Gatsby

Spent most of the morning continuing The Constant Cleanup of the garage, feeling like Louisiana after Katrina.  Uncovered huge quantities of drapery hardware and screws, and organized them into boxes.  One large one of metal odds and ends I left on the curb, hoping someone would pick it up.  Then I thought it might rain, so Bob O. carried it back in for me.
Picked up Leslie at 1:00 (Susan remembered she had a meeting and was unable to go) and we went to the library for The Great Gatsby.  The visual effects are stunning, and the costumes and set dressing perfectly evocative of the time, but the movie itself is a bore.
I never liked the book; in fact, I confess I never liked Fitzgerald's writing in general.  I find them pedestrian and generally sterile.  Maybe "self conscious" is the best way to describe them: I could see the guy pondering a twist of the plot and searching for just the right word and that's no way to engage a reader.
Leslie and the library clerk, Ellen, had a different reaction.  They swooned over the story and L. confessed that tears came to her eyes when Daisy walked away from  Jay.  Jeez, I'm an emotional pushover for a soppy story myself, but this didn't do it for me.
On the way home, I remarked to Leslie (I've read a lot about Scott's life and Zelda's) that he died on my birthday, December 21.  Little known facts about well-known people...