I'm embarrassed about potty backsliding -- which means I should go ahead and describe it. In my head, once potty skills were attained, they would be permanent. This would be like leaving the womb. You don't *go back* into the womb. The process is complete. But -- at least in my house -- potty skills are more like landing a "triple lutz" in figure skating. Sure, you've done it once at a practice -- but this doesn't mean you can do it consistently. This doesn't mean you're going to pull it off in competition. I have nothing to complain about. Other people live with terminal illness. "Potty relapse" is just a phase. Yesterday, in my house, we talked so much about poop and pee, these nouns became like characters in a drama. In the evening, we went to an ice cream shop, and my son began to narrate a story about a Talking Poop -- he used a loud voice that one might normally reserve for a Monster Truck Rally. Other patrons observed in horror. And ...
"Scream VII" has left viewers cold--the ending is particularly weak, and the ending is generally the thing that counts when you're forming an opinion. The "Scooby-Doo" revelation feels notably absurd; the paper-thin character development is forgettable. It's especially puzzling to see Sidney Prescott reconciling with Gale after Gale betrays her. Sidney seems to forget the betrayal--her lines unintentionally suggest that she may have suffered through an off-camera lobotomy. Or a crucial scene was lost in the editing process? The "Scream" movies are essentially Agatha Christie stories--but, at her best, Christie *did* care about her characters. Val McDermid makes this observation: In "The Murder at the Vicarage," here’s how we’re introduced to our heroine: “I … sat down between Miss Marple and Miss Wetherby. Miss Marple is a white-haired old lady with a gentle, appealing manner. Miss Wetherby is a mixture of vinegar and gush. Miss Marple ...