Hey, guess where I'm going? To pick up my CAMERA! Yay!
Oh, Go Put on Some Pants, Will Ya?
Just a quickie, 'cause I'm supposed to be writing. But K and I went to see Alexander this weekend and I have a few things to say.
1. Oliver Stone is crazy.
2. I had no idea Alexander the Great had such a boring life.
3. Colin Farrell would have been better suited to play the lesser-known Alexander the Willowy.
4. A quick peek at Colin Farrell's package does not make up for the distracting combination of blonde hair and jet black eyebrows.
5. OK, we get the Oedipus thing. Do everybody's eyes have to be poked out?
6. Were we supposed to be laughing during the battle scenes and the teary deathbed goodbyes?
7. That eagle was totally fake looking. But the elephants did look real.
8. Not one person coming out of the theater looked happy. Confused, yes. Sleepy, sure. But not happy.
9. K says the critics aren't doing their jobs. If they were, we would not have gone to see that movie. She doesn't understand why they don't just say "Do not go to see this movie."
10. Do not go to see this movie.
1. Oliver Stone is crazy.
2. I had no idea Alexander the Great had such a boring life.
3. Colin Farrell would have been better suited to play the lesser-known Alexander the Willowy.
4. A quick peek at Colin Farrell's package does not make up for the distracting combination of blonde hair and jet black eyebrows.
5. OK, we get the Oedipus thing. Do everybody's eyes have to be poked out?
6. Were we supposed to be laughing during the battle scenes and the teary deathbed goodbyes?
7. That eagle was totally fake looking. But the elephants did look real.
8. Not one person coming out of the theater looked happy. Confused, yes. Sleepy, sure. But not happy.
9. K says the critics aren't doing their jobs. If they were, we would not have gone to see that movie. She doesn't understand why they don't just say "Do not go to see this movie."
10. Do not go to see this movie.
I'm Really Looking Forward to December
The end of November, and thus the end of National Novel Writing Month, is fast approaching. I'm playing through the pain of my sprained right hand, doing the hunt and peck method when it really starts to hurt. But I'm in the 40,000+ word range and for the first time since I undertook this crazy adventure, I actually think I'm going to make it. For an updated word count, check my NaNoWriMo profile. It's pretty cool to watch that blue bar creep toward the 50,000 mark. Well, it is for me, anyway. There are already more than 50 pages of winners. I'll be back when I'm on the list.
Feeling Arts and Crafty?
During a recent visit to the museum shop at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston I fell in love with a handmade wool purse, covered with little balls of felted wool in soft, subtle shades of blue and green and mustardy yellow (Gulden's mustard, not French's). But it was $65. I mean, yikes. It sorta looked like this only bigger and not so bright and the stap was different:
Anyway, I would make one myself except I would have no earthly idea how to do it. I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm not even Not Martha. But all you Marthas out there should feel free to make one for me, OK? Just let me know when it's ready and I'll send you my mailing address.
Anyway, I would make one myself except I would have no earthly idea how to do it. I'm not Martha Stewart. I'm not even Not Martha. But all you Marthas out there should feel free to make one for me, OK? Just let me know when it's ready and I'll send you my mailing address.
Have a Nice Trip, See You Next Fall
You know, it just wouldn't be Thanksgiving, or any other holiday, or actually just any day at all, without the Big Fall. Yesterday's performance was a real thing of beauty. Running start. Into the wet sand. Face first. Crushing my right hand and bending my fingers into a very unnatural position beneath my Amazonian body so that today they are all swollen and sore.
Well, at least I'm not a right-handed writer.
Oh, wait ...
Well, at least I'm not a right-handed writer.
Oh, wait ...
A Completely Normal Thanksgiving
I went to Shaw's yesterday to get my turkey. I decided to go with the fresh Butterball. Fresh to avoid the nightmare that is defrosting a frozen turkey (not having to deal with a sink full of ice-cold turkey water is totally worth another 50 cents a pound) and Butterball to avoid the huge disappointment that was the free-range, all natural turkey a few years back.
"Is she cooking a normal turkey this year?" my dad wants to know.
Unfortunately, when I got to Shaw's, all that was left were either huge 25-plus-pound turkeys or tiny, 11-pound turkeys. All the ladies were complaining bitterly about it. Meanwhile, I snuck off and found a guy in a suit who was standing around looking dumb and convinced him to go out back and find me a nice 15-pound turkey.
I was furtively wheeling my lovely mid-sized turkey toward the checkout lanes when the guy from the meat department came up to my cart with a kind of quizzical, nervous look on his face.
In return, I gave him a look that said, You know, I really am sorry if I got a turkey that you were saving for someone else. I really am. But if you think I'm giving it back, there is going to be a serious problem. My dad wants a normal turkey this year. And by God he's going to get it.
"Find everything you wanted?" he asked.
"Yup."
"OK, then," he said, as he stole another glance at my 15-pound turkey. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Oh, thank you. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."
Don't worry, dad. This year the turkey is going to be completely normal.
"Is she cooking a normal turkey this year?" my dad wants to know.
Unfortunately, when I got to Shaw's, all that was left were either huge 25-plus-pound turkeys or tiny, 11-pound turkeys. All the ladies were complaining bitterly about it. Meanwhile, I snuck off and found a guy in a suit who was standing around looking dumb and convinced him to go out back and find me a nice 15-pound turkey.
I was furtively wheeling my lovely mid-sized turkey toward the checkout lanes when the guy from the meat department came up to my cart with a kind of quizzical, nervous look on his face.
In return, I gave him a look that said, You know, I really am sorry if I got a turkey that you were saving for someone else. I really am. But if you think I'm giving it back, there is going to be a serious problem. My dad wants a normal turkey this year. And by God he's going to get it.
"Find everything you wanted?" he asked.
"Yup."
"OK, then," he said, as he stole another glance at my 15-pound turkey. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Oh, thank you. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too."
Don't worry, dad. This year the turkey is going to be completely normal.
