Just under the (garrote?) wire

In honor of the lovely Friday the 13th blogathon over at Final Girl, I am watching "Friday the 13th" for the first time and liveblogging! I do not know how much interest this will hold for anyone, but here we go....

11:00 p.m. "You're an American original." That's for sure.
First ten minutes are pretty super. Snogging, homicide, a death curse, a ponderous silence from suspicious locals... Art Boy's favorite part is the music leading up to the shattering glass behind the title.
Art Boy: "It's like watching a template, isn't it?"
Sex is clearly all Kevin Bacon ever thinks about.

11:02 p.m. Oh my God, the guy chopping wood is a Never-Nude! (Cutoff shorts.)
Alice, the Final Girl, is introduced. (Art Boy has already wrecked the movie for me by showing me the very last scene.) I posit that her Final Girl characteristics are her efficiency and her comparative sexlessness. I compare her high-waisted, form-fitting yet boyish trousers to those of Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. Mike observes that Jamie's character in The Fog is, like Alice, an artist. Hmmm. Hmmmm.
The counselors are running around in short-shorts getting their foreplay on.

11:09 p.m. Girl running through the woods! Very Evil Dead. Nice Psycho-esque music. Why do girls running in the woods always twist their ankles?
I love the bird sound effects in this movie.
Graphic onscreen death! I like how her expression is that of profound grief, rather than, say, pain... so many years she could have spent with "kids" gone to waste.

11:13 p.m. "What's Vitamin C do?"
"I think it neutralizes the nitrites or something."
Art Boy: "This is just filler until the next death."
This k-k-k-k ha-ha-ha-ha business is very unsettling to the cats.
A symbolic snake is introduced into the Garden of Eden that is Camp Crystal Lake. "I can't sleep with a snake in here!" says sexless Alice. These guys are just hopeless battling this snake.
I like the moment when the snake is macheted and everyone looks horrified, the pillow feathers drifting slowly onto their heads.
Art Boy, rounding up incontinent housecat for trip to the litter box: "You're so easy to catch! You're worse than a camp counselor."

11:16 p.m. "We ain't going to stand for no weirdness out here."
The creepy police officer swings by Camp Crystal Lake on his motorbike, convinced they're all doing drugs. It would be jarring if there were a tone to jar. Art Boy is convinced the creepy deputy from Cabin Fever is a direct reference to this guy.
Oh cool, Ralph is back. "You're doomed. You're all doomed!" Ralph and his little vest and hat are awesome. I want him at all my parties. His work done, Ralph pedals away into the forest. Alice, having thrust out her hip defiantly yet sexlessly, goes back inside.

11:23 p.m. "Gonna tear down that valley like a son of a gun." What does that mean? Kevin Bacon is a poet. But he's not as cool as his blood-dreaming girlfriend.
I love any horror movie set in the woods -- creepy dark trees, moving shadows, old cabins with wood floors really get my horror-geek on. This movie gets an impressive amount of mileage out of the lake, though. Lakes are even scarier to me than forests, but I had never considered lake-horror as a separate genre. Hmm.
Sex scene with crisp white panties!
Guitar by the fire with thunder raging outside. Suddenly, "We're going to play strip Monopoly!" Art Boy: "The moral of this is, learn to play guitar."
Back to sex scene with unconvincing vocal enjoyment on the actors' part. AAAAA! A dead body!

11:29 p.m. "Alice draws first blood." She's a ruthless strip-Monopoly player! This will aid her final survival.
We're trying without success to make out what the book is on Kevin Bacon's bedside table. Maybe we're missing the.... point? Wow. That is a very nice-looking death! You go, Tom Savini!Now the ungallant killer is going after his girlfriend while she's having a wee. I point out the rudeness of this to Art Boy, who tells me we are playing dirty pool. I wish I had as much fun prancing around solitary restrooms in just my panties as she seems to be doing. AAA! Axe!

11:38 p.m. Watching Steve's dinner in the diner. It's interesting to watch this movie make the occasional effort to establish where all its characters are, in case you were wondering if any of them were the killer. There seems to be no real motive for the killings so far, so how anyone could have a theory about the killer at this point is unclear.
Still, just the trappings of the woodsy setting, with the crappy old sinks and flimsy walls and dim lights, are super creepy.
Suddenly, we're in a vampire movie. A counselor is getting into bed with a single candle, wearing a long lacy nightgown, when suddenly she hears a child's voice crying outside in the rain. Brr! It's shameless genre-skipping, but who cares?

11:45 p.m. The sound in this movie is super-nice. I like how the swinging door sounds like a faint scream.
This movie makes me feel like an 11-year-old. I'm not sure if it's having wanted to see it at age 11 and having been thwarted, or the haircuts, or what. Or maybe it's the way it's perfectly designed for talking to your friends while it's going on, then looking up periodically to go "'AAAA! An axe!" or whatever. Its overall creepy mood is lovely but I'm not sure that it would reward close attention the way, say, Halloween does... Time for another beer!

11:54 p.m. OK, I sort of zoned out for a minute. Alice is making a cup of coffee in what Art Boy describes as real time. "This is where I learned how to make coffee," he says. I completely love her old stove. ... it is a classic horror-movie-in-the-woods prop. Her coffee-making goes on and on and on! The tension is unbearable! She can't stand it anymore either and goes out calling for Bill, who has gone searching around in a red poncho. Uh-oh... there's the poncho... where's Bill?AAAA! Bill is dead.
Alice is all that is left! She immediately figures out a smart way to barricade herself into the cabin. This is where, I think, the movie will start to get really interesting. All the death setpieces are fun, but knowing that she's going to have to actually battle whatever's out there, rather than just make a grieving face and die before it, is much more exciting.
AAIIEE! Here comes a body through the kitchen window! I actually just screamed out loud. Art Boy is laughing at me.

12:02 a.m. Mrs. Voorhees has arrived. "It's just this place and the storm, that's why you're upset!" God, I wish I could be surprised by the ending -- that would be quite a twist to feel.Mrs. V. explains herself. Is this story an inverse "Psycho"?
Ack! "Don't let her get away, Mommy!" says Mrs. Voorhees. I've got my hands over my face. Gaaah! I cannot believe this movie is actually scaring me!

12:08 a.m. Fight! Alice and Mrs. V. are bitch-slapping and throwing spools of thread at each other.
I like the visual parallel between the full moon in the upper right and Alice's blouse disappearing into the forest as she runs off.
Art Boy wants to know if he's the only person who can tolerate beer and chocolate together.
Horror movie rule: Never collapse in relief with your back to a door.

