Movie Review: Inception

I don't go to the movies all that often. This is partially because going to the movies never makes it into David's top ten list of favorite things to do. It probably doesn't even make it into his top 20 list. My guess is that for him going to the movies falls somewhere below yard work and above getting a root canal. Or perhaps it's because he catches all the movies on his long, long flights to Asia.

I, on the other hand, love going to the movies. I love the darkened theater, the smell of the popcorn, and the chance for a couple of hours to escape reality. I don't ask a lot of the movies that I watch, simply that they entertain. And, boy, does Inception entertain.

I will admit that when Inception first arrived in theaters, I wasn't too keen on going to see it. This was for one reason only: Leonardo DiCaprio. I've never been a fan of his, although I can't really give you an explicit reason why. I never got all the hoopla around Titanic. Guess what, folks? The ship sinks. No big mystery there. But the reviews for Inception were resoundingly positive, and the storyline sounded interesting. So when a friend called me up and asked if I wanted to join her, I said yes, despite my dislike of Mr. DiCaprio.

Movies require that you suspend disbelief, and this movie is no exception. I don't know about you, but my dreams have never, ever been this crystal clear, coherent, and complete. My dreams tend to be rather fuzzy in appearance. I'm never able to run away from bad guys like they do in this film. My legs never seem to work, and I end up trying to get away in an awkward G.I. Joe crawl. Or I'm going to a final for a class that I haven't ever attended. And nobody in this movie seems to have problems with an embarrassing lack of clothes in a public arena. On the other hand, nobody would ever want to spend two-plus hours in my dreams, so maybe it's a good thing they didn't base this movie on the kinds of dreams I'm familiar with.

I've seen a few movies this year, mostly children's flicks, some of which were quite entertaining. But I will say that Inception is definitely the best film I've seen all year. It was so engaging I found myself smiling the whole way through and thinking and wondering about it afterward, always the mark of a good film. I haven't enjoyed a movie this much in ages. And maybe, just maybe it changed my perception of Leonardo DiCaprio just the tiniest bit.

On Educating a Whole New Generation of Drivers

Rose:  There sure are a lot of idiots on the road aren't there?

Me:  What makes you say that, honey?

Rose:  Because you sure seem to come across a lot of them when you're driving.

Lydia

I was sitting on our deck eating breakfast at 8:30 a.m. watching golfers slowly work their way through the third hole. They finally got up to the green, and I heard the following conversation:

Golfer 1: In the hole, Lydia, in the hole!

Golfer 2: What do you think I'm trying to do?!?

Golfer 1: Missed again. Man, this is taking forever.

Snack truck lady: Would you like anything to eat or drink?

Golfer 1: I would like a Budweiser.

STL: In a can or a bottle?

Golfer 1: Whichever has the most.

Man, I'm glad I'm not Lydia.

Hypothetical Situation Police

The other day David and I were driving somewhere in the car. Somehow the conversation turned to helicopter rides, and it all went downhill from there.

Me: Your mom was talking about how often she reads about tourist helicopters crashing and everyone dying. She said if she has anything to say about it, she will never let us go on one of those rides. That's okay with me. I wouldn't go anyway since helicopters make me sick.

D: How do you know that?

Me: How do I know what?

D: That helicopters make you sick?

Me: That's what you're taking away from this conversation?

D: No, I really want to know. How do you know that helicopters make you sick. Have you secretly gone out and had helicopter rides without my knowledge? Because I'm pretty sure you've never stepped foot in one.

Me: No, I've never had a helicopter ride.

D: Then how do you know helicopters make you sick?

Me: Well, I got really motion sick that one time you made me play the Jane's helicopter simulator on your computer. I think that's a pretty good indicator.

D: You're kidding, right?

Me: And then there's the fact that every form of transportation ever invented makes me sick: cars, trucks, trains, boats, big planes, little planes. I do my part in keeping Dramamine in business.

D: I know that. You'd probably barf up a lung if you rode in a helicopter. But you can't know for sure because you've never been on one.

Me: I think it's a reasonable assumption. And who made you the hypothetical situation police anyway?

D: I just think you should speak more accurately. You saying, "Helicopters make me sick" when you haven't ridden in one is like me saying, "Playing in the World Cup makes my muscles sore," just because I limp around after playing rec league soccer.

Me: That is not a valid comparison at all!

D: Why not?

Me: Because while there is a possibility that sometime in my life I will actually have a helicopter ride, there is no chance you will ever play in a World Cup soccer match.

