Let's Get Decadent!
So I had about 25 student papers to grade, not to mention all the other little paperwork details that I was about seven pounds behind on (Seriously a friend met me the other night and saw my bag and said "Wait you came back from upstate yesertday right? You've been home right? So what the hell is in there?" The souls of young children. No, no that's my other bag. You know, the red Kate Spade.) and I thought to myself "Wait I'm already sleep deprived, way behind on work, and totally slacking in preparing for the GRE/grad school prep. What better time to see a movie?"

John Landis describes Zombie Honeymoon as the" first truly romantic flesh eating corpse movie." The line "I guess us vegetarians don't make good cannibals" alone makes the film worth watching. It is a blend of traditional zombie film conventions (complete with gore-tastic zombie chow down scenes) and couple humor. The young honeymooners have a fight in the car about the groom "accidentally" eating the travel agent booking their trip to Portugal, but the scene involves some of the staid Hollywood couple fighting lines like "Oh, oh so I suppose it was really my fault then." These elements are successful, but what really makes the film work is that the characters, as they are established in the first scenes, are identifiable for film fanatics of my generation. When the couple rushes from the church and jump into the car, the radio is playing rockabilly as opposed to some more "traditional" romantic music. Although this strays from the usual idyllic manner in which honeymoons are portrayed, it reflects a more likely reality. The sound in this film is outstanding from the rockabilly song which captures the giddy rush of getting married to the stomach turning lipsmacking of the off screen corpse binging, this film really embodies how horror can fully utilize sound in manipulating the emotions of the audience. When all of these elements are combined, the film is absolutely irresistible. It will be playing at the Pioneer Cinema in NY through the 14th and all of you, well those of you who can get to it, should definately see it. I just wouldn't plan on having dinner afterwards.

The Real Curse of the Were-Rabbit
A fire destroyed Aardman Animation, home to Wallace and Gromit, created by Nick Park. Aardman spokesman Arthur Sheriff said: "Today was supposed to be a day of celebration, with the news that Wallace and Gromit had gone in at number one at the US box office but instead our whole history has been wiped out."

Fortunately, Nick Park, ever the British gentleman, said the fire was "no big deal" in light of greater tragedies like the earthquake in Pakistan which has left an estimated 20,000-30,000 dead and over two million homeless.

I guess the tag line "Something wicked this way hops" wasn't such a good idea afterall. Sniff.

Thankfully, the store was untouched and so my Gromit Sofa Lofa is still available.

Cher and the Fine Art of Public Dissolution
When I was in college, one of my favorite instructors, David Bucknam, told us about a dream. He dreamt that Cher was on the Tonight Show. As she talked, pieces of her face kept falling off. She acted like nothing was wrong, picking up her jaw and holding it in place, scooping up her ear, trying to recement her nose in place all the while chattering as if this was perfectly normal. More disturbingly everyone around her seemed to accept that this was normal too.

I have to return to the city today. I've been Upstate since Thursday, enjoying the shoft sheets and hot mulled apple cider, the bedroom window open at night for the air, snuggling under my duvay. I am honestly on the verge of tears I so do not want to return to NY. Because I feel in returning to NYC I am going back to that holding up my jawbone pretending to smile as I completely fall apart.

I have never been able to really fall apart in public. There are those who think I can, and trust me I've made great strides in the last four years in the falling apart in public category, but still I maintain. My mother once told me that when I was in the hospital when I was six months old and apparently dying, she never left the house a day in her life without putting on make-up, a nice outfit, and smile because she didn't want the neighbors to feel sorry for her. And that's how I learned that death and dying is nothing compared to public appearance. I'll always look good even at the height of my depression. Even when I am living on alcohol and tylenol pm and my apartment looks like set dressing from CHUD, I'll still show up at work put together, made up, with my hair done.

But there is a part of me that want to fall apart. A part that knows if I could just do this, I could start putting myself back together in a more reasonable way instead of hobbling on one leg while trying reassemble the other. And there are times when I know I probably could. I'm sitting with Bakerina or Nutreena and I know I could tell them everything and they wouldn't be angry or upset and certainly it isn't for a lack of words, christ, not that, but I open my mouth and nothing comes out, and I have to pretend things don't feel as horrible as I really do and this point I really do. I honestly do not want to go back tonight.

Whoops, there goes my nose again.

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