The flight home from London was a breeze although the movie selections were predictably lame. It was seven dead hours with nothing to watch. Mrs. Wife watched Notting Hill for the 137th time and also Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day, which she liked. Our other boffo selections included Forrest Gump, Indiana Jones and the Death of a Franchise, Sense and Sensibility, The Cell, The Cell 2 (wha ?!), and The Cable Guy. Urp.
I finally broke down and watched Speed Racer. Christ. I’m glad I didn’t slap down $12 to see it. Would you like me to summarize the experience for you? Blink your eyes as fast as you can while violently whipping your head from side to side until you have a massive headache and a sore neck. There. It’s too late for me, but I just saved you 135 valuable minutes of your life.
I must have been oxygen deprived from the altitude because I actually became involved in the story. Here’s the O. Henry twist: I started watching it so late in the flight that I missed the ending. They shut down the in-flight entertainment system just as the “big race” was about to begin because we were about to land. I was crushed. Does anyone know if Speed won? And what of Racer X? Does Speed find out that he is actually his older brother, Rex Racer, whose identity was hidden from Speed by a full-head mask and cosmetic surgery? (Oops. Sorry about that.) Did Pops Racer sell Racer Motors to Royalton Industries? And, most importantly, did Christina Ricci, John Goodman and Susan Sarandon laugh uproariously while cashing their checks, or did they actually feel some pangs of remorse? If you know the answers to any of these questions, but are too ashamed to admit it, you can always post them anonymously.
Here’s an appreciation for contemporary author and recent suicide David Foster Wallace from the New York Times. Would it be in poor taste for me to tell you the story about how that guy treated me like a piece of dirt at a book signing a few years ago?
Yes, it would be.