Martian Radio Signals

It's been a good weekend here thus far, THEGIRL'S perpetually pissy mood aside. I remember that for the first 18 or so months of THEBOY'S life he could be pretty arbitrarily grumpy. We usually blamed it on teething (or sun spots or Martian radio signals or the designated hitter rule).

So, something's up with her that makes her really hardheaded and angry much of the time. Yes, she's becoming Lou Piniella (baseball joke).

Her eye is finally looking a bit like a genuine shiner, but it's not nearly as bad as I expected.

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Broke down and limped into the doctor's office yesterday afternoon. The verdict: sprained ligaments. I get to wear a brace and take anti-inflammatory meds. The brace works quite well.

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We had a showing on the house this morning. Not sure how it went, but I'm getting damn tired of returning home after a showing appointment and seeing no indications that anyone's been here. That is, industry protocol, I'm told, holds that the agent should leave a business card when showing the house.

We only know someone was here because of a few scattered changes, things moved. And I could smell different people. I know, I know... but it's true.

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Saw the Fantastic Four tonight. Some scattered thoughts:

It's not as good as either Spiderman movie, but it's certainly enjoyable.

No opening credits save for the title. Wow.

Michael Chiklis out-acts everyone else by a mile, and he's covered in latex.

Jessica Alba... whoa. She's got SOME acting chops at least, but I can forgive an awful lot for a cutey like that.

Basically the primaries chew the scenery throughout the film and just have a grand time making a comic book movie with plot holes both big and small (sometimes the Thing is too heavy for the elevator and sometimes he ain't...?)

But Dr. Doom's voice is all wrong. Wrong! For a guy who looks like THAT, and has THOSE powers, the voice we hear shouldn't sound like he's a stats tutor at the junior college or something.