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I still wasn't feeling well yesterday morning so I called in sick and went to a doctor to make sure I didn't have Strep throat or something comparable. He said I only have a viral inflection so I went home, drank lots of fluids and went to bed. I'm feeling much better today. I do have a slight headache.
One effect of my doctor's visit is that I now know how much I weigh. Apparently, I've packed on 20+ pounds since graduating from college. Since this has happened gradually over a span of three years, I hadn't really noticed. Unfortunately, I haven't grown any height to balance out the extra poundage. As of the writing of the entry, my plan is to "do something about that."
Yesterday, Nana and I watched the third episode of Castle, and she really enjoyed it. Unfortunately, it comes on rather late due to Dancing with the Stars. (Apparently, this season's contestants are spectacularly lackluster. I don't watch because it's a reality show and also because I refuse to believe that Steve-O is a "star.") Today, there was nothing on so Nana and I watched a first season episode of The West Wing which is one of my favorite shows.
Weekend Splurges and Television Watchage
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 3:33 PM Labels: film, friends, televisionI'm not feeling well today. I woke up with a slight sore throat and a mild earache; other symptoms of a building cold have manifested themselves. Throughout the day, I've had cold and hot spells, nausea, dizziness, and a small headache. I'm hoping that a hot shower and a light, healthy dinner will be enough to counter it. I may call in sick tomorrow if I don't feel better.
I spent the weekend with Jason and Stephanie. Friday evening, we spent driving to various Blockbuster stores to take advantage of the 1.99-3.99 sale they were having. They were clearing out a lot of there foreign film inventory so we all got some good deals on interesting stuff. I bought my first Kino film: Alila which is an Israeli film described as "Altmanesque" on the back. How could I resist?
Stephanie and I watched The Curse of the Golden Flower and The Seagull's Laughter. The latter is an Icelandic film that Stephanie bought at one of the Blockbusters. We observed Jason's cat, Bullet. We played Blokus and MarioKart. I cooked a cottage pie Saturday. Stephanie spent a long time attempting to open a bottle of wine without a corkscrew and may have sustained ligament damage. We had a generally good time. I bought far too many movies. However, the purchases weren't simply a way to cope with depression or not deal with things so my movie mania has become less a crutch.
The reason I say I bought too many is primarily because I have so many that I haven't watched. I would say how many, but frankly, it's a little embarrassing. Stores keep having sales, and people keep making interesting looking film. My best recent purchase was Warner Bros. Classic Comedies Collection which assembles six great comedies from the 30s and 40s. So far I've only watched Bringing Up Baby which was fantastic.
Yesterday evening, I watched one of the films I'd purchased after returning home. It was The Spiderwick Chronicles and probably the most mainstream thing I purchased. Though it definitely stripped away a lot of the darker material from the book, it still maintained a surprising darkness. Freddie Highmore played twins which isn't something that I've seen done recently. The most recent film I can think of is the Parent Trap remake. The film also starred Mary-Louise Parker and Joan Plowright, two actresses that I admire. (One of the most amazing performances I've seen is Joan as a gentile guardian in Tea with Mussolini; she manages not to be buried by the much more flamboyant performances of Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, and Cher.) I was happy to find out that Holly Black, author of The Spiderwick Chronicles, is writing a second string of children's novellas.
I also watched the second episode of Castle and the pilot of Better Off Ted which was really funny in a droll way and probably won't make it. (Of course, I say this while acknowledging that I know nothing about television programming. I liked Kitchen Confidential for heaven's sake.) Castle is really engaging despite the cop show setup. I don't really like cop shows, but this one feels like an updating of Murder, She Wrote with it's quirky premise. Nana and I are watching the third episode this evening after I bring her up to speed. I can't imagine her not liking it so I hope it will distract from the absence of season two of Ugly Betty.
This is a meme I found floating about the classic movie blogs that I read. I can't resist a questionnaire, especially one about film!
Who was the actor/actress that you were first interested in?
