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Amy and I went to see Charley and the Chocolate Factory last night. It was, as one might expect from Tim Burton, an exceptionally weird and slightly disturbing movie...but fun. Johnny Depp is fantastic. Again, disturbing, but fantastic. If he channelled Keith Richards for his role in Pirates of the Caribbean, he's channelling Michael Jackson for Charley. Yikes. And, speaking of yikes, I'm beginning to think that this apartment has a poltergeist, or some sort of Amityville Horror thing going on. I mentioned the flies in yesterday's post. This morning, as I was having some very pleasant dreams (which I have, unfortunately, forgotten) my slumber was rudely interrupted by a loud crash and the tinkle of glass. As I reeled from sleep to alert wakefulness I assumed that Sybil had knocked something over...he did a number on a stack of bowls a while back and knocking things off of other things is something of a hobby for him. But no, he was perched among the balled-up covers, ears perked and wide-eyed from the noise. "It's too light out for burglars to be breaking in," I told Sybil, to reassure him. I stepped out into the kitchen and there it was, the globe from the light fixture smashed into a thousand pieces. Sybil ran to investigate, but I scooped him up and locked him in the bathroom - I don't need to be picking glass out of fur and bandaging paws. As I swept and vacuumed up the ten million microscopic shards of glass, I pondered why the light fixture would fall. Anyone who knows me, (even a little, Dmitri) knows that I am fussy to the point of compulsive when it come to fasteners. When I sew a loose button back onto a shirt there's no way it's coming off again...40 some passes with the needle insures that. When I nail something up, I always use more and larger nails than I need. When I glue I use half a bottle. And when I replace old light bulbs I snug the thumbscrews around the globe so secure that an earthquake couldn't shake it loose. So unless the upstairs neighbour has been practicing her Irish dancing just above the kitchen light, (Ach, Michael Flatly, Lord of the Dance!) the only explanation I can find is a poltergeist. That or fiendish Oompa-Loompas. |