12:14 a.m. Alice surprises Mrs. V. with a frying pan. Honestly! Why can girls not fight with axes? Is there some kind of rule about that? Ah, here we go. Mrs. V. will strike a blow for women's lib. Oh my, and she bites too! But she's no match for the head-severing Alice.
And now what you want to do is take a boat onto the lake into the dead of night. Still, this next scene is pretty gorgeous, with the leaves and the water and all.
Art Boy, who is cool and remembers stuff, is describing everyone getting up, waiting for the credits, which are clearly about to roll. The movie is over. AAAIIIEEEEE!!!!
I knew it was going to happen, I'd even seen it, and it still made me scream.
This movie is fabulous.

12:23 a.m. "Hairstyles by Six Feet Under."Very nice! We may watch #2 right away, but I will spare you people the updates. Have a nice evening.

To recap: We've been watching "Friday the Thirteenth," which I had never seen. At a tender age, I got in deep trouble with my mom after planning to go to a friend's house and watch, on video, all the F13 movies that had come out (perhaps five?). Mom found out about it and I wasn't allowed to go... so I have never seen any of these movies. But I love Halloween and Cabin Fever, among others, and today seems like as good a time as any to get caught up on this series with the help of my sardonic yet well informed Art Boy. He will chase away anything that comes to get me in the night, I am sure...

Harry Potter and the pubescent angst

Kelly's lovely OOtP rundown reminded me that I did not address the relative hotness of the maturing actors in my comments below. Briefly, then:

Neville, after showing great promise in the "Goblet of Fire" film, particularly with his sexy albeit plot-convenient interest in botany, got sort of relegated to being a dork again. I suppose there weren't any school dances here where he could show his stuff. The St. Mungo's scene would have been great for showcasing Vulnerable Neville who Knows Pain, but we must make do with his laconic discussion of his parents with Harry. This was sweet, but it felt a bit tacked on to me. Neville-wise, this movie is a wasted opportunity.

At least we have plenty of Fred and George, who have unfortunate new haircuts but are still completely hot. I should like to snog them both.

As for Draco, he's just not looking well. Puberty seems to have hollowed him out. I am dreading his big final scene in the next movie... he's just going to stand there looking scared, and not be all conflicted or anything I bet. Damn you, Canon Draco, for being so boring.

(Isn't this the book where Ginny dates everyone? I was all set to sing "Save Ginny Weasley from Dean Thomas." Oh well.)

You will lose everything

*blows dust off blog* Hello, gentle readers! Art Boy and I are just in from seeing "Order of the Phoenix." It was certainly not as much fun as seeing the "Goblet of Fire" late-night show wearing handmade shirts with Kelly and her gang, but it was still nice to see it with the kind of enthusiastic opening-night crowd that all goes "oooh!" during the kissing scene. Similarly, the movie's not the best in the series, but it definitely has its moments. Gary Oldman fangirls will enjoy all the beefed-up screentime he gets, more than making up for his criminal (ha! ha!) absence from the last movie. Sirius also gets to be a little more badass and less ineffectual than he was in the book, which is nice. His hair is lavishly curly and he gives Harry the barest wink a couple of times, which made me moan aloud. (Art Boy: "Oh GOD.") My favorite is when he sees Harry off at the train station (secretly, of course) and he's wearing a fur coat with no shirt underneath. Mrow! There's not enough Lupin/Tonks, but they'll get their time in the next movie. There is not much Draco either, but there's just enough Snape to satisfy. He gets some great dialogue, such as:
"I must penetrate your mind, Potter!"
and
Harry: "We've been at it for hours. Can't we rest?"
Snape: "Voldemort won't be resting!"
Also listen for his muttered "I may vomit" during a moving flashback. Much has been made of Imelda Staunton's performance as Dolores Umbridge, and she is quite magnificent. The movie does a nice job of balancing her bureaucratic nastiness with the threat of actual scary violence. And I must say, the wizarding duel at the end really kicks ass this time.

Surprisingly nice touches: the cool-looking thestrals; Luna Lovegood; the delightful absence of Rita Skeeter; and Helena Bonham Carter's predictably deranged but still fun performance as Bellatrix Lestrange, particularly the bit when she dances madly off down a hall singsonging "I killed Sirius Bla-ack!"

Yeah, I wore my Draco/Harry shirt.

Back

I'm back! The Oak Ridge Boys and their lifesaving devices were not required on this trip. Did I miss anything?

Off

Off to Nashvegas, my little munchkins! Just for a couple days. A hummingbird just zipped by my window... I'll miss it here.

Be good.

Connecting to neural net

Oh dear readers, I apologize for my lack of updates recently. Art Boy has accused me of having another blog but I do not. There has just not been much to report. The cats are fine; the plants are fine (growing like gangbusters now that June Gloom is over); we are fine.

I did go dancing tonight at Perversion again. Gosh, it was fun. Once more the shoegazing room was closed, the main room was full of pounding industrial and the front room with the 80s music was where I spent most of my time. Some beautiful people were out tonight, including a cute vintage-clad couple - he wore brown trousers, suspenders and a sort of ammo belt thing (a Brendan-Fraser-in-"The-Mummy" look) and she wore a darling old-fashioned aviation kit with a leather Amelia-Earhart-style helmet. Also a fetching girl in a green bikini with fishnet stockings and Day-Glo blue dreads, whose boyfriend had dyed the tips of his mohawk to match; a scrawny gal in a ruffled white blouse & long skirt who danced beautifully; and a cute petite girl in a red bustier, black miniskirt, gloves & ankle boots, who looked straight out of the "Papa Don't Preach" video. I leaned my elbows on a little round table, watching them all dance and reflecting on how everyone there, rather than trying to fit into a scene, was just wearing what they fancied and dancing as they pleased. Was this a generational thing? Or just LA? Or just this club?

Out front was a Walk of Fame star - this was on Hollywood Blvd - for Antonio Aguilar, who died this week. It was covered with flowers, memorial wreaths, burning novena candles and handwritten messages. It would have been incongruous but nothing really seems incongruous out here.

Anyway, I got to dance to "Kathy's Song" and "Once in a Lifetime." Squee! Jeff, we are totally going when you visit.

