With JoJo cramming herself into the small of my back as I work (she really is a wonderful heating pad), I took a break from word toil and flipped around the stations.
Score. Roadhouse. If there is a better bad movie in the world, I haven't seen it. I loooove this movie. The dialogue is horrendous; the music is worse; the acting is abysmal. I love it. Actually, Sam Elliott is in it, so I just watch him. He couldn't be bad. Not in anything. Remember Lifeguard? Sigh. I really, really like Sam Elliott. I was so peeved at True Grit for only putting him in a brief scene where he's standing at the top of the stairs outside the courtroom. I thought, 'awesome! Sam is here!'. But no, that was it. Sigh.
Anyway. Oh, sorry. Patrick Swayze just twisted a bad guy's foot at right angles. That must hurt. I can't wait till he pulls the heart out of the chest thing. This is cinematic magic, folks. Oscar always, always, always gets it wrong. But I guess we'll find that out tonight.
What goes best with bad movies? Terrible advertisements. I just saw one that puts all the antibiotic yogurts to shame. Or microbiotic. Whatever. This one is telling you that there is better living through science, which I admit to finding quite ponderable. But get this: they tell you they can add this thing to your diet that will go into your system and make you all spanky new and regular; clean your pipes, so to speak.
I actually believe in the science of this, because I already do it. It's the same as when we add this stuff to our septic tank at the cottage to make it work better.
Maggie just plunked on my lap. One cat in front, one behind. Roadhouse on. Fresh pot of tea, and I can sit here on my own personal cloud all day...