthy of extermination. What’s more, the Heinlein novel is considered a stirring defense of militarism and the necessity of war and civic duty, so an adaptation would surely honor those themes, right?

And you know, Tobias is probably right: the film is better than I remember it. But that doesn’t mean I liked it.

The film is an uncomfortable straddle between satire and summer blockbuster, an indictment of fascism that’s nevertheless couched in all of fascism’s trappings and the spectacle of a CGI-driven action movie. It’s hard not to see director Paul Verhoven’s intentions — they’re laid pretty bare in all of the ways that Tobias makes clear — but it’s also hard not to be a little exhausted by them by the movie’s end. I can admire and respect the subversive streak that casts our heroes as fascist warmongers, that simultaneously asks us to root their victory and question ourselves in the process. But it’s hard to enjoy a movie, much less a pulse-pounding, edge-of-your-seat sci-fi action movie, where you have to hate the characters a little, and hate yourself a little for liking them.

I may listen to Verhoven’s commentary track, but right now, I liked Tobias’ essay a lot more than the movie.

A rainy, muggy Tuesday

We had another wake to attend this evening, sadly, this time for the grandmother of one of my sister’s friends (one of her bridesmaids, in fact). We didn’t know her well, and I didn’t really at all, but we wanted to go to pay our respects, if only because my sister is in Maryland and couldn’t. My father and I caught a train to East Williston, where we met my mother for dinner, and then we drove over to the funeral home nearby.

And that was pretty much Tuesday. Our e-mail was down at the office almost all day, meaning there were several projects I couldn’t get to at all, and I got a little soaked by the sudden, bucketing rainfall at lunchtime, when I went out to get both lunch and a new umbrella. (There used to be a drug store right next door, where they sold umbrellas, so close you could slip in without getting wet. But a few weeks ago, they moved to the corner. It’s a better and bigger location, more umbrellas to choose from, but there were very few awnings between me and it, between me and the pouring rain.) And, of course, there were random and often unexplained tests of the building fire alarms, without which a day at my office really wouldn’t be complete.

Onward to Wednesday.

The weekend ends

Tomorrow, I start my summer hours at work, meaning I have to be in the office at 8:30 and can’t expect to leave until 5:15. But, because I do that from Monday through Thursday, working an additional forty-five minutes each day, I get to leave at 1 PM on Fridays. Ask me if I think it’s worth it on Friday — and again when I go back to normal hours in early September. I can’t oversleep any mornings, and I’ll have to rush to make my train every evening, but we’ll see.

Meanwhile, there’s not much to report. The weather was lovely here today — a little hot perhaps, but a far cry from yesterday’s heavy downpour. I drove out to Huntington to join friends for our weekly writing group, then home to have dinner out with my father. (My mom and he attended a party for one of her coworkers, then she had to go to work for a few hours.)

And that’s really about it. These weekends go by so damn fast, don’t they?