American Beauty

I hated that movie. I didn't get it. Add it to the list along with "Punch Drunk Love", "Lost in Translation" and "WALL-E".

Maybe I was just too young to understand it at the time. If I were to watch it now, would I enjoy it? I'm dubious.

Today our new coasters from Crate & Barrel arrived. They're made of rope. Very nautical. I can't wait until I rest my first mug of tea on one. I'm eager to see how it protects our newly-painted, white coffee table from unsightly cup rings. If all goes well, nothing will happen.

Stay tuned for updates.

I don't know if you knew this, but this blog is art. I'm an artist. Or as we in the marketing industry like to say, I'm a "creative". Ruminate on that.

Amen,
Margaret

P.S. I took a quiz today to see if I would get into Oxford. Based on my score, I would not.

P.P.S. The credit card machine at our local coffee shop wasn't working. They were having to use an old-school slider doohickey. But wait! These days, credit cards don't have the raised numbers. They're not bumpy anymore! How can one make an imprint? One cannot.

Undaunted Courage

Saturday, September Fifth, Two Thousand and Fifteen

Dearest Internet, 

This evening was more enjoyable than I would have ever thought possible. 

Williamson and myself, set with the task of painting our furniture, were discouraged by the many hours of backbreaking work that lay before us. It was, however, in the decision to watch a Ken Burns' documentary on Lewis & Clark whilst we painted that the otherwise toilsome affair turned into a convivial episode we both shall remember for many years hence. 

Although Mr. Burns' eloquent storytelling had us in high spirits, it wasn't more than an hour into our expedition when trouble struck. Just halfway through priming the bookshelf, all the tins of primer ran dry. We owe it to our good fortune and the undoubted majesty of this fine country that we made it to the hardware store with only minutes to spare. We were delighted at the sight of the local traders, with whom we gave a handful of paper notes and coins in exchange for more primer and cloth masks to stop us contracting painter's lung. 

All matters were now in readiness to commence the operation of applying the paint of our chosen colour, 'white cloud'. We worked into the night, pleased by our progress and in knowing that we were serving our great land of Alki, West Seattle, Washington and yes, her eminence, the United States of America. 

Now, as I write this by the glow of a laptop screen, stars stretch across the sky as far as the eye can see and morale is the highest it's been since we embarked on this finest westward adventure. 

Adieu and believe me your affectionate blogger, 
Margaret

33 years later movie review: Tootsie

Anna and I watched the 1982 Sydney Pollack film 'Tootsie' this evening.

It stars Dustin Hoffman, a talented-but-difficult actor who can't get a gig to save his life. With no director in New York willing to hire him, he creates a drag character named 'Dorothy Michaels' and auditions for the part of a female hospital administrator serving tough-ol'-bird realness in a famous soap opera. And he gets it!

But wait a second, one of his castmates, Julie, happens to be a beautiful actress and it's love at first sight. How will he ever get her to fall for him when he's dressed as an old lady?

Plot. Established.

I'll cut to the chase: this movie is good. It also stars a young(er) Bill Murray in one of the more understated roles I've seen him in. And Dustin Hoffman is fantastic.

On the other hand, '80s film soundtracks be cray. It took Anna and I a good 20 minutes to get used to the ridiculous instrumental elevator tunes that played between every scene. Also, old movies loved to feature a theme song that repeatedly swells up at sentimental moments throughout the film. In this case it was that song "Something's telling me it might be you, all of my life...."

Oh, and there are lots of creepy moments. In one scene, Dustin Hoffman (as Dorothy Michaels) ends up having to sleep in the same bed as Julie. They're at her dad's country home and there isn't an extra bed. They have a heart-to-heart, she gets emotional and he gently pets her head like she's a labrador. He's wearing a wig with curlers in it.

Difficult to explain.

Anyway, the best scene is when Hoffman reveals that he's actually a man live on the soap opera. It's a brilliant bit of television (as portrayed in film).

TGIF,
Margaret

P.S. Floyd Mayweather isn't actually going to post Suge Knight's bail if he wins the fight tomorrow. I suppose the Internet can occasionally get things wrong. Madgespace regrets the error.

P.P.S. I found this picture while searching for 'Tootsie' in Google. Wow.

Image by theimpulsebuy via Flickr

RIP SkyMall

Annabelle: Part 2 has been delayed until tomorrow because I've been too busy having a GREAT DAY. Yeah! Take that!

Right now, I'm watching 'Big Brother's Bit On The Side' (the Big Brother after show).

Earlier, Andy and I went to the cinema to watch 'Whiplash'. It's a film about a jazz drummer and, despite that premise, it's fantastic. Go see it. I liked it better than Birdman and Foxcatcher.

Before that, I went to Craigie's Farm with Char, Freddie and Elsie. It was typical Scottish hurricane conditions, but there's a café there, so ye-haw!

But, as Lisa Vanderpump would say, today wasn't all diamonds and rosé. I also learned that SkyMall has filed for bankruptcy. If you didn't already know, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

A page out of SkyMall.

Image by nowviskie via Wikimedia Commons

The best way to make yourself feel better when something like this happens is to immediately identify and blame the culprit. In this case, I'm going to blame rich people.

Every time I read SkyMall, I think "Yep. I'd buy that. Yep, that too. Yep. Yep. Yep." Why don't I actually buy the stuff? Because I don't have any money! But rich people, they have no excuse. Damn them. DAMN THEM.

Now where am I going to get a raincoat for my dog? Or a high heel wine holder?

TGIF!

Margaret

Birdman review

It's really great! Compelling performances. Fast paced. Lots of deep thoughts when you leave the cinema. Yeah, it's great. I think I know what happened in the end, but I also think maybe I don't. Or, you know what, I actually think the point is that you're not supposed to really know what happened. Or that there's no real way of knowing.

See what I mean about the deep thoughts?

Birdman.
Image by Herb Roe via Wikimedia Commons

Wow. Somehow this Saturday just flew by.

8:30am -- Wake up. Holler at Andy to "Do me a favour and come in here and open up the curtains for me." Gotta get that natural light in the morning. 

10:30am -- Emerge into blizzard conditions (by Edinburgh standards) to watch a breakdown assistance man jump-start Andy's car battery.

11:00am -- Walk back to our flat from the auto garage where Andy dropped his car off. 

11:30am -- Read up on the latest MH370 conspiracy theories. Read up on the latest Serial conspiracy theories. 

2:00pm -- Buy tickets for Birdman online. Fill up hot water bottle to take with me to the cinema. 

2:30pm -- Walk to cinema, by way of the supermarket to stock up on snacks (cheddar ploughmans sandwich for me, ham and cheese sandwich for Andy, three cheese twists to share, bottle of diet coke to share, one pack of Frutella to share, gum to share). 

3:20pm -- Watch Birdman, with the hot water bottle on my lap the whole time. Best decision. 

5:45pm -- Leave cinema and start walking to Char's

6:30pm -- Hang out with Freddie, Elsie, Andy, Char, William and Anthony. Eat pizza. Watch 'Take Me Out'. Watch 'Take Me Out: The Gossip'. Watch 'Celebrity Big Brother'.

10:45pm -- Walk home with Andy. 


See how time flies? It's now 11:27pm and I don't have time for a proper blog. As you may have noticed, I just listed my day's movements instead. However, earlier today, predicting that I might not have much time to write tonight, I made a short video for your viewing pleasure.


Back tomorrow,
Margaret