Back in the saddle

I usually do SO the courtesy of waiting until he is out of the country before watching a horror flick, but having lost my nerve so badly earlier this month, and he needing to work in the kitchen all evening, I figured two stout walls between us would do the trick.

This time it was Ghost Ship. Salvage crew finding a luxury liner derelict these forty years, no apparent reason why, gradually being picked off one by one by . . .

And I was fine. Time to admire the inventiveness of the opening scenes (eeuw! very bluggy!), to enjoy the splendid art direction, to envy some of the stunts that Julianna Margulies got to do, to jump at doors inexplicably slamming shut, to gasp when, instead of seeing his own reflection in the mirror, he sees something else, to shudder at the . . . you get the idea.

I'm so happy I have my nerve back! Just look at the time, I'm the only one downstairs in the single pool of light cast by the monitor, and I don't even feel the need to, just in case, check over my shoulde . . .