The first actresses I was interested in were primarily television personalities. I really liked Lucille Ball and Mary Tyler Moore who's shows I watched on Nick-at-Nite. My love of Ball was deeper, and I sought out several of her films and lesser know shows. Hell, I've even seen the half hour commercials she and Desi did for Westinghouse Appliances. That's venturing into morbid curiosity.
How old were you when you really began watching old films?
Nineteen. I was a sophomore in college and decided one day that I would start watching movies. I went to Blockbuster and rented Magnolia (1999) and My House in Umbria (2003). Soon after I shifted from recent indie flicks to older films. Before this, I had watched a few standards (Casablanca, Gone with the Wind), a few classic musicals (The King and I, My Fair Lady), and one silent film (The Phantom of the Opera).
Who is currently your favorite actor?
Paul Newman. I don't believe I'd seen a Paul Newman film before last year. Late last summer, Nana bought the Warner Bros.'s collection of his films plus a handful of others, and we worked our way through quite a few in a short amount of time. He's strikingly handsome, commanding, and he can really act.
Who is currently your favorite actress?
Lana Turner. Recently, I watched two of her later melodramas and fell back in love with her. She looks like Golden Hollywood. The first thing I remember seeing her in was Douglas Sirk's Imitation of Life (1959) which is definitely the apex of melodrama. I'm a big fan of the genre, and she can gasp, sob, and spiral into rage and/or despondency better than any other actress. Well, Susan Lucci could probably hold her own in a "stare forlornly with a twinge of disparity" contest.
What is your favorite old film and why?
Casablanca. I know it's a bit predictable to profess love for this classic, but I have to be truthful. It has all the elements that I love about movies. There's romance, action, mystery, and intrigue - all set in noir shadows. There's even a great song and loads of fun trivia. Despite my love, I cannot bring myself to purchase the newest super-deluxe edition which is as big as many of my box sets.
How many old films do you own?
I suppose it depends on the cutoff. Personally, I'd cut off at 1969 which would put me somewhere around two hundred.
If you could go back in time and visit any actor/actress, who would it be?
I would have drinks with either Humphrey Bogart of Bette Davis. I'm think they would both have great stories to tell.
Who is one actor/actress that you want to know more about?
Recently, I've watched my first Charlie Chaplin film. The few snippets of information I've heard about him are fascinating. I would like to know more about him even though I'm sure that he's not the best person who ever lived.
What film could you watch over and over again?
All About Eve (1950) is definitely a film I could watch again and again. In fact I have. Everything about the film is superbly nuanced. Every time I watch it, I notice something I hadn't before.
What is your favorite Hitchcock film?
Rear Window (1954) is my favorite Hitchcock film, and to my knowledge I've seen all of his "important" works so there's little chance that it will change. While I also love Vertigo, Shadow of a Doubt and Strangers on a Train, Rear Window is my absolute favorite. I think it's the overall tone of the film that I love. It's so claustrophobic and discomforting. The ending conflict always freaks me out.
Who is your favorite director?
Woody Allen. I love his early films; I love his acclaimed films; I love his modern films. I've seen a majority of his films, and I've only disliked one (Melinda and Melinda). In addition to writing witty dialogue and concocting situations that meld intellect with zaniness, he really knows who to direct. His films always set the stage, and the camera is never misplaced. He's also a great comedic writer. One of my favorite of his writings is a short story about a man who carries on an affair with Madame Bovary through a magician's magical box.
Yesterday, I took the Graduate Record Examination. I'm not fond of standardized tests (I don't think I've met anyone who is particularly fond of them.) and was dreading it. Though the study guides and testimonials of people who have and haven't taken the test assured me it was easy, my nervousness wasn't assuaged. During the actual test, I wasn't nervous at all; I was resigned.
It was an interesting experience. Nervous, I arrived forty minutes early. You have to write a confidentiality agreement before you take the test. My dyslexia flared up, and I paniced because I kept misreading words and my tendency to misread had been the main reason I missed question on the practice sets that I'd taken. However, I got my nerves under control and didn't have a problem during that test.
