Yesterday was the
one-month anniversary of this blog, and instead of posting inches, nay, feet of fascinating observations on the art of blogging, I was strangely silent. Why, oh why? Because once again I wasted the weekend being sickly. It really shouldn't be allowed. It's one thing to be ill on company time (yes, even in the land of scarce vacation days you can pull a sickie 10 times a year—though I've always suspected there'd be repercussions if you did), but to waste precious personal moments feeling feak and weeble is just not on. Although I still managed to fit in a bunch of chores—getting a haircut, doing the laundry, voyaging out to the burbs to see a friend to seek advice on visiting Moscow in mid-winter, actually watching the videos we'd rented before they became overdue, finishing the mystery novel I've been reading in ridiculously short snatches over the last week—I have not yet seen a movie. And no matter how fabulous the weekend, it always feels unsatisfactory if I don't see a film. I could journey into outer space, cure cancer, and meet Julie Burchill, and if I didn't also view a moving picture on a big screen, the weekend would be a miserable failure.
So, despite the annoying cough and a lack of energy shocking even for a naturally enervated soul like me, it is my intention to brave the cold and dark and head on down to the Egyptian to see
Bowling for Columbine. Wish me luck, dear reader.