Her Dream Job

Sabrina:  Oh, my gosh, those judges sure repeat themselves A LOT on this show Chopped. Hey! I love to eat, and I love to repeat myself. I could totally do that job!

Europe 2010, Part 4, or My Husband Really is Trying to Kill Me

I woke up with a rash. Not exactly an auspicious way to start our first day of hiking. Unfortunately, this was not a unique experience for me while traveling. Once when I was in Israel I wound up with a head-to-toe itchy, hivey rash from eating one too many eggs over the course of many days, forcing me and my travel companion to spend a good portion of our Sunday morning hunting down a pharmacy in Jerusalem that (1) was open, and (2) had proprietors that could speak English so we could get the proper medicine to treat the rash. Good times!

I was not happy about this new rash for a few reasons. (1) It was red, blotchy, and somewhat itchy; (2) we had a relatively early train to catch if we wanted to be able to complete our first hike of our trip, so there was no time to hunt down pharmacies and/or doctors; and (3) a tube of cortisone hadn't made it into any of the first-aid items we had packed (but we did have a compass!). The good news was that it was only on my left arm, from shoulder to wrist. Since it wasn't too uncomfortable and we were under time constraints (did I mention we had a train to catch?), we decided to ignore it unless it got worse and/or spread.

Having spent a little too much time worrying about my mysterious rash, we left for the train station a bit later than we had planned. Our original thought had been that we would stop at a boulangerie and pick up a pastry for breakfast to eat on the train. Things did not work out this way. We were hoofing it to the train station from our hotel, and I discovered that once David slings 80-plus pounds of luggage onto his shoulders, he goes into "determined march" mode, and will not stop for anything or anybody. I longingly looked at each pastry shop as he determinedly marched past.

We finally got to the train station, set our luggage down, and I told David to go buy the tickets. He protested. "But you're the one that knows French!" I pointed out that that hadn't proved to be particularly useful so far, plus he had deprived me of my breakfast, so he could damn well go buy the tickets himself. Quickly deducing that he would not win this argument, he resignedly stepped into line to buy our tickets. It was good we hadn't stopped, though, as the ticket line was a half-hour long. We just barely got our tickets in time to determinedly march to the train before it left the station.

We cheered up once we got on the train, and I dug a granola bar out of my backpack.

When we arrived at our destination, La Brigue station, David started determinedly marching toward town. I followed.

As we navigated the narrow streets, we were greeted by the sound of cowbells -- or, in this case, goat bells. Around the corner, filling the street, comes this huge herd of goats accompanied by two big, shaggy sheepdogs. As we squeezed against the edge of the road to let them pass (Ha! Even the determined march has to give way to a herd of goats!), we noticed: no humans. We marveled that these two dogs knew what to do with the goats with no human direction. Or we assume they knew what they were doing. They might have been trying to find a pub.

Here's a picture of our bed and breakfast.

Our hosts were Robert and his wife. Robert showed us to our room and gave us the keys to both the room and hotel in case they left for any reason during the day and we needed to get back in. He then heard his wife calling him, so he hurried back downstairs, telling her he was just explaining things to les jeunes. It amused me to be called "the young ones" when he couldn't have been much older than we were.

Here's the view from our room.

Our first hike was a circular "taster" that would take us to the next town of Tende and back again. I looked out our window and jokingly commented that it was a good thing we didn't have to go over those mountains to get to the next town, huh? That statement was greeted with complete silence from David. Uh-oh.

Before we hit the trail, we wandered through the town.

Once we started on the trail, it didn't take too long (about 10 meters or so) for me to figure out this was not exactly what I thought I had signed up for.

Notice my smile has dimmed somewhat from the train. Also take a look at the steep, rocky path. Where were the wide paths with leafy trees shading us? Where were the wineries? We later found out from Robert that this particular area was not good for growing grapes. It was tried once long ago, but the wine produced was terrible, they had a rash of suicides, blamed the wine, and tore all the vines out.

"Only 900 feet of climbing to go!" David exclaimed cheerfully.

The path hugged the side of the mountain with a steep drop-off on one side, and this is when I made the unfortunate discovery that I'm really not fond of heights . . . or hiking. About halfway up, I was thinking, "He really is trying to kill me!" At that precise moment, David turned around, grinning, and said, "So, are you thinking I really am trying to kill you now?" The tone in which I was thinking the words, however, was not remotely similar to the jovial tone in which those words were verbalized, highlighting the gaping chasm between our interpretations of the same words.