The Texas Chainsaw Mascara

Or, in which I bleat helplessly and incoherently along the lines of "Why haven't I seen this movie before?" and "How did I come to love, say, 'Cabin Fever' without having seen this movie?" Oh dear God in heaven. Last night Art Boy and I sat down and watched "The Texas Chain Saw Massacre" ... he is super cool and has seen it many times, but it was my first. Wow, people.

First of all, it's BEAUTIFUL. Visually, "Picnic at Hanging Rock" has nothing on this film. People buy special cameras to get this kind of saturated visual effect. It has the look and feel of late summer. My favorite bit is a couple of shots through a screen door, which is all full of dust that catches the light from the setting sun... it looks so gauzy and dreamlike. This movie feels like being outside, wearing shorts and worrying about mosquitoes, in the late summer.

And yeah, it's scary. The sense of dread builds as the kids in the van listen to newscasts about horrible things happening around the world, then read their scary horoscopes (Saturn is evil!), then pick up a creepy hitchhiker... then knock on the door of an innocent-looking farmhouse... And then, of course, you have Leatherface lunging out of the dark with a chainsaw. Yikes!

And it's just hilarious. Art Boy and I both loved how, when you get a sense of the family dynamics, Leatherface is kind of the fuckup. The other cannibals keep yelling at him, and they can't even walk around their own kitchen without shoving each other. My favorite part (I think) is when Pam sits up shrieking in the freezer and a slightly exasperated Leatherface shoves her back down and slams the door. No more of Pam!

There are three movies I've watched and immediately turned to the person next to me and said "Let's watch it again": Last of the Mohicans, The Fellowship of the Ring, and this movie.

Grunion run

Last night I was all hepped to return to Disko Nekro, but checking the Switchboard I discovered it has closed. Rats... The other options just didn't sound all that appealing so Art Boy and I ended up going down to the beach around midnight for our first grunion run. Apparently this was a "90210" episode, but I never watched that show.

At first I thought it was going to be a bust... the beach was dark and quiet, except for the glaring lights from the pier. But gradually people emerged from the shadows, sitting on blankets behind the lifeguard stations or standing in the shallows with plastic bags. A woman lurched by with an odd assymetrical lump on her back that proved to be a fairly contented toddler. It was like a fair, but dark and wet. We walked toward a clump of seagulls in the wet sand, and before long we had seen our first grunions, flapping horribly toward the water. Quite nifty. It's hard to say whether it was more fun watching for the fish, or watching people chase them with buckets and plastic bags. You apparently need a fishing license to catch them, but it's irresistible - like catching lightning bugs. I picked up a couple to show Art Boy, who was wearing sneakers and staying out of the water, then tossed them back into the shallows. Poor things, they'd had a hard enough day already.

After an hour or so we headed back toward the car, away from the pier, and suddenly came across huge flats of them. A huge wave would come in, all the way up to the high-tide line, then recede a dramatic distance, leaving a wide expanse of silvery fish flopping dryly on the flat sand, their tiny flapping bodies the only sound in the sudden silence. I've never seen anything like it.

Lovely day

If memory serves, that's the title of a Front 242 song... anyway, it has been a nice weekend for me here in Santa Monica. Went to an outstanding yoga class this morning with a long meditation at the end - I don't know what she did, but it was amazing. I walked out feeling like I did after my reiki session last year. Picked up some necessities at the garden center (everyone needs hyssop!) and walked over to the farmers market. Bought some peaches, green beans and asparagus; went into Old Navy to use the bathroom and walked out with a couple of cheap dresses. Went to the library and got "Song of Kali" by Dan Simmons and "The Warden" by Anthony Trollope. They were the two I was looking for, they were both checked in, and they both turned out to be much smaller than I expected, which was great news for my increasingly heavy shopping bag.

Then walked home, got in the car and drove to Malibu Lagoon State Park, which was just beautiful. I missed the turn-in and ended up parking by Surfrider Beach, a fairly nifty sight as well. You cannot swim or even wade in the ocean at Surfrider. It is all for the surfers. Although there were plenty of people on the sand as well. I walked from there to the lagoon and back, and had a lovely time. More pictures on my Flickr page.

On the way home I got a flat tire and called Triple A. When does my membership expire? Tomorrow. They were there in 20 minutes - I had it mostly done but they helped me get the lug nuts off and busted out their much nicer jack. And they recommended a place to get a new tire. Where is it? Two blocks from my house.

The day felt rather charmed, I must say. Art Boy did not particularly care for the green beans, but one cannot have everything. Settling down with "Song of Kali" and a belly full of asparagus.

Cloudy

Cloudy morning/afternoon. Art Boy home and off to work. On today's list: Fix seat of beautiful new bike, make chicken curry, go to flamenco. Short list. Time for a nap perhaps? Mmph.

Thanks, Bettie!

My summer swimsuit arrived today from the lovely people at PinUpGirlClothing.com. It is always a long shot mail-ordering swimwear, especially from a company that designs vintage-style clothes for, ah, curvy ladies. But the Bettie One Piece fits my surfboard body like a glove. It's super comfortable and meets my exacting coverage standards, so I feel comfortable in it. Is there anything Bettie Page can't do, even extremely indirectly?

Art Boy out

As he has mentioned over at his site, Art Boy is going home to eat some horrible food and see some lovely people. I will be working over the holiday weekend, and probably also watching unimproving movies, eating avocadoes with a spoon, and biting my toenails. Am looking forward to it.

Not much else to report. Couple of sundews are putting up flower stalks. I was going to take pictures this morning, but wouldn't you know, the sun went and came out on me.

Mumbles

Art Boy and I have taken to addressing all the cats as "Mumbles." For some reason I find this endlessly hilarious. It has a nice cumulative effect - I'll say "Hi, Mumbles" without thinking when Stasia jumps on the couch, and then look to see her giving me a withering glare. Some friends pointed out that it also makes the cats sound like gangsters. Try it on your pet today.

Postcards from Fangoria

My weekend (or what is a weekend to normal people; my Saturday and Sunday afternoons before work, and my Friday night after work) was largely spent at the Fangoria Weekend of Horrors convention in scenic Burbank. Oh gosh, people, it was neat. Fetching goths, beautiful makeup, random freebies, a T-shirt for sale with the face of Tom Atkins, models pretending to reenact scenes from "Hostel Part II" and "Fido" ... it was neat.

Some of the booths I patronized...
Haunted House Productions: Some lovely gothic/gory figurines. The usual stuff - bats, skulls - but nicely done.

Curioddities: Crafty goth, with many products based on cute/creepy black-and-white line drawings. I bought a T-shirt of the tiny Dracula with a big head. Adorable.

