My parents were married fifty-four years ago today. Because they both died relatively young (I say "relatively" because I used to believe that 40 was ancient) - 51 for my mother and 64 for my father - we never had a chance to plan a big 50th anniversary celebration for them. I remember my mother's parents' 50th quite clearly - June, 1974 - I had just finished my junior year in high school and did not attend the party my aunt held. Don't recall if it was illness or a teenage snit that kept me away. I'd lay odds on the snit factor.

Movies: The Office Special. Last Christmas vacation I spent hours watching the BBC's series The Office. This year I ordered the follow-up special. Made a cup of tea (Irish Breakfast), lit the candles (dark and rainy outside), sent out psychic messages so that the phone wouldn't ring and disturb me, settled under a blanket, warned the animals not to make any trouble, and hit the play button on the DVD remote (after putting on my glasses because I can't even locate the remote without them on). Sadly, Netflix failed me. They sent me the wrong DVD (the second season of the Office instead of the special), although they do have a handy section of their website set up to note just such a problem.

Instead, I watched Panic. From the description (which, I'll admit, I read in a rather cursory way focusing on words like "middle age" and "kill people") I thought this was a comedy based on a book I read about an assassin who has a middle age crisis about his job. Rather, it was a very dark, twisty look at an assassin who has a middle age crisis about his job. This version involves an ill-advised affair, an almost-unrecognizable John Ritter as a shrink, and Donald Sutherland as the ultimate father dragging his son into the family business.

Books: Hard, Hard City by Jim Fusilli. If Robert Parker was more verbose and Spenser was more damaged, this might be the result.