We took a wrong turn, and dogs started running towards us, barking furiously. A lady who lived up that path intercepted us and, after David shrugged at her French, told us in clear English to go back and take the other fork. David asked how she knew to give us directions in English, and she told him very kindly only the English make the mistake of taking the wrong fork there.

We backtracked and kept going, finally making it to the top of the mountain.

He's obviously having the time of his life. Me, not so much.

Here's the town we were headed towards. Notice we still have a long ways to climb down.

We finally made it into Tende. I was exhausted and wondering what in the world had I gotten myself into. We sat down at a café to rest. And while I was silently weeping into my ham sandwich, David drank beer and looked at train tables to see if we could take the train back instead of finishing the hike. I was grateful he was willing to consider that option, but humiliated that it even had to be considered. I was also terrified of what was to come. If this is supposed to be a "taster", what the heck was in store for me over the next week?

After the food had time to settle, I felt a lot better. I decided I'd rather hike back over the mountain than take the train, if only to prove to myself that I could do this. We took a few minutes to wander around Tende and take a few pictures.

And then we started to climb back over the mountain.

Look at the relief in that smile. By this point I was convinced I would survive! At least for today!

And so I don't leave you with the mistaken impression that everything was doom and gloom from here on out. I will leave you with a picture from early the next day.

As you can see, I'm back to smiling, and I'm pointing at the path snaking down the side of the mountain that I conquered the day before. A hearty dinner, a satisfying breakfast, and a good night's sleep does wonders for a person. Lesson learned: Don't hike the Alps with only a granola bar in your stomach . . . or don't hike the Alps with a maniac husband . . . or don't hike the Alps at all. Beaches are nice.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOALS!!!!

Rose is not particularly inclined to be athletic. I believe she merely endures the sports we encourage her to participate in. And by encourage I mean, "No, you don't have a choice. Now get out there and play!" But in general she is a good sport (ha ha!) about the whole thing and rarely complains. And she does greatly enjoy the social aspect of team sports.

But because of her distinct lack of enthusiasm for sports in general, you can imagine my surprise when she volunteered to "help" David earn his D/E license to coach soccer. This constituted of two VERY long weekends where she had to get up every morning at 5:30 a.m. for a total of four six-plus-hour days in the hot sun. She was there every minute, participating enthusiastically. When the instructor would ask for critiques of the participants' drills, Rose's hand would shoot up in the air.

Instructor: Yes, Rose?

Rose: I found Coach B's drill with the three cones to be a good one. It was structured quite well, and I learned new things. Overall, it was thoroughly enjoyable.

Everyone was quite bemused by her. She became what I would call the class mascot, essential in some indefinable way to class morale. And in the end she was given an honorary D/E license.

Since she had such a good time with David's class, I thought she'd be really looking forward to the soccer camp that the kids are involved in this week. I was wrong. Things went downhill fast after some brief excitement upon meeting the class coaches.

Rose: (In a loud whisper) Mom, I think that guy was our coach last year.

Me: (Whispering back) I don't think so, sweetie.

Coach: (Also whispering) Actually, yes, I was.

That, unfortunately, was the highlight of her day. She came home dragging her feet, complaining about how hot it was (15 degrees cooler than when she was with David), how long the class was (less than half the time of David's), and how disappointed she was that nobody was listening to her instructions and suggestions on how to play. I encouraged her (see above) and went about my business.

A little bit about this soccer camp. Being run by young British men, it has been designed to function as a cross between Hogwarts and the World Cup. They have divided all the kids into four teams. The camp consists of learning soccer skills interspersed with World Cup games. Each team earns points by scoring goals and answering questions correctly. (10 points to Griffyndor!)

Now, even though Rose's first day didn't go as well as she had hoped, she decided to not let those recently acquired coaching skills go to waste. It was time to take her team in hand. Her first decision was what country they should be. While many kids were voting for Spain, she pointed out that there had been a Spain in last year's camp, and do we really want to repeat countries like that? No, we do not. She informed everyone they would be Canada. And because Rosie's airy-fairy exterior houses a will of steel, everybody agreed.

Her next move was as follows:

R: Mom, our team has some goals!

Me: Uh-huh. Well, you are playing soccer.

R: No, mom, not goals you score, goals you set.

Me: Oh, okay. Did your coaches tell the teams to set goals?

R: No, I just thought it was important. So I told our team that our goal would be to score one more point than we did the day before. Monday we scored nothing. Tuesday, I scored one goal. And today we scored two. I've told everyone they're doing really well, and tomorrow we would need to score a minimum of three goals.

Cower in fear, people. Today this charming girl has taken over the soccer field, tomorrow the world.