wishbone clover

Now Voyager, Rescue Porn For The Pudgy

I thought he was a tool in Casablanca, but Paul Henreid, and his cigarettes, are irresistible in Now Voyager.

There is a possibility that I suffer from former-smokeritis, and the attraction is nostalgia for the halcyon days of indoor smoking. I prefer to believe it has more to do with his safely exotic accent and wavy hair.

Now, Voyager turns up every time I'm home alone or channel surfing after Chief crashes for the night. Each time I am enthralled as he towers over Bette Davis and her crisp diction.

This is the fantasy of every pudgy girl with glasses. Escape from the daily pain of existence in the form of a "nervous illness" which requires a trip to the country, away from your troublesome family. Ah, the lure of a sanatorium rest-cure.

I Figured Out Why Matt Gonzalez Is Running For VP With Ralph Nader

Ralph Nader is a Sith Lord and lured Matt to his certain self-destruction with the tempting power of the dark side of The Green. This is exactly as the brilliant George Lucas prophesied in Star Wars III, Revenge of the Sith.

Oh, you want more evidence?

Wait, Diablo Cody Was A *Stripper*

A stripper, people. As in dancing on a stage, around a pole, in white patent leather or clear plastic, five-inch platforms.

Stuart Weitzman drama aside, you're telling me she couldn't rummage through her closet and pull out something with a little height that matched her leopard skin negligee? They're called STRIPPER HEELS, for Pete's sake.

Diablo, if ever there was a night to show off your "runway" walking skills (and not look stumpy) this was it.

Daniel Day-Lewis=Johnny Depp, Only Not Fun

Good GOD! Does this man have even ONE pore without a black hair coming out of it? There is body hair all over his face!

Whew, glad I got that off my chest. Now I can move on to deep thoughts about Daniel Day-Lewis.

Like, is he the best actor ever? Or is he just so full of craft that you want to bop him one on the head and yell, "Lighten up!"

I'm torn.

The Two Hour Cooling Period

Usually Chief and I live a big love story. But once in a while he does something that makes me want to drown him. He grew up in The City. He's not so good with water. It would be easy to make it look like an accident.*

This weekend I had damn good reason to be irritated, to the point that I could not speak to him. Just poisonous glares and slammed doors. It was time to go to the movies by myself.

I will see anything except the films of Angelina Jolie (liar) and/or Brad Pitt (pussy), and I'll even watch them if they provide heavily mitigating costars, like Orlando Bloom or Johnny Depp. All it takes is a box of Junior Mints and some previews for me to settle in for happy times.

Two hours later, with minty joy coating my teeth, I can usually return home and accept Chief's apologies with something approaching good grace.

Okay, with bad grace. I'm still me. But I am improved slightly by the cooling period.

* Of course I don't really want to do this. It's expressive hyperbole (word of the day, January 9, 2001.) But it would be easy to make it look like an accident.