Nothingness

Today's review on the "big" screen:

(technically, a 35" Samsung, but bear with me) is what Siskel and Ebert would call the "Stinker of the Week"(when they'd haul a skunk onto the set of "At the Movies") or the "Dog of the Week" when it was a canine whose name I'm forgetting.

I thought "The Assistant" was going to be something for the  #MeToo generation, a Harvey Weinstein-esque expose.

It was literally a movie about..nothing.

George Costanza would have been inspired by its nothingness.

Julia Garner played an overworked, underpaid, underappreciated, abused assistant to some jerk.  

At first, I was thinking, "I can relate!  I've HAD jobs like this!  EVERY job I had was like this!"

But the entire movie was just Julia, shuffling papers, or clipping papers together(my techie husband was particularly bothered by this--all the freaking paper--he justifiably  feels we need to go green and only communicate electronically) but Julia just did menial task after menial task after menial task after menial task after menial task..wait..I'm not done!!!..after menial task after menial task after..

OK, I'll stop.

But I cannot hear one more coffee pot percolating: hear one more one sided conversation when we know what Julia is saying(barely) but we have no idea who she's talking with or what they're saying.

It really was like watching a ninety two  minute documentary about paint drying, except ninety-two percent of critics saw something beautiful and artistic in this stinker, as I imagine they would if they witnessed actual paint drying.

The one scene that held our interest, the one involving Julia wasting her time with Human Resources, was a little bit interesting, but then we'd be bombarded with random shots of NY streets, or horny co-workers making jokes we couldn't understand.

You should see this movie if you're seeing it with someone sarcastic, like I did, because  Jim's commentary was way more entertaining than the movie.

Most of the time, Jim and I look for holes in the plot of the movie we're seeing, tonight, we were looking for plot in the holes.

That's my review of what was on the "big" screen today.

On the "small" screen(a laptop) I saw my doctor for a boring Telemed visit, so she could "examine" my thyroid(!!) so I could get a prescription for blood work so I can THEN go for the blood work, leaving the house for the first time in months, and get the Synthoid prescription renewed, a drug I care absolutely nothing about and have no idea why I take it.

It does NOT cure my nasty disposition or my unruly cowlick, so I have no idea why I'm taking it, or how she could "see" my thyroid on the PHONE, but I guess it could have been worse, like if she had to give me a rectal.

Please let me know if this is border-line small talk and I'll stop.

I HATE small talk.

I may nod my head and plaster on a smile and say things like "oh yeah?" or "is that so..wow!"  or.."I had no idea!" but INSIDE I'm saying, "you're lucky I'm taxing my brain right now by trying to remember who won Best Supporting Actress in 2006, because if I had to actually LISTEN to what you were saying, one of us might be the victim of a nasty  sucker punch."

Please..please..PLEASE tell me if this post is like the time I had to listen to someone talking about the ordeal of returning tea towels to Target.

That was IT..and I've talked about this before.

She returned tea towels to Target!!

Brad Pitt was not behind her in line.

The Target clerk did not say, "way to go!  Yours is the 100th return today so you won a great prize..a year's supply of tea towels!"

She did NOT stop a mad bomber in the parking lot.

She... just... returned... tea.. towels... to.. Target.

Again, I am ALWAYS civil, but please don't tell me that Easter of 2019 was a disaster, because your" Mom didn't have enough place mats and some people had to sit in the kitchen nook."

Easter dinner was long over when you shared that story--there was NOTHING I could do about it, so why were you bothering me with this nonsense?

If you haven't seen me in over a year, don't start the conversation by telling me about a problem with your transmission.  I am not a mechanic and even if I were, I don't 'effin care!! 

 You don't even know where I went to college or if my parents are still living, why the hell do I care about what happened at Jiffy Lube?"

Don't tell me about taking your grandmother to the rheumatologist unless there is a human interest angle, like she beat the guy up because she remembered him from third grade and  the time he stuck her ponytail into his inkwell.

I have now worked myself into such a tizzy that I don't think I can sleep, but I'll TRY, as long as you all promise me to not discuss the peaches you bought at Stop n Shop unless I BRING IT UP.

I should have a movie review of something good tomorrow. 

I'll give you something to talk about.

(But not..I repeat..NOT..SMALL talk about)