The test took place in a backroom with no lights or view of outside. Since I forewent my breaks, I had no idea what time it was since I hadn't glanced at the clock as I went in. I signed out at 3:18p so it took about three hours to take the test. You cannot take anything into the testing area so my phone, wallet, keys, book, and pencils were put into a locker. I had only a locker key and my drivers license (I suppose this is so if the building where bombed, they could identify my body, but I don't want to believe that anyone's last moments were ever spent taking the GRE). I was also warned that if I wanted to remove my hoodie, I would be required to leave the testing area.
So it's over and done, and I got good scores considering the amount of time I actually spent studying for the thing. Initially, I was upset with my nonspectacular scores, but I'm content with them now. When I was in grade school and high school, comparable tests held a lot of importance to me. Though the results of many of the tests didn't have any bearing in the real world, it was imperative to me that I excelled.
In celebration, I went over to my Aunt Mary's house to watch Australia. John Paul and I went through a bottle of Merlot, and I was able to spend time with my infant first cousin once removed. She was born last November 4th so the political event on her birthday totally trumps that of my own. (Walter Mondale named Geraldine Ferraro as his running mate on my birthday.) She's learned to roll and is experimenting with crawling. From her reaction to the film, we surmised that she either likes animal noises or Hugh Jackman.
Aunt Mary and I really enjoyed the film. I'm not sure that John Paul liked it as much as we did. It's a very postmodern take on epic cinema that I really enjoyed. It's a sprawling, romantic epic, and I'm a sucker for things like that. Just as I did with Doctor Zhivago, A Passage to India, and several other epics, I was swept up into the story and cried. I know that the reviews weren't the greatest so I'm not looking up anything. I'm just going to be happy that I saw it and assume that the naysayers are wrong.
Right before I wrote this, I watched John Ford's The Searchers, and I've been listening to Johnny Cash's At Folsom Prison while I've been writing. Thus, I would like to observe that John Wayne and Johnny Cash share a certain vocal quality. I'd never realized.
I Do Say, That Bomb Nearly Killed Me!
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 6:44 PM Labels: James Bond, literatureLate last year when I was making my reading list, I decided to include an action/adventure section as a catchall for books in which stuff blows up and/or people leave their houses and get into situations that involve travel by boat and/or lots of rope. One of the books I chose for this section was Ian Fleming's first Bond book, Casino Royale. Shari gave me an extra copy she had on Oscar weekend, and I read it last weekend.
It's almost incomprehensible to me that not long ago I'd never seen an entire Bond film. Now, I've seen roughly half of them and parts of most of the others. While reading reviews of the films, I noticed the tendency of reviewers to flaunt the fact that they had read the books and understood the "tone" or "spirit." This understanding is then used to either condemn or congratulate the film's ability to capture the same tone and/or spirit.
After encountering such claims time and time again, I realized that if all of these people were correct, a single book in the series would be thousands of pages and cover most literary genres as well as making up a few to mix things up. This is why I decided to read the first book this year, and I'm extremely glad that I did.
Honestly, I'm not sure what the spirit or the tone of the book is. It was rather British, but I doubt that's a "spirit" though I guess you could debate its application to tonality. It's a very pulpy, straightforward book. Stuff happens; Bond reacts; more stuff happens; Bond reacts some more. However, a large portion of the end of the book is given over to reflection with Bond calmly deciding perhaps he should give up the life of a spy. He's terribly British about the whole thing. He never broods or shouts his misgivings at M (who is also terribly British about the whole thing).
Reading the book was like reading a script complete with staging directions. Every new location is set in intimate detail for the ensuing scene. Fleming makes sure that we properly picture the casino, Bond's hotel room, the cafe where he meets Mathis and Vesper. This is important so we can fully understand the action as it unfolds. We know every important move made by every important character. We can visualize the actions clearly and concisely.
