Read the Book

As soon as I finished reading Judgment of Paris, I called the local Blockbuster (my Netflix subscription is on hold, as I found I was sending movies back unwatched--I just didn't have the time) to see if they had Bottle Shock. They did.

I went and picked it up. Then I stopped by the local big liquor store. I meant only to browse--and I did browse, for so long that every single employee in the store asked me if I needed help--but came home with a bottle of Vinho Verde, one of Moscato d'Asti (Moscato d'Asti is happiness in a bottle, all sparkly and peachy) and one last, a little beauty, a late harvest Zinfandel from Dashe Cellars. Can you believe that going to the big liquor store is such a source of pleasure to me? It's like going to a bookstore, it's that kind of diversion. Part memory, part daydreaming, part wishful thinking. I saw all these bottles of wine, wines that I know and love, and wines that I know only by reputation, wines that I would love to love, if you know what I mean.

And then I came home and spent two hours cleaning out the closet in the upstairs family room, a closet that is so filled to overflowing with art supplies and wrapping paper and games that when I opened it two days ago, everything came spilling out. First, the rolls of wrapping paper and cellophane. Boxes of crayons. A plastic Halloween pumpkin. Markers. Cardboard toilet paper rolls that B. uses for art projects. Colored tissue paper. Rolls of ribbon. Shoe boxes. Mosaic tiles. A deck of playing cards with pictures of sushi. A deck of fortune telling cars. Construction paper, glue sticks, jars of glitter. Origami paper. Foam pieces. Googly eyes and little metallic puff balls. A toy car and a mood ring and a broach with Mona Lisa. Anyway, it is all straightened out now.

My reward was to watch Bottle Shock. Some reward. What a mess of a movie that was. The producers took a perfectly good story and messed it up beyond all repair. Don't bother, is my opinion. As is sometimes the case, real life is so much more interesting than the fiction made of it.