Lost in Translation Saturday night, interested in seeing it because we’d heard so very many good things about it. Fifteen minutes in, Fred was ready to turn it off, but I wanted to see how it ended. All in all, I’d rate it an “eh”, but I don’t resent the time spent watching it.
Clearly I possess not the depth and understanding of the human condition that would let me pretentiously wax poetic at length about the magic of the movie. Give me the beginning-middle-end kind of movie girl meets boy zany moments ensue they break up but end up together. Give me the zany girl meets boy meets another boy has a threesome dumps them both to “I choose me”. And christ almighty, if you’re going to ask me to join you on your hour and a half or two-hour (tour! A two-hour tour!) journey that is your movie, don’t fucking end it with one character whispering into the other character’s ear and not let me know what he said. Don’t keep secrets from the people who’ve paid money to watch your fucking movie; you end up coming across as self-impressed and smug and next time the option to watch a movie written and directed by you comes along, I’ll just pass on that, thanks.
I WANT TO FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE SAID.
(Also, something about Scarlett Johansson‘s face really REALLY bugs me, and I look longingly forward to the day when her It-Girl status is gone with the wind.)
* * *
Also, I watched
In the Cut Friday afternoon and clearly – snore – I am getting old and stodgy, because the dick-sucking at the beginning of the movie (’bout five minutes in, I’d guess, if you’re fast-fowarding to see it) was completely unnecessary, all I could think was “MUST WE SEE THE PENIS SLIDING IN AND OUT OF THE MOUTH?” I mean, what the fuck? It’s not like I’ve never seen porn before, but is it not possible to show that a blowjob is being performed without SEEING mouth and penis? It’s like the trend lately of showing someone vomiting by focusing lovingly on the vomit spewing out of the vomiter’s mouth, because OBVIOUSLY if we just heard the heaving noise and saw the person leaning over as if they were vomiting and heard the liquid hitting the ground we would be sitting there with huge question marks over our heads, and we would be saying “I don’t understand what’s going on. Why is he making that gagging noise? Why is he leaning over? What’s going ON? I’m so confused!”, clearly we MUST see every little bit of the vomit spewing forth from the mouth and the disgusted
FUCK, how many times are we going to shoot this fucking scene? look on the actor’s face.
And then later on in the movie when Mark Ruffalo and Meg Ryan (who should sue her plastic surgeon) are having sex and his face is right down there in her crotch, all I could think is “God in heaven, it just has to suck to shoot scenes like that. Because when you’re all writhing around with the moaning and shit, how can you NOT be thinking to yourself
Mark Ruffalo’s face is two inches from my crotch AND I’M NOT ENJOYING IT.?
It’s not even so much that it’s Meg “Sally” Ryan shooting explicit sex scenes, it’s WHY MUST THEY SHOW IT?? If I want to see explicit sex, I’ll download some porn, okay? Otherwise, just show some kissing and some nudity and fade to black, and when the next scene starts with both parties looking satisfied and smoking cigarettes, we will FIGURE IT OUT, I promise. Good lord.
* * *
So, because I know Fred won’t get mad at me for poking fun at him, remember when he
sent me roses for my birthday and I loved and adored them? I called him after I received them, and I said “I LOVE these flowers. I want these very exact same flowers, these Confetti Roses, for Valentine’s Day! I love them!” And about a week before Valentine’s Day, I said “Valentine’s Day is next week. Do I need to remind you what I want?”, and he said “No, I remember!”, all huffy at the thought that he might have forgotten. I left the house to do some errands on Friday and when I came home there was a bouquet of flowers sitting in front of the door, and I opened the door to find these:
Turns out that Fred had called the florist and said “Do you have something LIKE Confetti Roses, only not Confetti Roses?”
Give the boy points for taking initiative (“Who wants the
same roses two months in a row?” he said. Um, me?) and I’m not complaining because they really are pretty roses. Considering how often I got anything on Valentine’s Day from husband #1 (answer: never), I’m well aware of how lucky I am.
My gift to him was a cake I baked with my own little hands. A lemon poppyseed cake. Not only did he love it, he also shared it with the spud and I. Whee!
I couldn’t decide what to get the spud for Valentine’s Day. The traditional gift would be a small stuffed animal and some candy, but that child has SO FUCKING MANY stuffed animals that I was damned if I’d add to the huge-ass collection on her bed, strewn all over her floor, and stuffed in her closet. Finally, I printed out her wish list and took a trip to Target, where I bought
Legally Blonde 2 on dvd, a card, and a couple of heart-shaped Snickers.
Pretty good idea, I thought.
* * *
Tara! Is this your cute little baby cousin?:
We didn’t actually watch
The District, but I had made a note to myself to tape it so I could see your cousin (yes, I’m a dork). She is ADORABLE. Fred joked “I could have done an acting job as good as the one she’s doing!” Heh. Maybe he’ll go into acting next! That would be fun. Not!
* * *
Did y’all see
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition last night? That was AWESOME.
I can’t believe there’s only one episode of
Sex and the City left. I think it’s pretty obvious which way they’re leaning toward ending it, if last night’s episode was any indication and they’re not fucking with us.
* * *
Man on a mission.
The beast within.
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