Last night, hubby and I watched "Gravity" at home. I know, I know, it's better in 3-D in a movie theater. The problem with that? You have to leave the house. You have sit with people you don't know and probably wouldn't like if you did know them. At home, I know everyone. If they talk, I can shush them. At home, I can pause the movie, go to the bathroom and when I come back, I haven't missed anything. At the movies, I can get up and go to the bathroom and when I come back, I've missed the whole point of the movie. Why do I have a copy of "Gravity," you ask? Because I am special. So, we watched "Gravity" and I was riveted, I tell ya. Riveted. Floating around space with George Clooney. Please. How bad could that be? You get the greatest view of the universe, plus a former Sexiest Man of Alive checking every few minutes to see if you're alive. But then, things go a little bit south for George and Sandy B. That's all I'll say, in case you haven't seen it. Sandy B. does a wonderful job projecting panic from outer space. I totally bought that she was 100 percent petrified. And yet, after watching "Gravity" at home, I realized I'd made the right career decision. Oh, sure, NASA tried to recruit me many times. They wouldn't leave me alone. They told me I had the right stuff. They said I'd make a bitchin' Girl Astronaut. It was very flattering. "Listen, guys, I'm honored, but I just don't see it. The thought of the space suit makes me claustrophobic. I don't think I'd do great up there with the planets. Better you should ask someone else a little more qualified. But thanks for stopping by." So, the SJG passed on the opportunity of a lifetime. I decided to reach for the stars from my safe perch, tethered to a computer.
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