Literary Bond was very different from any cinematic Bond I've seen. (To be fair, I haven't seen Timothy Dalton as Bond, but I have seen The Year of the Comet so I'm fairly certain he's not literary Bond.) He never reaches the angst-laden pitch of Daniel Craig's Bond and doesn't exude the charm of Sean Connery's Bond. He's not flippant or urbane like Roger Moore or sexily confident and physical like Pierce Brosnan. Above all, literary Bond is a man obsessed with details. He knows everything from the best place to hide an important document to what wine to have with dinner. He is charming and sexy but in a controlled, calculated way.
All in all, I enjoyed the book but not enough to immediately pick up the next book in the series. If I get read all the things that I want to before year's end, I may read another.
A Guide to Knowing Your Killers of Presidents
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 7:28 AM Labels: musical, musingsSaturday evening, Jenna and I went to see Assassins at the university where I work. We had wonderful seats (front and center) which was nice since no one was miked and (added bonus) the actors were far enough away that we didn't get spit on.
I was extremely excited since learning of the production at the beginning of the school year. Assassins is not my favorite musical, but it is one that I was obsessed with for quite some time. (I usually develop obsessions for Sondheim musicals after coming in contact with them.) It's a darkly comedic musical dealing with uncomfortable subjects.
It's set in a moldering carnival. The Proprietor, a brash devil's advocate invites "special" individuals to take potshots at Presidents. The carnival attendees are a diverse group of misanthropes hovering on the psychotic end of the spectrum. They include three of the four individuals who successfully assassinated Presidents and four others who failed despite convoluted plans, unstable personalities, and unnecessary theatrics. While their alternate life choices are encouraged and condoned by the Proprietor, they are constantly badgered by the perpetually jaunty Balladeer (complete in brown leather jacket and cuffed jeans) who points out the foolishness of their endeavors and the virtue of good ol' American commonsense through folksy ballads.
The production was wonderful especially the staging for the Ballad of Czolgosz. The ballad is the second expository song that takes us through the events of the actual assassination (the first is the Ballad of John Wilkes Booth). Leon Czolgosz goes to the Pan-American Exposition in Buffalo, NY and stands in line to shake President McKinley's hand. As the Balladeer explains, the American public remarks on the health and personality of the President. Then the Balladeer and chorus proclaim that in American you can always "make it to the head of the line" if you work hard and follow your dreams. The public whirl through the line, bowing and shaking hands with a nonexistent McKinley (the staging had him standing right in front of me and Jenna) until only a little boy with a Coca-Cola is left. In the frenzy, Czolgosz pushes the kid aside and shots McKinley.
I've always liked McKinley though he's a vertible posterboy for the GOP. He promised domestic prosperity and a strong foothold in foreign trade. He conducted a "front porch campaign." He oversaw several small wars we don't remember. He's on the $500 bill, and he was killed in the Temple of Music. I mean you have to like someone who was killed in the Temple of Music. Now there's a plague memorializing the exact place McKinley was standing when he was shot; I've read that it's in the median of a highway.
So anyway, the musical works within a bloating of the American Dream and the rhetoric of historical documents and schoolroom posters. While our country rhetorically champion's the individual . But obviously, we don't want people to work hard or follow their dreams if their ultimate aim is to cause death and sadness. So there are these two disparagent ideas in these people's lives. There's the grand promise of America and all it's promise and rewards, and then there's the actuality of life as an outsider.
Like I said, it's a dark musical. So while I liked it immensely, it did worsen my headache. I have gun anxiety and even having prop guns pointed at me is a little nerveraking. Also, I'm uncomfortable thinking about psychopaths and sociopaths, and I think to some degree our society is all too willing to ignore or denounce individuals who's dream may be to kill the President. (I know this is a broad statement so please forgive me.)
The musical also hints that it's a delicate balance to really be remembered as an assassin. The stars have to align. Only two out of the four spring to mind. So if you have Presidenticidal tendencies, remember these points:
- Have an easily pronounceable yet unusual name. It has to be vaguely American. It seems that you can't go wrong with a triple name so be sure to include an aesthetic middle name that works well between your first name and surname.
