127 Hours = Plan B

A week or so ago, I had plans with my friend Kate to see "Black Swan," but I had to back out due to illness. At the time, the issue was that I was coughing so frequently, I knew I'd be a terrible movie companion. It turned out I had bronchitis.

We rescheduled for the 7 o'clock show tonight, and we eagerly anticipated the creepiness, but there were nebulous technical difficulties, and they were unable to show the film. (Oddly, this was Kate's third attempt to see this movie; maybe it just wasn't meant to be.) Faced with the prospect of either a refund or a voucher, we decided to see another Oscar-nominated depression-fest, "127 Hours," starring Yale's very own James Franco.

It was basically what I expected, but a little more interesting. I think Franco's Best Actor nomination is unsurprising; he has to carry a great deal of the dramatic weight, in scenes with no one to talk to. (Incidentally, Franco is pursuing a PhD in English here and, no, I haven't seen him.) I think it's a little bizarre that he's nominated for Best Actor *and* hosting the Oscars, but then again it seems clear that the show is trying to pull in more/younger viewers.

Anyway, the movie reminded me of that story last year of someone who (nearly) shared my name, age, state of residence and marital status, who had to cut off his arm after it got trapped in a furnace. These stories are something. I'm not sure I'd bother to go to such lengths to escape, but then again maybe some sort of crazy animal instinct would kick in. Who knows. I hope I never do.

Meanwhile, it was a very long day -- a typical Monday -- and I look forward to a very fun Tuesday, with an assortment of enjoyable and entertaining adventures, i.e. no class.