Lurker Films: Some nice Lovecraft people, responsible for the HPL Film Festival and also the new Zompire - The Undead Film Festival. If Prombie happens I may have to invite them.

Got to see Eli Roth do a panel on Hostel II. I'm not particularly interested in the movie but it was nice to see Eli and hear his great David Lynch imitation. He promises more Rotten Fruit cartoons in the future. Art Boy and I also saw Neil Marshall, director of The Descent, talk about his new movie, Doomsday. It sounds very 28 Days Later, which is probably not a bad thing. Someone in the audience asked him a great question about the role of gender in his movies - Dog Soldiers is a very guy movie; The Descent is all female - but he just sounded confused and said something like "I didn't set out to make a gender statement." Whatever. He was probably just being all delicate and politic, afraid of being misquoted; I bet if you asked him about it over beers he'd say something smart.

I also accidentally elbowed Voltaire in the ribs; shook hands with original Michael Myers actor Tony Moran (my God, does everyone but me have a MySpace page?); and stared shyly at the Ladies of the Evil Dead from across the room, unable to speak, but they were beautiful.

I also reprimanded a stocky male goth for surreptitiously photographing the posterior of a woman in a zombie-stripper costume with thong. And finally, while walking past a booth labeled "AUTOPSY," I was told by its proprietor: "It's so nice to see a normal person."

RIP Lloyd Alexander, 1924-2007

Alas. I'm afraid I did not even know he was still alive, but he was still writing children's books at 83. Lloyd Alexander wrote "The Chronicles of Prydain," a series of five* books following young farm boy Taran, who goes from Assistant Pig-Keeper to High King. Based in Welsh mythology, they feel epic and down to earth at the same time - the characters have swordfights and cope with magic, but they also bicker among themselves and complain about having to sleep on the ground. They hold up beautifully for adult readers, so I highly recommend trying them out. (Start with "The Book of Three.") Prydain was mapped out in my head before Narnia, before Middle-earth. I wish Mr. Alexander a safe journey to the Summer Country.

His publisher's obit is here.

*There's a sixth book, "The Foundling and Other Tales of Prydain," but I feel this is more of a glorified appendix.

Hwoinch!

Borage martini

I promised myself one of these when the borage finally bloomed, which happened this week. And the damn thing is gigantic: it towers over the tomato it shares a pot with. I'm transplanting it out tomorrow.

The martini is just Hendricks gin with the usual splash of vermouth and borage flowers floated on top. They're just pretty. They're also edible so you can eat gin-soaked slightly cucumbery flowers. It's all kind of pointless but fun, a nice complement to the martini's ruthless qualities.

And of course it is gripped in my red floor-scrubbing soil-loading nail-bitten paw. Dr. Brian, we need some new hand models pronto...

'Jericho' update

The show has been CANCELED! HA! Take that, Art Boy!

No word on "Blind Justice." We're something like three weeks behind on "Lost." This may necessitate a marathon tonight, although Art Boy thoughtfully Netflicked "The Notorious Bettie Page" for me and I really want to watch that.

Right. Farmers market. I'm off.

The Iron & Bone Tour

Yesterday I went tromping off in my car in the extreme heat to find Mystery Bookstore in Westwood Village, where authors Cassandra Clare and Holly Black were doing a joint signing. (And if those are their real names, my name is Emma Blackwood.)

Anyway, my expectations were fairly low based on my previous book-signing adventures. Readers may remember my three-hour adventure waiting for Lemony Snicket and finally giving up, and my entirely unsuccessful attempt to meet Bruce Campbell on my dinner break. I got there an hour early, and the bookstore was empty except for a gentleman (who turned out to be Cassandra's dad) talking to the proprietor. "Do you expect a big crowd?" I asked the proprietor, and she grinned and said "No." So I went across the street, had a drink and talked to Robin. An hour later I came back and found a respectable little crowd of maybe two dozen, all of whom were much younger than I am, bless their darling little hearts. Holly and Cassandra were introducing each other - their give and take was very cute. They took an audience poll: "Zombies or unicorns?" Of course I went with zombies, but the overwhelmingly female crowd went with unicorns. "They have a giant sword right on their heads!" enthused Holly. Cassandra gave her a look.

After their talk, they read, and then they signed, writing beautiful notes to Emma inside my copies of "Ironside" and "City of Bones." I had not expected to get to talk to them, so I had thought of nothing to say except to tell Cassandra how much I loved the Very Secret Diaries. She was very gracious. I probably looked like somebody's mom to her.

If any Cincinnatians are interested -- oh, hell, Kelly, they'll be at Joseph-Beth a week from Thursday at 7 p.m. You'd love them; they're hilarious. And they attract fun people: I was complimented on my "Save Ginny!" shirt by a cute girl who said she & her friends used to sing "Save Ginny Weasley From The Basilisk" in their high school cafeteria. She actually poked her friend and said "Look at that shirt!" when she saw it, which was enormously gratifying to this tired old nerd.

And "City of Bones" is pretty damn good. I just started "Ironside" last night.

What now? Looking back at Sassy

Actually, I was going to write a nice nostalgic post about Sassy today and how there's a new book out about it, but today it is smashingly gorgeous out, I'm just back from the garden center, and I have two hours to put these plants in & enjoy the day before heading to work. So, in sum: Sassy kicked ass. Here is a business article about it. Here is its Wikipedia page. Here is Marjorie Ingall's parenting column in the Forward, which I love even though I am a childless shiksa. I may fill this out later, but the lobelia is calling me. Sassy would want it this way, I feel sure.

Happy Cinco de Mayo, Elvis

It is a fiesta today in our neighbor's window.

Take me down to your dance floor

Went out dancing after work last night, this time visiting Perversion at the Ruby. Another Hollywood club, this place also does not have a sign, but it has a large smoking patio that was full of goths so it was very easy to spot.

The Ruby is quite large, with three impressively separate areas where three different DJs were playing. In the main room was your large, traditional dance floor with platforms, strobe lights and many people wearing white shirts and grinding. The music there was mostly industrial. Off to one side, by the smoking patio, is a very nice little bar area where a DJ was playing what the club calls "indie, electro and dark 80s." In short, The Cure. The back room was closed for a private party but opened sometime after midnight; it seems to be the room of making out and dancing to Cocteau Twins using your best we're-in-the-forest moves.