- Pick a President popular enough to be martyred yet not unique enough to overpower your name with his distinctions.
- Don't become involved in a political, terrorist, or extremist group beforehand. They will be remembered as the assassin, and you will be regulated to a footnote.
Eatin' Pho and Writin' Poetry at the Marble Collegiate Church
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 10:50 PM Labels: culinary, personal, poetry, unpopular cultureStephanie and I have decided to have a negativity fast. Thus, I have stopped perusing imdb message boards and only visit the site for trivia, news, and basic information. I avoid rottentomatoes.com entirely. I've curbed my reading of cinematical.com (at least the many bitchfests they have). This new decision is just another way I've decided to avoid spirally into meloncholy like I frequently did last year. It started with my obtainable resolutions and less stringent reading list. (Last year's looked like the reading lists of several college courses smushed together.)
Interestingly enough, our fast coincided with that of the Forths from the syndicated comic strip Sally Forth. The current storyline revolves around the family being snowed in and Sally deciding that 2009 will be a positive year. Today's strip referenced Eeyore and Norman Vincent Peale, and the punchline pointed out that no one will get the references. I got both references positively and without looking anything up so I was pleased at my cultural literacy. Thus, the whole experience of reading the daily comic strips proved positive. Mission accomplished! (Now, where the hell has that banner gotten to.)
This week I ate tripe and tendon for the first time. Both were in a noodle soup that I ordered at a local Korean restaurant. Tripe is one of the jokes of the Food Network and usually works it's way into every competition show. Naturally, I was curious and ordered the soup. It was interesting, chewy with a rough texture. It had taken on the flavors of the broth, garlic, and herbs of the soup. The tendon was a bit more disturbing with an almost gelatinous quality. I get real pleasure out of exploring or sampling something new. Every time something new is introduced to me, my frame of reference widens and I feel more like I'm a part of the world. (I think this is part of being a Four.) Now, I realize that eating tripe and learning about physics or joining the Green Belt movement aren't quite the same thing, but I'm still pleased.
I also learned about "prose poetry" after I inadvertently wrote a prose poem. (At least that's the conclusion Stephanie and I drew.) One of my resolutions for 2009 is to write more than I did in 2008. While I haven't written as much as I would have liked, I'm already ahead of where I was this time last year. I've written four poems and started three others. I've also written down ideas for three more.
At this point, I'm really focusing on exploring what I think poetry is. I haven't given it much thought, and truthfully, I haven't read much of it that wasn't specifically assigned in a class. So I read a book of Thomas Lynch's poems last week and feel extremely inspired. (This is why I have three ideas written down.) Lynch's poems are largely narrative and deal with death and the moments of everyday life. Much of my poetry is self-referential and deals with things that I feel or am going through. This year I'm branching out and toying with fictional situations and feelings that I don't have. I'm not going to venture into abstraction just yet. The first few poems that I wrote after I decided that writing poetry is something I should do were laden with imagery and pontification. Now, my poems don't feel so written and deliberate. Somehow, this feels a bit lazy, but I don't really care at the moment.
Last weekend, a patron returned a Canadian movie named Lilies. I'd never heard of it, but the concept sounding interesting so I borrowed it. I've done this several times before and haven't gotten a bad film. What follows is a list of things that made this film a strong applicant as a potential "Jer Movie" (a phrase used by several friends).
- It's a foreign film.
- It's based on a French-language play.
- It centers around the tumultuous relationship between three boys in a holiday town in Quebec.
- It features a hotel with an exotic, moneyed clientele.
- It explores the interplay of fact and fiction, religion and sexuality, lies and truths.
- It was directed by an auteur whose films have been Cannes Film Festival selections and featured at other various film festivals.
- For heaven's sake, one of the characters is a ruined Countess who busily clings to the hope the French aristocracy will rise again.
While this prison/confessional fiasco was a fine setup, it is a film and not a filmed play so we go back and forth between the dramatization in the prison and the events themselves. However, to lessen confusion the players are the same so all the women are played by men in drag. Now while I have no problems with men in drag, they can sometimes be distracting, especially in a film that isn't set during the time when this was usual.
