“99 Homes” forces the viewer to confront
uncomfortable moral territory. A large part of me was very much rooting for
Dennis to get as much as he could out of his questionable relationship with Rick.
After all, Dennis was the hard-working victim of a rigged system, and I wanted
him be able to support his family and profit from the ruthless Rick. But I was
also appalled at how quickly and unquestioningly he took on the role of
victimizer in his determination to be the heroic breadwinner he wanted to be
for his family. As Rick’s demands on Dennis became more and more extreme and
legally risky, I wanted Dennis to rise up somehow and outsmart him at his own
game. But true to his character, Rick, although loyal, is hardly a criminal mastermind,
and in the end, his altruism is both his savoir and his downfall. If you have
some emotional strength to spare, I’d recommend watching this film. It’s a fine
commentary on the American obsession with home ownership and the illusion of security.
In cat news, Buddy, who has been plotting a
breakout for months, finally got his wish last week. He sailed over the railing
off the deck and ran off to parts unknown, where he hid out for a full day and
night before finally returning, bedraggled, dirty and scared. He scrambled up
the tree and back onto the deck, snarfed down an entire can of food, then sped
off to the bedroom and hid under the bed for twelve hours straight. Good. I hope that blasted cat now realizes that the grass is not greener on the other side of the deck, and
having to hunt for your dinner sucks. Buddy is now perma-banned from the deck,
but Mr. Typist took pity on his wanderlust soul and got him a harness and a
leash. He and Buddy now go on regular “outings” to various parks, where Buddy
can safely indulge his zeal for the outdoors without the danger of being a
free-roaming cat in an overcrowded, traffic-heavy city.
Yesterday, I went clothes shopping, and to my
utter shock, it wasn’t terrible. I actually found an abundance of sensible work
clothes in more or less in my size, at reasonable prices and in a variety of
colors and styles. My work wardrobe had become embarrassingly shabby and faded,
and picking out my clothes out for work was an exercise in depression. It was
high time for a purge-and-replace, but I dread shopping the way most people
dread going to the dentist, especially with the debacles I’ve had recently trying
to find anything that isn’t a drippy blouse or a maxi dress. But Big Major
Department Store actually had some nice, non-drippy tops and even more
surprisingly, a few pairs of pants that actually fit me. It’s by no means designer
stuff or even high-quality, but I’ve been so beaten down by the retail system
that I’m grateful just to have something I can put on my back, even if it’s a cheaply
made shirt sewn by slave labor. And shopping is over for another year or two,
when the crappy fabrics will no doubt unravel and fade, and I’ll have to do the
whole thing all over again. But for one, whole glorious year I will have New
Stuff to wear to work, and that’s all a lady can ask for.
--Kristen
McHenry
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