I tried out the first two rooms and found them agreeable. My favorite was the Cure room; the music was my preferred variety for dancing, and the floor was marvelously slippery so I could practice my turns. Despite the people in white shirts, the main room was good too. Everyone on the floors of both rooms was very courteous and made room for people moving in and out. Neither dance space was ideal; one had strobe lights and the other was full of constant traffic to and from the smoking patio. But it was nice to be able to switch music styles at one's own whim rather than the DJ's. As a lady dancing alone, I also felt much less conspicuous in such a large venue. The bartender was agreeable as well, and although a gin and tonic was $7, he added enough gin that it did not seem too criminal.

The best thing about going out though is just watching the people. They are adorable. Last night there was a tall willowy woman in black trousers who looked exactly like a female Joey Ramone; a woman in pirate blouse and corset close-dancing with a gentleman in a top hat; and a girl in a vintage dress with pillbox hat that miraculously stayed in place all night. I love watching these people skulk around being all badass, then see their friends and start yelling "Squeeee!" and embracing. And then I went home and got in the tub, which was pretty nice too.

Because the South hasn't suffered enough

The Groovy Age of Horror reports with just alarm that Quentin Tarantino has gotten the idea of setting a movie in the South. Its author quotes Britain's Daily Telegraph:

Having already paid homage to martial arts, revenge, slasher, Japanese and road-rage movies, Tarantino is also planning a new genre, a form of spaghetti western set in America's Deep South which he calls "a southern".

"I want to explore something that really hasn't been done," he says. "I want to do movies that deal with America's horrible past with slavery and stuff but do them like spaghetti westerns, not like big issue movies. I want to do them like they're genre films, but they deal with everything that America has never dealt with because it's ashamed of it, and other countries don't really deal with because they don't feel they have the right to.

"But I can deal with it all right, and I'm the guy to do it. So maybe that's the next mountain waiting for me."

(Full Telegraph interview here. Can I just say I love that headline? I would get in piles of trouble if I tried to write a headline like that! British papers are so ballsy sometimes, I swear, it makes me dizzy.)

Anyway, I agree with GAoH that this is a rotten idea. Tarantino may have been born in Tennessee, but he cannot actually believe America, and the South in particular, haven't explored their "horrible past with slavery and stuff." I'm imagining a horrible fusion of "Borat" and the "Kill Bill" movies - which were fine, but were exactly like being buttonholed at a party by a guy who's got good anecdotes but never stops to ask for your opinion. The South has to deal with outsiders' stupid preconceptions all the time. Tarantino is the last thing it needs.

The lamentable spectacle of late-night cable

Art Boy is at Coachella, which means I get to hog the remote and watch unimproving movies all weekend. Unfortunately, a spring cold has rendered me unable to enjoy this privilege until tonight, and tonight all I can do is complain. My preference is the movie channels, and I am unsatisfied with the movies being shown. What is this "Elizabethtown"? The plot appears to turn on the notion that traveling from Louisville to E-town (as the locals call it) is a difficult thing. It is not. It is a straight shot down I-65 and only an idiot could get lost. Next channel. I wanted to see "Constantine" in theaters and am gratified that it is now airing on television, but there is a great deal of mumbling. The demons are not particularly scary. Keanu Reeves does not resemble John Constantine and I am weary of Rachel Weisz. Next channel. Why is it that "The Remains of the Day," which I love, is always on but it is always the scene where he is busy with the big dinner party and his father is dying? Perhaps this scene is the entire movie. I haven't actually watched this all the way through since second grade. Oh, fuck this. I'm getting in the tub with a book.

Back

I'm back! Florida was lovely. Did I miss anything here?

Gotta go

Off to Miami for the world's largest gathering of copy editors! Dear God. //REALLY WORLD'S LARGEST? NEED CHECK// Fortunately, we are a heavily drinking lot. And unlike my last excursion, to Santa Fe, I am unlikely to be made utterly foolish by the altitude. I shall instead be made foolish at the hotel bar. But not too foolish, as many bosses will be there.

Right. Gotta go cover the carnivorous plants with a tarp (the hose-wielding gardeners come today) and mail Mom's birthday card and catch a bus. See y'all next week.

Miscellany

It's Friday night. I'm having a big ol Manhattan and a wonderfully smooth, appallingly large cigar labeled "Diego de Ocampo" that was a gift from a friend. Art Boy is down in Redondo Beach, which is of course the name of a Patti Smith song. I need to find an independent music store and get a copy of "Twelve," if only to hear her version of "Gimme Shelter." Anyway, I hope you all had a lovely Friday the 13th.

The main thing I wanted to say here is that this Defamer headline reminded me of why I lurrrrve them. Every single goddamn Vonnegut appreciation on the wires had that headline; we used it too. (I have no authority in the book section. I hope that will change someday, although by the time it does there will probably no longer be a book section. A diminished version of the existing tabloid launches today.) He probably wouldn't have minded. The only KV book I've ever read was "Cat's Cradle," while traveling through the West with Betsy. It was fine; I remember liking the apocalypse a lot. I just always had the feeling that KV was happy over at his table and I was happy at mine, and there was no sense in shaking up such a nice peaceful arrangement.

Am rereading "We Have Always Lived in the Castle," as do every spring. As always, highly recommend to all.

Carry on, then.

Good thoughts

Frank (above) -- who could probably be described as a family friend? extended-family member? he's Stella's brother and belongs to a good friend of ours -- is extremely unwell. His people are having to make the worst decision this week. Please send them all your good thoughts. Frank's Catster page is here. The Quakers like to say "hold [ailing person's name] in the light," and I think a cat would rather like being held in the light. (I in fact have a very needy kitty on my lap trying to get the maximum amount from a sunbeam.) I am remembering what we went through with Stella in September (why can I not link to a single post? Stupid Blogger) and feeling very sad for them.

Also, am adding Tim to the blogroll because it's just about damn time. If Art Boy freaks out I will take it down and edit this post accordingly...

Elvis chimes in

Happy Easter, Elvis!

Accomplices

One funny thing about moving is that you've reviewed all your belongings, but can't always remember what you decided to throw away. I've already found one coat that I could have sworn I had given to Goodwill. Yesterday I opened the closet to look for some shoes to wear dancing, since I knew my favorite pair had been thrown away.. I remembered taking a memorial picture of them last year. But there they were in back of the closet. Guess taking the picture made me think twice. I was ecstatic to see them and strap them back onto my feet ... it has been many, many months.

