Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Down the Drain

'Hey how r u? Haven't texted you in a bit. Hope all is well.'

She folded up her phone and tried not to check it seconds later for a response.

The quiet of the apartment was disturbed by the gurgle from the sink. Since the day she moved in she'd been unable to get the super to come in and take a look at it. She's poured Drain-O, bleach, and boiling hot water into it hoping she'd be able to clear the pipes.

Her hand reached out for her cell phone but she stopped herself as her fingertips brushed up against its hard plastic. She wouldn't let him get the best of her. He'd text back when he was free. Then they'd finally meet up. They'd grab dinner and drinks and go dancing and then...

GURGLE BLOOP BLOP.

That was it. This goddamn sink had gotten on her last nerve. She dug out that snake thing her dad left in her bathroom closet. She had no idea how to use it, but it was time to shove something in there, get whatever muck was making this repulsive noise. She'd finally have some peace and quiet.

After fumbling with it for a few minutes, she fed the line down the drain and kept feeding it down further and further. There was no resistance, though she was in a fury to get it in there and wouldn't have noticed anyways. Eventually she ran out of snake.

She gave it a slight tug and it held firm. It was snagged on something. Then it jerked in her grip. It pulled itself further in. She held it tight and pulled with all her might. But it was no use, it reeled itself in and ripped her right off her feet, smashing her face first into to sink.

Groggily, she tried to lift herself back up but suddenly her face was like putty, melting into a pool, her skin slipping away from her, sliding down into the pipes. Her muscles went slack and she began to dissolve, dripping and oozing her way down the drain. She thought of the foaming action of that drain cleaner she spent twenty bucks on from Duane Reade.

Her entire being was smooshed through a cylinder the size of a cardboard tube. She slooshed and slopped her way inch by inch gliding down into darkness, the snake line still dragging her through the labyrinth of plumbing. Oddly, she wasn't even concerned, except now she couldn't check her phone to see if he replied.

When her essence had dripped fully into a puddle upon the floor of the cavern, she awoke. No longer of the gooey, fluid consistency, she stood and looked around. Amber tones, a tan screen slid before her eyes, she rubbed them, and once again saw a whole new world of sepia. It was old-fashioned in style, vintage in substance.

Unreal reality blown out all about her. A bedroom set, metal wire-framed bedframe, frilly bedskirt, plush pillows of satin softness. A vanity, wardrobe, full-length mirror and folding changing screen. The carpets hugged her bare feet. The drapes reached out for her as they billowed in the wind. The ceiling fan lazily turned absently.

She jumped on the bed and rolled over onto her back. A goofy smile spread across her lips. She couldn't help but give her body a bit of a wiggle in joy and excitement. It was the room she had always wanted, a princess' quarters from decades past. An escape into the simpler days of yesteryear, when she could be a true lady.

The door eased itself open, gliding over the bristles of the carpet one strand at a time. He walked in, also barefoot, flowing cotton pajama pants dangling just above his ankles, his tight stomach lifting from his waistline, his arms tensing as they pushed open the door, then relaxing as they dropped to his side. Then he smiled.

And it was a smile that stole hearts, that plucked spirits from their bodies and breath from lips. Her body had been tensed up the entire time, she realized. Her lower back held tight just above her butt, her chest clutched, limbs outstretched nearly off the bed. She wanted to pounce upon him.

But before she could, he leapt on the bed and rolled around over her. He brushed aside the hair in her eyes, curling his fingers just behind her ear, running his hand down the back of her neck. Her eyes closed, his palm sliding down her back, grazing the tip of her butt. She felt his other hand coming closer, the electricity in the air, the vibrations rippling the air between them.

Then he rubbed her belly. And she loved his, tossing her body to and fro. Suddenly, this felt weird though. He went from sensual to tickling her rib cage and patting her bum. And she couldn't be happier. Her mouth opened and snapped shut a few times, and she growled and then her tail began to wag.

She woke up with her head in the sink, blood dripping from her nose and flowing down into the drain. Her phone buzzed as it got a text, but she didn't bother checking who it was.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Men Who Stare at Goats review

I loved this movie. Simple, effective, tightly plotted while still keeping you guessing. It doesn't hurt that it's about New Age psychic powers which I am intrigued by, but it also follows the hero's journey. Clooney as the guide, Bridges as the godhead, and Spacey as the villain. Even the goat as both a symbol of innocence and devilry.

I just also really love Ewan MacGregor too. I don't know if I've seen a movie with him that I didn't like (and yes, that includes Danny Boyle's 'A Life Less Ordinary' which oddly has similar themes). All the actors don't even have to try too hard to impress here. Nothing outstanding performance-wise, perhaps a bit too typical for them, but nonetheless, well done.

I need to find out who directed this movie and also track down the book by Jon Ronson. Peter Straughn, screenwriter. Grant Heslov, director. Ok, got that down. Now to take some notes from the documentary about the actual military men behind this.

General Stubblebine. 1995 decomissioned. Jim Chanon. Esoteric technology. Evolutionary tactics. First Earth Batallion. New Mental Battlefield.

I'll look into this and report back with more details.

K