"The Rig", and Calling-Out Absurdities

The other day I was answering a text. The text I had received was reminding me that I had the next day off--it was Rosh Hashanah--and while thumb-typing on my phone, it started spazzing. It was ringing, and I turned it to see who was calling: Tony.

Tony, one of my closest and oldest friends, calling late (for him in Louisiana)...in those times I happily answer the call and talk for maybe ninety minutes, whereas I hand the phone over to Corrie, and they talk for another ninety or so.

Tony, currently working off-shore, spends bulks of time on a boat and in the water (hopefully for him), housed around time on-shore. He was regaling me with the day-to-day operations with his company and their current frustrations and I was regaling him with inner workings of the LA Metro and bike commuting in the 'hood.

I handed off the phone to Corrie once my ear felt sufficiently chewed up by my pocket super-computer and spent a while perusing Netflix. I came across a horror movie called The Rig, a 2011 offering about an off-shore rig in the Gulf letting loose an unspeakable evil, and a storm coming through to conveniently trap the characters with that evil. I told Tony and Corrie that I would take one for the team and try out the feature and see how long I could last watching it. Likely, I was guessing, I would have to turn it off rather quick, as so many of those Netflix "gems" are atrocious.

I was pleasantly surprised with The Rig. While it wasn't great, and even 'good' would be a stretch, it was certainly serviceable. I made it through the entire thing, besides doing some dishes in the middle and getting Tux's food going. Like any good monster movie, it get's infinitely less interesting when we audience members get to see the monster, though here at least the reveal came slowly and drawn out over multiple scenes. And, true to form, the girl who showed her boobs to the camera was killed violently.

After I got the phone back and started my evening's farewell to Tony, we chatted about the next day. He had to work at the shop, a boring and thankless way to spend the day, but at least it was work, since the times are slow at the moment. He then wished me well for the next day's work, and I mentioned that I had the day off for Rosh Hashanah.

"I didn't you were Jewish!" he joked, knowing me fairly well. The he asked, mostly earnestly, "Could I call-out Jewish tomorrow? Is that a thing I could do?"

We shared a laugh on that for a time and then proceeded to our separate sleep-zones.