After work I went to Disko Nekro, squired by a very sporting Art Boy. The club is home to other goth nights on other nights of the week as well, and I wanted to see if it would feel safe for a solo outing. I think it would be OK: it's on a big street, and the entrance is surrounded by people milling around outside, like the Warehouse's used to be. The bartenders/bouncers seemed friendly without being creepy, and the dance floor was small but very respectful. I enjoyed it a lot. The club itself is apparently called Nicotine (DN is just the name of the night), but as it is in Hollywood, there is no sign. I drove around the block three times scrutinizing the door and wondering if it looked like there might be a club inside, rechecking the address I had written down, then finally just parked and walked in.

It's a tiny space: a narrow bar with red side walls, decorated with just a single giant mirror in an ornate frame and small hanging lights. Near the door is a cut-out space lined with black and white wallpaper and containing a single table, so the scenesters can sit there and judge you as you're walking in. I think every club needs just one table for this purpose. The dance floor is about the size of our dining room and completely black - no strobes or mirrors - which I really enjoyed. There's a ledge so you can put your drink down and guard it. The crowd was thin (everyone was at a concert, Wake the Dead, one bartender explained) and the music better for skulking than exuberant dancing: Touch, Worlock, Lullaby. (You know you have found a skulking rather than an exuberant club when Touch is the preferred "Spectators" track over Once in a Lifetime.) Still, everyone on the floor was just super about sharing the limited space, and nobody was skeevy. Everyone was very much dancing as if they were lost in the forest, so I joined in and had a ball in my own tiny forest. It felt great to wake up with sore feet this morning. The music may have been getting livelier as the hour grew later, but we were tired and bailed shortly after 1.

I will go back, possibly on a weekday; I can see that place getting impossibly crowded on a Saturday. I will also stock up on cash for future visits: There's no cover, but a gin & tonic, unsurprisingly, costs more than three times what it does at The Dock. But one of the bartenders gave us shots, which was very nice of him and which certainly never happened at The Dock, to me anyway.

Resurrecting my love of going dancing feels very appropriate for today. Happy Easter!

Exit, pursued by a bunny

We celebrated Easter Week by watching "Night of the Lepus" recently. I cannot recommend it highly enough. Just a few reasons:

1. The cast. DeForest Kelley in a dashing mustache, Janet Leigh in what appears to be a fright wig, and Rory Calhoun - Mr. Burns' favorite actor. ("Look at him standing on his hind legs, like Rory Calhoun!")

2. The bunnies. They are utterly adorable. What happens in this movie is that Janet Leigh and her husband do some experiments on bunnies to try and interrupt their breeding cycle, as they are taking over Rory Calhoun's ranch and getting on his nerves. Unfortunately, the experiments go awry and result in what are intended to be giant, carnivorous rabbits. It is hard to tell how giant they are because the monsters are just regular bunnies filmed in close-up without any context. Finally, a character describes them as "the size of wolves." Whatever their size, they're awfully cute with their twinkling noses! Especially the darling black-and-white ones!

3. The horror effects. The carnivorous bunnies attack anything that moves, including an unlucky cabbage-truck driver (this is referenced in "Curse of the Were-Rabbit," we're pretty sure), a family having a picnic, and a herd of horses. Yes, horses. It's just like "The Ring"! We see the horses freaking out and running, being pursued by close-ups of bunnies running in slow motion. Finally, a man in a bunny suit jumps on one. Close-up of bloody rabbit teeth! It is awesome. The bunnies also terrorize communities by running in slow motion through specially built dioramas. Picturing the scene on set just makes you want to die of the cuteness. The whole movie is much like the scene with Kim Jong-Il's panthers in "Team America: World Police."

4. The storyline. I liked that this movie skips the "horrifying realization" scene - my God, these attacks can only have been a giant rabbit! - and goes straight on to have the characters calmly discuss what to do about their new giant-rabbit problem. Apparently they just figure it out offscreen. I also really liked that the climax allows a drive-in movie audience to "participate" in the action and help defeat the killer rabbits. This movie is warm and fuzzy on so many levels.

Final Girl has a spiffy review here.

Next: Watership Down!

Missing

No, I don't miss Opening Day at all, but there are quite a few things about Ohio that I do miss. There are days I would pay a thousand dollars for a Girth Burger - we have found nothing like Zip's out here. Sure, there are good burgers, but no super-cheap ones within walking distance that have great beer on tap, an AE-friendly ambiance and an Art Boy-friendly TV showing sports. And no place with a grilled split mettwurst on top of a hamburger. Oh God, I miss those damn things. I bought a Zip's shirt before leaving, but I don't ever wear it, because it makes us both sad.

I also miss my garden. It's sunny and gorgeous here, and my Jaune Flamme tomato plant is already putting out tiny green maters, but I just wonder what is coming up in my old yard. Probably some volunteer borage in the front, and probably some sage since I can't possibly have dug it all up, and almost certainly some black plum tomato plants in the side yard where the squirrels always dropped a few seeds while making off with my fruit (little bastards). And I can't have gotten all the bulbs dug up.

Not to mention Southgate House, and Sushi Ray, and the Mercantile Library (which I can't bring myself to take off the links list), and the purple bridge, and The Dock on Thursdays, and restaurants where you can actually park without a valet or a meter, and the noble Plum Street Cafe. And of course, there are the people, way too many to list. I've really got to visit. I miss you guys.

Anniversary

Around about now is the anniversary of my first trip to this city (both the greater L.A. area and my current home of Santa Monica, by coincidence). I remember arriving on April 2 because it's Gran's birthday. I wished so much I could have talked to her about moving out here; she would have had some interesting and probably very no-nonsense advice. Anyway, I look back very happily on that week and its series of marvelous revelations: this city is beautiful; there are plants everywhere; the people here are friendly and kind; this job is both manageable and desirable; there are people here I already really, really like. Amazingly, all still holds true a year later. Although I'm having trouble finding a damn basil plant.

Art Boy and I worked out that Cincinnati's Opening Day was while I was gone last year. The year before that I walked around outside the ballpark taking pictures while the game was going on. It's well established that I loathe sports, crowds and fun, so I was much happier on the outside. I'm afraid I'm much happier outside of Cincinnati as well, although I certainly wish it all the best. So merry Opening Day, y'all. I know Art Boy misses you.

They have liveoaks here

Another point for Southern California. And to think, I used to actively not ever want to live in this state. It just sounded too big and trendy and irritating. I have found it amazingly accessible. This photo was taken on a ramble at Eaton Canyon, just outside Pasadena.

