Sunday, November 9, 2008

Seems odd that we are almost to Thanksgiving. The amount of time it takes me to grade a set of rough drafts for a class I teach stretches out to feel infinitely longer than the amount of time it takes to get from Halloween to Thanksgiving. Where is my focus? Yesterday, I spent scattered moments throughout the day watching the most appalling horror movies on SciFi channel with my husband. The first featured an "abominable" snowman without snow. The film was entitled "Abominable" and the characters very clearly agreed about the creature's not being a "bigfoot," because bigfoots, unlike the abominable, avoid people. The monster pulled a woman through a 2x2 foot window waist-first. You could see her head and feet go through together, although it was very quick. Later in the day, another movie also revolved around an abominable snowman, this time called a yeti, who was terrorizing a group of students who survived a plane wreck in the Himalayas. Whenever the director wanted the monster to run or leap, the film seemed to speed up, so that the monster that was lurching around more or less realistically one second would suddenly and very jerkily leap ten or twenty feet forward. Then I caught the first part of a movie about some giant spiders at a ski resort which were less frightening than the movie's awkwardly developed romance between Vanessa Williams and some cocky, washed up ski champion. Finally, a movie about some British special ops soldiers on a training mission in a heavily wooded area. Since the moon was full, the forest was also soon filled with werewolves who organized themselves to feed on the soldiers. I enjoyed the werewolf movie more than the others, but only because the parts I saw never depicted the creatures full-on; instead, they appeared in fragments and fleetingly, as shadow or silhouettes. Things seem much scarier to me when I can't quite make out what they are. But, things also seem much less scary when viewed broken up through the tiny cracks between my fingers or with the sound off. I kept trying to get Oleg to tell me what he would do if a yeti were attempting to get in the house. He wouldn't respond, but I decided I would dump a bunch of water on the floor, cut the cord of my hair-dryer where it connects to the hairdryer, strip back the plastic to expose the wires, plug in the cord, and wait on the kitchen counter. When the yeti came through the door, I'd throw the cord into the water on the floor. Oleg said this would probably work. I have a number of intricate security systems about the house that I won't get into here. Not to foil yetis, of course.

My outdoor thermometer read 19 degrees this morning. I'm sure it feels colder, and last night my toes began to show signs of pernio, which I get every year. The wind blows all the time which supposedly makes the air feel colder, except in the summer, when it's 92 degrees and the wind feels like hell's door blown open. That is, if hell were filled with cow dung and fertilizer. A friend in Rhode Island says it has grown colder there, too, but she still has flowers blooming in her yard. Her kind heart may explain the flowers, but Rhode Island smells better than South Dakota in general.

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