So I believe I've determined that I don't know enough about any one thing to ever put together another blog entry on a single subject, so rather than risk running out of Roman numerals with the "Shards" thing, I'd thought I'd just title the entire blog "Shards" and identify each entry by date.
That way, the pressure of trying to come up with 250 words on one issue would be eliminated. Eliminating pressure is one of my main goals in life.
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I finished reading THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO and immediately brought up the Swedish film version on my Blu-Ray via Netlflix. (Of course, I checked out what Roger Ebert had to say about it first.) I enjoyed the book. I loved the movie. Usually the other way around with me. And just about everybody. The film, featuring a number of actors whose names I can't spell, eliminated a couple of the sexual dalliances featured in the book, in order to more specifically focus on the mystery unraveled over the course of 140 minutes. Subtitles, of course, but that's never bothersome after a couple of minutes. I will now read the second installment in the "Millennium Trilogy," and, after that, check out the second film. I know there's an American version on the way, though I can't imagine casting could be any more appropriate than what the Swedes managed. I like George Clooney, too, but...come on....his name is way too easy to spell for this story.
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Speaking of sexual dalliances uncovered in film versions of best-selling novels--I'm reminded that, in Peter Benchley's JAWS, the Richard Dreyfuss character, Hooper, has an affair with the wife of Roy Scheider's character, Brody. How unnecessary that would have been to the Spielberg film. Besides, Lorraine Gary wouldn't have given Dreyfess a second glance.
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I stayed up until 2 this morning watching the Red Sox beat Seattle, mainly because I couldn't believe they blew a five-run lead in the ninth. That kind of disbelief can lead to all kinds of insomnia.
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Everywhere I drive this summer, there is construction. I had no idea there were that many orange barrels and cones in the world.
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I am totally infatuated with my new GPS. I love being told where to drive. I had originally gone with the female voice (I forget her name--isn't that just like a guy?), but that became way too distracting. I kept wanting to go to dinner and then drive to the Showcase Cinema and see "The Kids Are All Right." So I am now taking directions from "Jack," the voice that shares my name. I like to mess around with Jack's electronic brain every once in a while, and I will disobey his instructions just to hear how many times he can say "recalculating" without getting pissed off at me. So far, every time!
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I have set up the DVR to record the mini-series of Ken Follett's PILLARS OF THE EARTH this week. Ian McShane and Donald Sutherland. Hope it's as good as the book.
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The end of my daily run these days, now that I'm living in the wilds of New Hampshire, is a relentless one-mile incline. The first few times I tried it, I kept my head down and just looked at the road, forcing myself to not stare up the road at the never-ending hill. Lately, though, I hold my head up and laugh derisively at the mini-mountain as I trundle my way to the top. I always bring my iPhone with me, though, in case my derisive laughter turns into a cardiac event. Never had to worry about that when I ran around the very flat Edsen Cemetery on Gorham Street in Lowell.
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