A week or so ago, we talked about options and made our selection. Because it would take pretty much all day, we agreed Rusty would arrive at 10:00 in the morning.
I want to be clear on this: just the other day, I wasn't 100% positive we'd said 10:00. We confirmed; it was totally 10:00.
Last night, I set the alarm for 8:30. That would give me enough time to shower and be ready and still have some time to crap around with the cat on my lap.
So, the alarm goes off at 8:30 as planned. I take a few minutes to get up. Alexa gives me the news. I get up. It's now, like, 8:45. Rather than shower first, I choose to start with the "crap around with the cat on my lap" part of the morning. Sit on the sofa, cat comes in for a snuggle, and I start posting on Facebook about the "Thor" movie. About 5 minutes in to this, I see Rusty walk up my walk.
It isn't even 9:00.
I go to turn off the alarm and let Rusty in, preparing to be pissed off about his massive earliness. The alarm panel clock catches my eye. It says 9:51. It says WHAT? I find another clock. It is, in fact, just about 10:00. Except in my bedroom, where my new clock is certain it's just 9:00.
Oh... fuck. I have the date wrong on the bedroom clock, don't I? (Click calendar button.) Yep, it thinks it's tomorrow. And it apparently changes automatically for Daylight Savings.
So, Rusty steps out for a bit while I shower, and we actually get started on the binging at 11:00.
Rusty is solidly prepared for a binge-fest. He's brought muffins and snacks and beverages and popcorn. And cozy bathrobes and bunny slippers.
Which explains why, about 10 hours later, we can proudly display this:
Oh yeah. "Stranger Things," Season Two, accomplished in its entirety, with only pizza and potty breaks.
It wasn't quite as enthralling as the first season, but I enjoyed it. Particularly all the brilliant 1980s details. (About an hour in, I commented that I need to rethink all of my high school wardrobe choices.) And I continue to appreciate the good acting they get out of the young cast.
A bit disappointed that there was so much Nancy in this thing. Honestly, I'm pretty sure we all liked Barb so much last season because we all WERE Barb -- nobody was Nancy. Well, I mean, I'm sure SOMEONE was Nancy; the popular girls who made bad choices probably grew up and got jobs and watch Netflix like everyone else. But, surely, "Stranger Things" wasn't made for them; it was made for the nerds, the outsiders, the people who didn't know what the hell they were supposed to do at the party. That's the Barbs and Dustins, not the Nancys. Nancy was in the first season largely as the older sister while we watched her little brother and his friends do most of the heavy-lifting. Season Two gave as much, or more, time to the teenagers. And I honestly don't think "Stranger Things" would have been the pop culture phenomenon it was if it had come off as just another teen horror movie (albeit one amusingly set in the 80s). It was special because it captured the kids-against-the-world-that-doesn't-believe-them ethos of movies like "Goonies," and there was none of that this season.
And FFS, when you put Sean Astin in this thing, and then send him off alone to save the day in a super-scary situation, give the man an asthma inhaler.
But, yeah, it was fun, and a good binge.
And I have the bunny slippers as a souvenir!
No comments:
Post a Comment