The cat named Victoria (to begin differently than last time), was persistently, furtively, leaping up onto various high places she could find. Including the kitchen counter, where she drank from my plate that I'd partially filled with water to help dislodge the melted cheese. From this I deduced that she was looking for a high place to drink water.
So I filled a small bowl and put it on the bathroom counter. Even I thought I may've been mistaken about this some time later--but then I saw her, twice, hopping up to drink from that very bowl. You know what I am? Insightful! Wull, I bet I sure am!
I used to be so innocent. No, that doesn't quite describe it. Whatever word is appropriate need also to include a sense of adventurousness. Yes, adventurousness! An openness to the great broad field of things! Open minded to all potential sources of grand stimuli, I was as a naive doe, bounding through the verdant fields of dreamy afternoons!
But something changed me, made me hard inside, and forget the simpler things, relegating my pursuits to seedy, cynical, dimly lit venues populated by bounty hunters, pimps, and the most disreputable of smugglers. All the while looking over my glass of Romulan ale and scoffing at the pretension, the papier-mache, if you will, of vice. While falling deeper and deeper into spirally nonsense.
Actually, it wasn't so dramatic as that. I merely watched a bad movie. Well, first I taped it, then I sat down with my coffee, got comfortable and watched. Watched all of it, even. In spite of the fact that it was sucking already a few minutes into it, I stayed open-minded. On many occasions, the first few minutes of a film gave me a completely false impression of the movie entire. So what if this one opened with a song performed by Barry Mannilow? Angel liked Barry Mannilow. Maybe things would still be okay.
But they weren't.
The movie was called Foul Play, and it starred Chevy Chase, Goldie Hawn, and Dudley Moore. It was made in 1978, a year before I was born, and made me decide that the period between 1975 and 1992 was a terrible period for comedy. Or maybe it's still ongoing, I dunno. But I detect an infatuation with a lazy-ass, Blake Edwards-ish, not-funny-comedy. Comedy that aims for only one level and is content to hit it only 20% of the time. Caddyshack was like that. And so was Foul Play.
But why go on? I never sleep comfortably without some food first, so I think I'll do that instead.