Over the weekend, I saw the comedy movie, "Paul" on DVD. It stars those British actors, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost - you might know them from "Shaun Of The Dead," or "Hot Fuzz,"....got nothing? Well, if you're not into the wry-dry wit of the British humor, you can ignore this review, but seriously, it's piss-in-your-pants funny.
Paul is my kind of alien. Not like that other ball of clay who was big in the Eighties. Now, please don't kill me die-hard "E.T." fans, but E.T. is not cute. He's disturbingly ugly - like Joaquin Phoenix. If either of them landed on my property needing help getting home, I'd send them down the street in a shopping cart.
But Paul, I could hang with. He's down to earth (yes, pun intended). He smokes, he likes Reese's Pieces and he curses like an art department manager - that's my husband's job and believe me, his potty mouth would make a truck driver blush. Come to think of it, Paul is lot like my husband, except, of course for the obvious - my husband doesn't smoke.
I'm graciously giving this movie four out of five....beer bottles, since stars and thumbs are so cliche. Turkey day is coming up, and if your household is anything like mine - thoroughly gaseous by seven p.m. - put this in your Netflix queue for the digestion session (sans kids if you mind the curse words). I'd stick to movies free of foul language myself, but did I mention my husband is like Tourettes Guy.com?
My kids are concerned with their Daddy, apparently. I found out when my four-turned-five year old asked me how the Parent-Teacher conference went. He asked specifically if his teacher was "surprised to see Daddy."
Surprised to meet Tourettes Guy? "No," I said, "why would she be surprised?"
"Did she say anything about his bald head?"
I'm still trying to figure that one out.