Cut to the quick

By a cinnamon hearts container, no less. One of those cheap flat plastic tubs. I was lifting off the lid and it sliced open my middle and index fingertips like a rabid papercut.

I have actually managed to put down and walk away from several things that I usually find it very difficult to drop in the last three days. Immediately beneficial result: I was on time for physio, and actually had decent sleep the night before (if not enough, but baby steps).

(Gist of the physiotherapist's comments: tense tension tendon tense balance tension tight tense lumbar tension tense, interspersed with such comments as "The sole of your foot feels like it's about to go numb when I do this? I see." and "So, has anything in particular been causing you stress lately?"[1] Left feeling much better, with a list of exercises and instructions to call back.)

Of course, then I came back home to change for work and ended up petting the cat who was snuggled up on my coat and radiating incredible cute instead of turfing the little furball, thereby being five minutes later in to work. But I figure petting cats is therapy, not something to be dropped or set aside as a terrible timesink--certainly not casually, at any rate.

I'm tired and a little distracted[2], but it's going to be repetitive detail-oriented work this morning, and that should help.

Furthermore, Warren Zevon's "Transverse City" still leaves me all starry-eyed. It's been years since I heard that.
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[1] Which ended up in a digression on cats and kidney stones. It didn't seem to throw her. I get the feeling she sees a lot of people rambling.
[2] With brief spells of "wanting to curl up someplace warm, doze, and have anyone who shows up to disturb me summarily shot[3]", but mostly tired and distracted.
[3] In some painless non-damaging way.

Wherever innocent blood is spilled...

Okay.

Ghost Rider was hokey. And the dialogue... well, after the dialogue was taken out back and shot, someone dragged it around front again and propped it up in a funny suit. It was that bad. I will not deny this. The plot unfolds in what John and I have decided to refer to as suppository lumps--like expository lumps, but shoved right up the--

--pardon me. I mean, they make really sure you won't miss anything. No, *really* sure. Surer than that, even. Also, despite high hopes, I found minimal Nicholas Cage appeal. He was much better in Con Air.

But I would see it twice, and grab it on DVD for cheap if I got the chance.

First, it's a beautiful movie. The weird jumping flashcuts when Mephistopholes and Blackheart are facing down are awkward. But the effects surrounding them and their teeth and faces are creepy and fun, and the Nephilim... oh, my god, the Nephilim. I haven't seen anything so gorgeous as Wallow since that thing with eyes in its palms in Pan's Labyrinth. They could've ditched the rest of them entirely; hell, they could have given him Blackheart's role and I'd've been happy.[1] The dead town was actually disturbing.

Also, flaming undead cowboys.

Second, it's funny. Not all the time, or it would have been something more than a terrible movie that I liked watching. But there are little touches that occasionally made me smile, and the interview with the mugging victim he saved had me cracking up.

( This is not a spoiler. But it does summarize a joke that's much funnier to see onscreen than have recounted. )

I didn't fall out of the chair. I slid.
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[1] Seriously. Inhuman liquidy drowned-corpse effect with shark's teeth. What's not to love?