Saturday, January 19, 2008

The Red, The Rambouillet and . . .

Setting the Scene: Dinner has been thrown together, spaghetti and French fries. A hosted sleepover is in full swing upstairs, much squealing amidst the quavering tones of Hannah Montana. A sponsored sleepover is safely delivered to another doorstep in town. This keeps the youth count on an even keel in the environment ~ take one child, hand one out. An overage of youths in a contained space does something disturbing to the negative ions.

With the big basket full of sweetly scoured Rambouillet, an empty basket for rolags and a glass of some decent Kendall Jackson Pinot Noir 2005 (I don't remember if it was a good year), enters Dawn (that's me), who sits in a favorite wicker acquired-for-free chair . . .

At the first glass and the first two rolags, Lt. Ellen Ripley's ship has hit the dirt on the maximum-security prison planet Fury-161. Things aren't looking too good ~ for Ripley, I mean ~ the wool is carding nicely, however. Ripley is the only survivor, more than a bit shaken and quite concerned about 'contagion,' yet evasive with the prison's medic, Clemens, as to what exactly they're looking for. In the Dartboard Realm of Contagions, cholera is chosen. (Would there be love at that time? Right. Another story entirely.)

By the second glass and maybe 15 rolags later, Ripley and the warden, Andrews, are discussing what to do with the Beast, who has already done a number on the few inmates that are left. Andrews would like to hang it out until the rescue team from the Company gets there. Just tea and crumpets in the basement and avoid getting eaten whenever possible. Upon inquiry of Fury-161's arsenal cache, Ripley finds . . . well . . . there isn't any. Yes, it's a maximum-security prison, but they live by the honor system. Ripley's response, in two unsavory words, indicates that they are indeed in a pickle. In other words, plan on being lunch.

With the basket half full, I've now switched over to hot chocolate. The rolags were coming out wavy. 85 and Ripley are taking scans of her body. It is at this point, 85, who is not the brightest individual (says so in his file under IQ), tells Ripley that she's "got one" in her. Well, it isn't exactly the best news, is it? It's not like finding out one is pregnant ~ joy and jubilation, break out the champagne. Although, it might be a fun way for an Ob/Gyn to break the happy news to a couple. "Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, all tests confirm that she's got 'one' in her. Good luck with that." With this new-found information, Ripley works on Plan B. Not that anyone had much of a Plan A, to begin with.

The rolag basket is now overflowing with rolags too numerous to recall the count, and our feature film is winding down. Ripley, approaches the religiously-reformed murderer Dillon with a fine opportunity: A quick offing, no strings attached and clearly nothing to lose as he's already on a prison planet. He declines to acquiesce, but feels she could be put to better use as bait for the alien that's running loose 'round the pen. After much scurrying about, the loss of a few more inmates, and a spectacular liquid lead and water effect, the troublesome little rascal bursts into numerous pieces. One down, one to go. The Company's rescue team finally makes it to the scene. The real Bishop is keenly interested in keeping Ripley alive and is talking a good game about surgical removal, but would really like to keep the invasive little critter as a pet. She carries the Queen ~ it is a remarkable beast with a great many uses, say . . . for bio-warfare. Ripley stands firm and with a graceful free-fall into molten lead, her chest bursts forth. The Queen, rapidly assessing the situation, is eager to reach safety and get on with nesting, but the plummeting Ripley holds her in place until they are completely engulfed in the liquid metal.

Brings a tear to the eye.

No comments: