So, the boys and I sat down to watch Blade Runner last night: not the original theatrical release, the remastered director’s final cut with the unicorn and without the voice over — if you’ve ever seen the film you’ll know why it’s important to be specific. Sadly, Kevin and Shannon barely lasted through the first fifteen minutes, citing exhaustion and heavy eyelids as the reason. I can’t really blame them; the slow deliberate pacing of the film is not for everyone, particularly movie-goers in this post-Avengers world. Still the world that Scott drafted in the film delights me with its horrid beauty like a living breathing movie monster. If the boys could get past the pace, I think they’d find a wonderful enlightening experience.
What’s all this got to do with Disney and vacation?
Well, on Tuesday, we had stepped out into the rain to eat lunch at Epcot, which lies within walking distance of the Boardwalk Resort. Epcot unlike the other Disney parks is often ignored I think by the younger generations. It doesn’t possess the flumes, animals, and roller coasters of the more ‘fun’ parks, but offers a worthwhile experience if you’re willing to explore . . . and perhaps old enough to drink. Just like Blade Runner. Continue reading
The first day of our Disney vacation (as appose to our ‘road trip vacation,’ ‘St. Augustine vacation’ or ‘cabernet-induced vacation’) found Tropical Storm Debbie hovering over our resort like a large fly buzzing a particularly spacious picnic. Other families may feel flummoxed by the gloomy weather, bolting themselves inside until the sun should emerge to chase away the gloom to some other, less entertaining state . . . like Ohio, but the Murphey clan does not shrink from natural calamities. We simply bought a quiver of over-priced Disney umbrellas and trod to the local cinema . . . like men! Continue reading
Okay, sooooo . . . for the next week or so the Fam and I will be traversing through Orlando and Disney, sowing havoc in our wake like a pretty girl at an anime convention. During this interim, I’m temporarily transforming the Pub into a photoblog, detailing our adventures like a children’s picture book with as few ‘writing’ as I can manage. For some of you, who never really enjoyed ‘reading’ anyway (I’m looking at you Brigid), this will prove a chance to visit my blog again; for others, a chance to criticize my poor photography skills.
The take-home message: everyone wins. Continue reading
“So which one is Neil?” Rodney asked me between spoonfuls of what looked like rice pilaf. “Is he behind the zombie in the sequined shirt? Or is this still the cover-band?”
I laughed and inspected my friend’s face for some sign of irony. Surprisingly, I saw none. Rodney repeated the question, straight-faced, serious.
“Dude, you do know who Neil Diamond is, right?” I asked, somewhat dumbfounded. ” ‘Sweet Caroline?’ ‘I’m a Believer?’ ‘America?’ Any of this make any sense?”
“These are . . . songs?” he guessed, looking down at his plate. “That ‘Believer’ song was from Shrek, right?”
“Dude, if you didn’t know Neil Diamond, why did you agree . . .”
“Hold that thought,” he cried suddenly, shocked at the sight of his empty plate. “I need another quesadilla.” Continue reading
This photo has nothing at to do with the following post; however, the subject matter is more pleasing than what I found on the basement computer.
“You’re kidding!” Dasad laughed, nearly dribbling coffee onto the table. “They left it up? On the screen?”
“No, no, no,” I said, waving my hands, as if brushing away the misconception. “It’s what the address bar listed. You know how when you start typing, Firefox offers a few of the popular searches from the last week? Apparently, someone’s been visiting frequently. All I typed was a ‘H’ and the site appeared, right below Hulu.”
“What was the name again?” my friend smiled, baiting me.
“Hotmoms.com . . . or something like it.” My friend’s squeals filled the entire cafe like a fire alarm. If the coffee and caffeine had failed in its primary function, curiosity and Dasad’s laughter proved a jolt of adrenaline. Even the baristas stared, whispering behind the counter and consulting their watches. Only a boy and girl continued to ignore us, racing Hotwheels across a neighboring tabletop. I lowered my voice.
Our yearly sojourn to Florida launches in about two weeks. Mom and the girls are already mapping out new summer wardrobes with the fervor of gold-greedy conquistadors: new shoes, dresses, skirts, blouses, jeans, sandals and even the accursed swimsuits. The flotsam of many a shopping excursion litter their rooms, beds, and dressers like giant jigsaw pieces, waiting to be folded, twisted and rolled into a small leather case. After two weeks, they scamper through the halls, racing from room to room, to stuff the last tube of toothpaste, or hair gel, or razor, or shampoo. Once that’s finished, I’ll hear the screams and shouts for headphones, magazines, iPods, iPads, phones, computers, pillows, chargers, gum, water, snacks, and DVDs to ease the long drive, most of which will be spent sleeping. Somehow during this final stage, the men of the household are inevitably blamed for moving too slow, not helping, or not panicking enough for the girls’ taste. Yet for the boys, an hour before departure proves more than enough time to stuff underwear, socks, and the untouched dregs of the dresser drawers into a duffel, download plane tickets, and depart. Done. Continue reading
The two ladies on the left side of the table appeared hollow or rather bored to the point of emptiness. If you drilled a hole in their forehead and sent a stiff breeze through the cavity, cobwebs and dust bunnies would explode from their ears like party favors. The eyes betrayed them. Not their voices, full of professionalism and interest, gleefully reading their typed questionnaires. Or their fingers, quickly taking note of my responses enthusiastically given or my aphorisms, recited with honesty and respect for my past students. Continue reading