8.3.98

    Busy, busy. That's me. This weekend T. and I got a whole slew of things done for the wedding. There are still some major details to attend to but we still got a lot done. We bought our wedding rings and presents for all the guys helping out at the wedding. I called the pastor and discussed some ceremony options. I called the band guy and told him what music we wanted to hear. Naturally, we'll be playing "Achy, Breaky Heart" and the "Macarena" non-stop. Line-dancing is my life.

    I've talked to my mom about a dozen times in the last week over various details. She sounds worn out and I don't blame her. In addition to the wedding, she is dealing with career craziness and she and my father are also building a house. My grandmother has been a little ill lately and, of course, my mom is dealing with that, too. I wish there was something I could do. Right now I wish I wasn't so far away.

    I keep having these little moments of self-doubt wash over me. T. has been remarkably loving and caring and just there for me these past few weeks. I feel like I've been a flake, spinning out of control and only stopping when anger halts me in my tracks. This can't be good for the soul.

    On Saturday night I dreamt that I was at the wedding reception which, for some reason, had been transferred from the mountain lodge to the senior center where I went with my family for Swedish Night and ate lutefisk (here's a better description of lutefisk) last Christmas. Anyway, the party was in full swing when who should show up but... Monica Lewinsky! The horror, the horror.

    Monica was drinking all the champagne and was drunk and belligerent. I asked her to leave but she wouldn't so I rounded up my four friends from college and told them to "grab a limb" and we hoisted her out the front door and locked it. Granted, I'm doing all this in my wedding dress. As we are hoisting Monica "I did not have sexual relations with that woman" Lewinsky out the door I notice that a massive tidal wave is about to sweep over the senior center. As soon as we bolt the door we see the waves crash all around us through the windows. This does not seem to faze anyone, least of all myself. I guess Monica just drowned.

    Anyway, I head off to examine T.'s wedding band only to discover that he had it engraved without telling me. What he had engraved on the inside of his wedding ring (which was huge) was a lengthy parable about golf! I was so furious and I took it away to have the inscription sanded off.

(Thanks to Chels, Sonia, Byrne and Remi for helping me get rid of Monica -- you guys are great!)

    I had a guest pass to my gym so I took T. with me on Saturday. I haven't been to a workout on a week but it's been longer for him and, consequently, he was much sorer on Sunday. I admit a little glee because usually I am the one moaning and groaning. I'm hoping to get at least two workouts in this week. I have to. I need it. Of course, T. begged off dancing Sunday night due to tiredness. Probably a good thing since I was ready to conk out by 9 o'clock.

    I finished reading Geek Love and I'm back on Douglas Adams. I can't say that I would heartily recommend Geek Love to anyone. The author, Katharine Dunn, really pushes some boundaries and I admire her boldness and her scientific and unwavering dissection of her grotesque characters. However, ultimately, I am left with a hollow feeling. There is no sympathetic character and I felt a cold, loathing for more than a few of them. There are some choice passages and some vibrant characters (as I noted in my previous entry) but they don't make up for the novel as a whole.

    I know that there was plenty of praise for Geek Love, which is why I picked it up, but I just didn't find a place for myself in the story. I would recommend it for library check-out or for academic study but don't buy it. Actually, the best part of the whole story, for me, was at the end when the author wrote a few pages about herself and how she came about to write Geek Love. I found myself engaged and laughing and even more curious about the author. I'm sure you can read that standing up at Barnes & Noble, though. However, because she intrigued me I will try and find a library to check out more of her books. There must be a gem in there somewhere.

    In other media adventures, I saw Saving Private Ryan at the matinee on Sunday. Well, it wasn't really a matinee because even though it was only 3 o'clock in the afternoon we had to pay full price because it wasn't the "first showing of the day." Can I just say that I was very nearly spitting mad? I'm so sick of being ripped off left and right. Eight dollars. Eight dollars per person it cost us. Sixteen dollars. I very nearly handed the tickets back and walked away. However, the look on T.'s face told me that he would be less than appreciative if I did this. The thing is, though, that I purposefully had us go to a matinee and I told T. this was to save money as things are really tight right now. T., however, was not at all surprised that it was regular price when we got there. So, that means that he knew how much it would cost and just decided not to tell me. Of course, if I accused him of lying by omission it would just start a stupid squabble.

    But, I digress. The movie was overwhelming. The beginning is very violent and very shocking and very nauseating. I felt pretty motion sick and to keep from upchucking had to consciously focus on the people in the front seats. The "documentary-style" camera movement was what was making me so woozy. I had heard that it was a little over-the-top and it was.

    Saving Private Ryan is moving and horrible. It's moving for the way that it makes you ache and it's horrible because this war was real. The worst horror is the futility of it all. Why fight? That's what I'm left with after the movie -- "Why?" I wonder if the people who survived the wars ask that question. I think they, more than any other, deserve the right to ask that of the government. The Normandy invasion seemed so ridiculous. The American army must have known that half if not more of their men were going to die brutally in this task. How could we do that? How could we sacrifice?

    Was it a great film? I don't know. When movie makers go to these kind of lengths to overwhelm completely the senses of its audience it is difficult to determine exactly a film's worth. However, I guess if I compare it to Titanic (because of its size in every sense of the word) then I would say it is a great movie. Titanic won me over for the special effects and the tackling of a huge, emotive scene from history -- not for its story. The love story is trite. However, the characters in SPR are not trite, they are full. More than once I wanted to shake each character by the shoulders for their action or inaction. I think all of the actors did an excellent job.

    Saving Private Ryan is a movie I won't see again because I don't want to do it the disservice of becoming desensitized. It will win awards.