After work I went to see a pre-screening of Super 8. I think the J.J. Abrams-directed, Spielberg-produced film comes out on Friday. I’ve been interested in Abrams since Star Trek, and I wasn’t disappointed in his latest. Super 8 follows a group of young teenagers as their town experiences an alien attack. Casting for the kids was pitch perfect and I kept clapping my hands together about how charmingly it was narrated. In a few scenes the emotion would have been better understated, but overall, Super 8 was a pretty, fast-paced film that didn’t take itself too seriously.
On the train to and from work and after-work movie, I’ve been reading. I’m in the middle of Salinger’s Nine Stories. Coupled with Super 8, my head has been full of other people’s narratives: Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948, Boo Boo at the dock, The Laughing Man, the end of the Comanche Club, Eloise mourning Walt, and Seymour with the pistol at his temple. I have three stories left, and I’ll read them before bed. I like Nine Stories better than Seymour; Raise High the Roofbeams, Carpenter; and The Catcher in the Rye. I can’t say whether I like it better than Franny and Zooey because I don’t remember the plot beyond her beating heartbeat. I haven’t read F&Z since Ryan Labonte told me it was his favorite book in 2005. Maybe I’ll read it next. I was thinking about reading Sons and Lovers.
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