So we have a rather standard plot of love, jealousy, and betrayal oscillating between a stage play and "flashbacks" or remembrances featuring the same cast. The story is infused with whimsy (the two old men enter the flashbacks as passive observers), imagery (an upper class resort, a hot air balloon), symbolism (the lilies show up when someone is distressed and in need of comfort), and an awkward dinner party. Essentially, I was watching a film whose flaws are out weighted by it's quirkiness and beauty, thus endearing it to me and finding it's way on my wish list.
That said, I hated it. Absolutely disliked it. None of the characters are developed or did things that made much sense. The end of the plot is known from the beginning, and it's so simple that it just doesn't hold up on its own and definitely not without strong characters. The artistry was gimmicky and overshadowed the story. The entire production holds the audience at arm's length and sets itself up as a tale of passion and betrayal intellectually told. Since we were made aware again and again that we are watching a group of actors putting on a play, there is no sense of character, no way to connect because everything is artifice. The film collapses under it's own artistry and sense of self. It failed for the same reason as The Painted Veil which has no heart or soul despite it's technical beauty.
Now, while I was disappointed, I am glad that I saw it purely because it made me realize how much I've grown as a amateur cinemaphile. There was a time when I would have been so seduced by that beauty and artistry of this film that I would have insisted that my friends watch it and would have proudly added it to my collection. But I've grown enough to realize that being artsy and unconventional doesn't automatically make a brilliant film.
In nonfilm news, I got my first issue of Rolling Stone (March) yesterday and the second issue (February) this morning. I've read a few of the articles from each and flipped through them. I'm really excited about getting the magazine. It will definitely help me be more musically literate. Soon, I'll be annoying family and friends with news of the latest Green Day album and the lyrics of the newest Lily Allen songs.
A Lost Weekend Sans the Alcoholism and with a Cat Brush
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 3:42 PM Labels: cat, family, film, unpopular cultureThree items I ordered from amazon.com came in during the latter part of last week, and I spent most of the weekend watching/utilizing them.
One of the items was The Rodgers and Hammerstein Collection which I only ordered because it was so damn cheap (one of the lunch lightning sales). I wasn't really excited about it. Then I got it in the mail, and it's awesomeness was tangible. My sister came over Friday evening, and we watched The King and I which is my second favorite. (My first being South Pacific, but Jenna didn't want to watch it.) Since I've been reading about Buddhism recently, I realized that at the time they wrote their musical neither Rodgers nor Hammerstein knew anything about it beyond the obligatory grandiose statues. We then watched the first half of Oklahoma!.
Saturday morning we went to help my brother and parents pack up his furniture for his move to Durant. Joel chose an abysmal weekend to move. The temperature was in the low 20s, and the wind was frigid. Carrying things from his apartment to his truck and my parents' trailer, I lost feeling in my hands, nose, and ears. My new piercing started to hurt a bit, and I finally had to forsake dignity and tie my scarf around my head Yente the Matchmaker style.
After lunch at Long John Silver's, Jenna and I went back to Nana and Poppy's and finished Oklahoma!. We then watched the 2004 BBC miniseries North & South, the one movie that we intended to over the weekend. As Jenna promised, it was spectacular, and I greatly enjoyed it. Jenna had decreed we watch it after we watched the newer Cranford in February. Both are based on the writings of Elizabeth Gaskell. After this, we should have stopped. Instead, we watched Rent which seemed more cinematically flawed than usual. I suppose watching lavish musicals in glorious Cinemascope and Technicolor and a meticulous BBC production would make any Chris Columbus film feel a bit lacking. Anyway, Jenna enjoyed it very much, though she spent the entire film certain that Mimi would die.
