|[Deadmentalking] The Prestige and other observations
||[Oct. 26th, 2006|02:31 pm]
My typist today has accompanied me to see this film that she has become very excited about. It was based on the book called The Prestige. When I asked her why she didn't leave me at home as she usually did I was informed that I was in it. I grabed my hat and my coat and we were off. For a movie I found it strangly excellent. On the matter of obessions and the drive that causes man to complete his goal, no matter what the personal cost, was presented accurately as was I. I was portrayed by a songwriter named David Bowie. I began to applaud at the end when my typist grabbed my hands. Apparently people do not clap anymore at the end of a performance. Thankfully she also had the forethought to bring some anti-bacterial with her as well.
"I have OCD tambien." She said adding in random bits of spanish.
"What?" I asked her.
"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder." She explained, "Like the way you always feel better when you don't shake hands or you chew every bite nine times."
At that moment her cousin had accidently brushed some chocolate onto her hand. She slammed on the breaks, nearing getting into an accident, jumped out of the car and immediantly preceaded to the nearest restaurant. Her cousin shouted some spanish at her, shouted some more at me, and than sent me after her to the chorus of impatient drivers. I eventually found her, hands bent over the sink, scrubbing her skin raw with a strange brishle brush that she always carried in her purse.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm scrubbing the chocolate off. I'm allergic to chocolate."
"I thought you were alergic if you eat chocolate."
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard of. A little chocolate won't kill you." With the speed that I have rarely seen a women to posses she had grabbed that filthy plunger that was residing in the corner and backed me into a corner with it.
"What now?" She asked her eyes daring me to defy her, "What now?!"
"For God's sake it's been in a toilet!"
"A little germ water won't kill you." She replied, "Not in this age. There's a hospital just down the street." She glared at me and through the hideous thing back into it's corner. I turned expecting her to come but I heard the water turned on.
"Aren't you comming?" I asked her.
"Well," she was blushing, "I DID touch a plunger..." I let the matter slide but smiled as if to tell her, I told you they were filthy. All the way home we sat in the back in a comfortable understanding silence as her cousin drived us home.