Today's book: "The Mystery of Edwin Drood." I picked this up without remembering it's Dickens' unfinished novel. This library copy has been "finished" by someone else. The first three chapters are marvelously moody and strange - the book begins in an opium den - but it's very frustrating to start and know that nobody has any idea how Dickens meant it to turn out. The mystery, apparently, is quite obvious, so the theory goes that he was planning something really complicated. But it is not known what. I emailed my sister to tell her I was having regrets about getting involved in this, and she crisply replied that she always has regrets about getting involved in any Dickens novel.

Art Boy and I are still trying to get over the "Battlestar Galactica" finale. When he wakes up I'm going to propose we rinse our brains out with bleach. The big revelations were fine, it was just the song, the song... dear God. Oh well. I heard the series finale of "Rome" was worse. Maybe the lack of an ending isn't so bad.

This is a delightful woodland romp, with many of the best scenes featuring a roly-poly toad

Art Boy and I are sorry to learn that Ricky Gervais' "Extras" is over after two seasons. It's quite worth Netflixing season 1. Although, like his "The Office," many scenes are impossible to watch without your hands over your eyes. I can't decide if this agonizing style of comedy should be called "embarrassment horror" or "embarrassment porn." Anyway, we love Ricky almost as much as we love the CNN "Story Highlights" boxes. And we love this Sir Ian McKellen scene, although I am not going to do one of those YouTube links with the little screen on my blog because I don't feel like it.

Today's beer: Black Toad dark ale, featuring a handsome Bufo exsul on the label.

Plants, food, books, sun = happy

Finally the sun is out. It fought through the clouds while I was at the farmers market getting lettuce and avocadoes, as well as allowing myself to be seduced by a black krim tomato plant as well as another black variety, this one from Japan. On the way home I stopped at the library and got "The Mystery of Edwin Drood" and "Savage Beauty," that Edna St. Vincent Millay biography. Last night I started Arturo Perez-Riverte's "The Club Dumas" and almost immediately lost patience with it, so am happy to have something else. TCD may not end up being bad, but it gave me "Shadow of the Wind" flashbacks, and nobody wants those. Well, actually, a lot of people probably do but not me.

Going outside with leftover pizza and a beer to get some work done.

Is there a word for ...

... when you're walking home from the grocery store and suddenly know with a dismal certainty that you have piled everything in your shopping bag - which includes laundry detergent, frozen-food items and a bottle of sweet vermouth - on top of your eggs? Because there should be. Miraculously, not a one was broken.

Today it was foggy and cloudy and it rained. It's been like this all week! I cannot stand this weather. Art Boy has been going around piously saying things like "You need the bad to have the good" and "You need the yin for the yang." I have been kicking him in the crotch. A pox on cloudy weather.

To the lists at right I am adding:
- the fair Bury my lovely, who writes as well as she sings, which is to say very very beautifully;
- the lovely Final Girl, who liked "The Descent" and "High Tension" as much as I did and whose "Dog Soldiers" review title I stole without meaning to;
- and the erudite You Don't Say, where the grammar is always impeccable.

I am also restoring Tavern Wench, which I took down after moving away from Cincinnati, because I keep checking it anyway. If only she would update more often... but the posts she has are worth the wait.

Last bachelorette night

I am enjoying my last night as a temporary bachelorette (how was the St. Patrick's Day dance, Art Boy?) with a nice cigar and a viewing of the last half-hour of "Revenge of the Sith." I really feel Lucas covered a multitude of ills with this. The last shot alone, of the sunset on Tattooine, is so very beautiful. It doesn't matter that Obi-Wan just rode in on a CGI creature that doesn't look like part of the "A New Hope" world. And it is nice to hear the pretty pretty Luke and Leia musical themes. Not good, exactly, but marginally less evil... sort of like voting Democrat in 2008 is going to be.

Sebastian is the only cat in this house oblivious to cigar smoke. Isis and Anastasia are off hiding, convinced as usual that the house is on fire. If the house ever does catch on fire, catching one of our good cats is going to be a real hassle.

Plunge and scrub

Happy St. Patrick's Day, my little Shannons and Josephs! I caught myself reciting "Far and Away" dialogue while washing my stockings this morning. Unfortunately for Art Boy, I have not done very much household-type scrubbing while he's been away. The floor sorely needs vacuuming. But updating my blog before work is more important. Sorry, Art Boy! The world needs this post!

I am just in from a chilly walk around Santa Monica's Main Street. The coast is all socked with fog, and I imagine about two miles inland it is sunny and gorgeous. Everyone on the beach was under towels or had their arms pulled into their T-shirts. On my way down there I made eye contact with a Paul Bettany lookalike (mrrow! Sorry, Art Boy) who grinned at my green "Save Ginny!" T-shirt and said "Gotcher shirt on? All ready to go?" I realized what he meant when I got to Main Street. It's like Mount Lookout Square on steroids. Everyone is wearing green T-shirts and those big Dr. Seuss hats and shamrock antenna headbands. There are lines around the block to get into bars already. I am so happy not to be living next door to Millions and MLT this year, people, I could just scream. I walked around watching everyone stand in line, and then came home to my nice peaceful house for a nice bottle of Mackeson.

Be safe on the roads today. And if you find yourself all crowded up into the front window of a bar, for God's sake don't lean against the window....

Beware the... ah, forget it

Happy Ides of March, little caesar salads! I am back from a short trip to Nashville. It was really, really lovely to be at home, sleep in my own bed, tromp through the woods with my mom, and eat homecooked food. A couple of good friends came out to the house, as did my brother's wonderful family, so I did not even need to leave the old homestead. The nephew is into Star Wars now, which is an infinite relief after his years of NASCAR obsession.

Now there's some plant work to do - an orchid is inexplicably dying, and the carnivores need water - and a tax appointment to make. I apparently owe the government money this year... yuck. And, of course, there are the cats, one of whom was just bathing himself on the table until he lost his balance and fell off. Never a dull moment.

Here is the niece, practicing her "I'll never be hungry again" pose:

Awoo! Werewolves of Scotland

Art Boy and I dispatched some rare steaks yesterday and settled down with "Dog Soldiers," the previous film by "Descent" director Neil Marshall. Having cherished "The Descent," I was willing to set aside my aversion to movies about soldiers, particularly since this group of soldiers comes under attack by werewolves in the Scottish wilderness. Outstanding! For the first hour, this movie is just about perfect. There's a good opening scare followed by a quick but chilling scene introducing two of the main characters. By the time it's over, Marshall has efficiently established his hero, his villain, his monster, his setting and his mood. He is so good.