Also, Lillian's new Furminator brush arrived. Since it looks a bit like something from the Spanish Inquisition, I decided to follow the instructions carefully. These stated that for best results you should use it after washing your animal and drying them completely. While Lillian is always well behaved while being bathed, she doesn't especially enjoy the process so I usually forgo completely drying her; usually, she squirms away after a quick rubdown with a towel, and I let her sulk and dry in a corner. However, the instructions said completely so she had to suffer through the added aggravation of the hairdryer. I'm very pleased with the results of the brush. The fur seems to fall away in clumps. I just did a light brushing because she became fussy and yowled when I touched her. I'm not sure if the brush irritated her skin or if she was just upset about the bath and hairdryer. I'm going to brush her again this weekend without the bath and see if she still fusses.
The other item was Ugly Betty: Season One which is a show that I started watching and then stopped for reasons that are unclear to me. Anyway, I asked Nana if she wanted to watch the pilot with me, and I think she may be a bit addicted. We're on episode nine which is a few episodes before I stopped watching.
Most of Sunday I spent reading, playing The Sims 2 (one of my Sims is now Mayor of SimCity) and watching the Golden Girls marathon on Hallmark Channel. I hadn't realized that I'm seen ever episode of this show. So while I didn't complete several of the tasks that I set for myself, I had a lot of fun.
And the Award Goes To…: Oscar Post #4
Posted by Jeremiah Goodman at 12:10 AM Labels: academy awards, filmAs has been my custom for the last few years, I spent the weekend of the Oscars with Stephanie and her family.
Thursday, I left work a little early and drove to Lone Grove where I was greeted by my sister. Despite the late hour, we watched Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore which I got in a Scorsese boxset a few months ago.
The next day we met Mom and Dad at Santa Fe Steakhouse in Ardmore for lunch. Unfortunately, the waitress lost our order (though she never admitted it) so our food was incredibly late, and Dad had to take his to go and left for work. After this, I drove to Denison and hung out with Stephanie. We watched an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the first half of The Picture of Dorian Gray and then talked long into the night.
On Saturday, we went down the McKinney and stayed with the Faheys. Thomas and Matthew educated me on Pokémon and ABBA. That evening we watched The Reader which I enjoyed immensely. Since it was my second viewing, I noticed a lot more was going on then I realized.
On Sunday, I played MarioKart and various card games with Elizabeth, Thomas, and Matthew. I found out it’s embarrassing to lose a video game to a group of children. Thankfully, I was able to redeem myself at Five Crowns.
Later that afternoon, Stephanie, Jason, and I played a rousing game of SceneIt. Due to some crumby luck on Jason’s part and a few lucky guesses on mine, I nearly pulled off a win, but Stephanie came from behind for the win. Then Shari served a delicious spread of appetizers and dips. I’m not quite sure when I decided to emulate Shari when I grow up, but it was during the first wave of food.
During her Oscar interviews, Barbara Walters implied that either she or the awards will die in a bar with a martini and also that Miley Cyrus is a slut who tried very hard to destroy the virginity of one or more of the Jonas Brothers. She then proceeded to make Mickey Rourke cry by pointed asking how he felt about his failed marriage, drug problem, general breakdown, and dead dog. Then she lost steam after realizing that she had nothing to ask Hugh Jackman. “So you were on Broadway, and people thought you were gay and stuff” isn’t as compelling after seeing a grown man talk about the tuxedo he had made for his dog before she died.
I have nothing to report about the red carpet except that Tim Gunn is the gayest man alive much to the chagrin of musical theater majors and interior designers worldwide. Also, one of the interviewers either messed up her inflection during a joke or really didn’t recognize Matthew Broderick.
The awards this year were phenomenal. Hugh Jackman was a charming host, and his opening number was incredibly funny. (Of course, he’s hosted the Tony Awards several times, but this time people were actually watching.) The stage was elegant as were the set pieces during the design awards. I really have no complaints. I think the only way I would have been miffed was if The Duchess had lost best costume design or if a horde of crazed fanboys had taken everyone hostage and demanded The Dark Knight be named best picture.
While I failed dismally at guessing the winners (my one shining moment was choosing the right animated short), I did place second in the Bingo game and got a really cool Bingo game that I can’t wait to play!
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