I won’t lie. It’s been a pretty awful day. I’m sick; I’d like to thank whoever infected me with this sore throat/coughing malaise that’s turned me into a walking petri dish of viruses and general grossness. I managed to burn the hell out of my thumb and had a remote ruined when a battery nearly exploded in my remote (!!!); and for various other reason it’s been a disappointing, sad day. I can say I reached my pinnacle of massive frustration and eye rolling when I picked up a bottle of Ny-Quil from a convenience store and promptly dropped it, which then somehow spurred the bottle to roll under my car. You just haven’t lived until you’ve embedded gravel in your palms while you’re congested and shaky, trying to reach halfway under your car in a busy convenience store parking lot to retrieve a $9 bottle of Ny-Quil. For the record, I was too desperate to go anywhere else and like hell was I going to sacrifice that sweet, sweet overpriced semi-alcoholic bottle of cough medicine to being potentially run over by my tires.
I was going to come home and write one of my usual earth shaking, mind bending, life changing reviews – this time on Paris, Je T’aime – but I quickly realized in between the sneezing and the warm glow of decongestants and orange juice that I wasn’t going to be able to form much of anything that made cohesive, coherent sense on Paris, Je T’aime. So I settled down with a little movie I like to use to kick off my holiday season – since you know, it’s Christmas.
I know that Die Hard immediately pops to mind when one thinks of Christmas!
Because really – doesn’t “Now I have a machine gun, Ho-Ho-Ho” really spread the Yuletide cheer?
Note: This post was (not really) sponsored by a heavy dose of NyQuil, so any nonsense, typos, spelling errors or grammar problems can all be attributed to the NyQuil. This time, at least.