Shaken and Stirred
bond, gwenda bond

finally, a pleasant day
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I had a bunch of links and things, and maybe I'll toss some of them up here tomorrow, but last night ended up giving itself over to happy hour and impromptu having people over (of the sort where you assure everyone your house really isn't usually this messy) that we didn't really know but Joe did and today I don't feel like it. So, neh.

Slept way in this morning, like sin and perfect toast it was. Got up with slight headache from stupid happy hour wine. Took ibuprofen, had a long bath with sweet pea smelly bubble stuff and read comic books (catching up on Lucifer, I believe). Christopher came home and we had lunch and I was flipping around and IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT was on TCM. (In fact, TCM had a kick-ass day of programming today -- REBECCA, YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU, need I say more?)

If you've never seen this movie, what's wrong with you? It's practically perfect. Colbert can act more convincingly with one expression than 99 percent of the actresses working today. And you know, before I saw IHON I never got Clark Gable, ladies man. He always seemed a little... oily to me in GONE WITH THE WIND, and I just didn't see it. Seeing him in this is a revelation; it's like the first time you see Don Ameche in MIDNIGHT. Anyway, almost any day can be improved by an impromptu viewing of IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT, and today was no exception.

After the movie we went out to run errands, mostly prepping for Oscar. Now that Christopher's back on his weekly comic book schedule we swung by the comic shop and picked up this week's -- a new Midnight, Mass. for me: yay! (I really do recommend this; I hope they do make a movie of it, though I feel it would lend itself to a TV series more readily -- it's Nick and Nora Charles celebrity monster hunters, in short, with great snappy dialogue and really fine writing.)

Then on to the fresh pasta shop, where we ordered up a take and bake gourmet Hawaiian pizza for the Oscars tomorrow night. Love this shop -- we left to run around the corner to the liquor store while they were making it and when we came back the girl trotted out with it before we could finish parking the car. We got two nice French wines, one red and one white, to go with. Oh, I ran in the grocery store and got tulips, slightly orange, and George got decadent frozen dog treats that they keep in a little mini-fridge in the dog food aisle. (Christopher's response to the dog treats was: "This is what 21st century rampant consumerism looks like." The hilarious thing is that they are essentially little cups of ice cream substance, just like the ones you get when you're a kid with the wooden spoon. Do you remember the wood taste? I do.)

Then home again, home again, read comic book and watch the first half of the Independent Spirit Awards, which are actually more enjoyable than the Oscars in a lot of ways -- well, in the real way, in that most of the people there look like people and seem like people and most of the movies you at least have some passing interest in or affection for. The clothes are much better, in general. And it only lasts two hours. Thoughts on this:

-- Juliette Lewis is fucking insane. She came out to introduce one of the best picture nominees, which one I've blanked out -- oh, wait, it was RAISING VICTOR VARGAS -- and at the Independent Spirit Awards the schtick is that the nominees get a song sung to a popular tune. We knew it was going to hurt because she thinks she can sing, even though the rest of us learned the hard way from STRANGE DAYS that she can't. Not to mention she's a scientologist and besides that movie where she and Uma played scary eighties girls her last flick was the one about young mentally handicapped people in love. She was embarrassingly bad.

-- Sofia Coppola; white pantsuit that made her look like a stick figure. She seemed supremely uncomfortable accepting the trillion awards she got.

-- Bill Murray won best actor and gave an extremely funny and surprisingly heartfelt speech. I was glad he won but sad that Peter Dinklage didn't. When the producer of THE STATION AGENT won Best Producer one of the cameras did a crowd spray and he was snapping a shot of her with his digital camera, which seemed so nice.

-- Darryl Hannah can't read. Mispronounces several names during introductions for the Cassavetes Award.

-- Those litle girls from IN AMERICA are the cutest little girls ever. Seriously.

Those were pretty much the highlights.

Of course, we skipped a half hour in the middle to run out to our favorite bodega and pick up dinner -- yummy chicken gorditas with excellent hot sauce and Chiles Rellenos to die for. Also, Mexican pastries. Yum. But made it back for the anti-climactic best picture win of LOST IN TRANSLATION (glad it won, but poor Sofia is SO uncomfortable up there).

Watched THIRTEEN, which I thought was a very strong movie. Holly Hunter is great. Why do teenage girls who go wrong think heavy black eyeliner makes them look older? It seems to be a universal mistake.

And that's pretty much it. But, it was a good day. It didn't ask anything of me, which was exactly what was needed after the week from hell. Night.

earworm: "Walkin' After Midnight," Patsy Cline


namecheck: Kelly "We Will Call You Tomorrow" Link

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