The excellence continues as our soldiers tramp through the woods, gradually coming to realize that they're up against something bad. As in "The Descent," Marshall does a nice job setting up a group of individual characters, who bicker and tease each other, and who respond to the increasing stress in their own idiosyncratic ways. And as in "The Descent," there are witty film references. The soldiers, along with a fetching zoologist, take refuge in a farmhouse that they board up and defend "Night of the Living Dead"-style. "Short, controlled bursts," their commander advises, echoing an order from "Aliens." And one of the guys is even named Bruce Campbell - a reference that feels especially fitting as notes of high camp start to intrude.

Really, once the soldiers are inside the house, it all goes downhill. This is a real shame - I love horror movies set in houses. But here, none of the defenses are logical (sometimes the windows are boarded, sometimes they aren't), and keeping track of the soldiers' positions becomes impossible. They make an NOTLD-inspired run to an outbuilding to retrieve a car, then once it's back at the house, they sit around and listen to the zoologist play "Clair de Lune." What? It's like Marshall decided to have it go several directions, shot several different second halves, and then spliced them all together. At one point I turned to ask Art Boy what was going on, and he had fallen asleep. Let's not even get into the werewolves themselves, who are admirably not CGI creations but who unfortunately resemble interpretive dancers wearing silly masks.

Still, since the first hour was so good, and considering it was direct-to-video, I recommend "Dog Soldiers." You might try drinking a lot during the first half so you don't notice the second half as much.

"Come on, let's go" visit a famous grave!

Some of my readers are now sighing and rolling their eyes in what I can only hope is loving exasperation. Yes, today I headed into the San Fernando Valley to visit the grave of deceased teenage rock star Ritchie Valens, subject of the film "La Bamba," which wrought havoc with my 11-year-old hormones. The cemetery, San Fernando Mission, is very easy to find and its employees are happy to help visitors find the headstone for Mr. Valens and his mother, who died in 1987 (the year the movie came out!). The employee that I asked said "Ohhh, Ritchie Valens!" in delighted tones and gave me very good directions. It was a ways off, and when I got closer I asked a second employee for help. "Ohh, Ritchie Valens!" he said delightedly and led me to the stone you see above. I studied it a bit self-consciously, and he used his shovel to trim a bit of grass from the edge, before realizing this was perhaps not conducive to a solemn graveside experience and walking away.

It is impressive to contemplate that this boy was only famous for eight months before he died. They are extremely proud of him in his nearby hometown of Pacoima; at least one public building is named for him, and the city went bonkers when he got inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in 2001. Do you remember the opening scene in "La Bamba" where the planes crash into each other and destroy the school? That really happened at Ritchie's Pacoima school, and he was really not in class that day because he was attending his grandfather's funeral. The Times had an article about it a few months ago.

I strolled around the cemetery a bit more, and the first employee drove by and saw me, apparently wandering hopelessly lost many yards from where I was supposed to be. "Over there!" he called, vigorously pointing to the grave. I smiled and waved, which he took as a sign of imbecility and pointed with even greater vigor. I finally had to bawl "Yes, I found it, thank you!" across the placid cemetery lawn.

Bob Hope is buried there too, but I don't care about him.

spring at the edge of the desert

A thousand apologies for the recent lack of updates. I have not been up to a whole lot. Last week I got sick. This week I had to attend a meeting about the Internet in which such concepts as blogs were explained to us. Tonight I shall have to cope with the Libby verdict (which is a genuine surprise, although I suppose it shouldn't be, since Rove has to be protected at all costs. It's a recurring nightmare of mine to be charged with perjury based on memory lapses, though. I would be doomed. Poor Scooter).

This week has felt oddly springlike. It's hot and dry all of a sudden, and there's no smell of mud or new growth or any of the other things I associate with spring. A certain giddiness has just entered the air. The other day I put a chocolate egg in my pocket and forgot about it until hours later when it had melted all over my pants; I hadn't done that since about age six. Anastasia, normally a calm cat, upended a flower pot yesterday afternoon. Something is brewing.

Photos TK of my lovely new carnivores, who all seem to be adapting to life on the patio. One of the sundews is unfurling in four directions like an adorable little octopus. Meanwhile, every fan of "Jane Eyre" should be reading "Villette." This book is incredible.

Oscars

Well, the Oscars were actually faintly interesting this year. Go them! I spent my evening working in between two TVs that were playing the telecast on a slight delay; an award would be announced on one, then two seconds later on the other one. By the end of the night my head hurt, but at least that dreadful "Little Miss Sunshine" movie didn't win. I'm fine with Martin Scorsese. I think mobsters are dull but it sounded like a better-qualified film than most of the other nominees, if my beloved "Children of Men" couldn't make the cut.

I felt bad for the gang on the red carpet as it was pretty cold and gray here. Art Boy went to a NASCAR race, at which he thoughtfully secured a trinket for my cute nephew, and complained that he was absolutely freezing. Perhaps the folks back home would like to tell Art Boy what he can do with his freezing-cold 50-degree weather? Head on over to his blog.

Sound and vision

Hmm. Well, finally watched "The Prestige." I dunno, kittens. Maybe it's just sort of the inherent goofiness of seeing the action onscreen, as opposed to imagining it in a book; maybe it's being asked to accept Hugh Jackman as a more personable stage presence than Christian Bale (what is with his accent? Every time he opened his mouth I wanted to toss a tomato. Why is he American while Christian's character is some sort of Cockney?); maybe it was the loss of the multigenerational flashback element of the book that I enjoyed so well. (Southern girls love a good multigenerational epic. We'll settle for a framing device.) Maybe it was just having "Batman Begins" flashbacks. It was fine. It could have been much worse. It could also have been much better.

I very much like the mood of this film. The sense of dread builds very nicely: dead birds lead to a dead, well, bird (we are in England), and the rival magicians' one-upmanship gets gradually nastier and nastier. I love when one of them finally meets Tesla, and gets to stand around in a series of impressive set pieces, realizing he's dealing with something authentic, not just for show, and very potentially unpleasant. David Bowie is awfully cute; his accent is great; but somehow Andy Serkis gets to have all the most fun with the Tesla scenes. How did that happen? Who let Andy in here thinking he wouldn't run off with a scene?

The final twist ends up, to my mind, making a great deal less sense than it does in the novel. A bizarre turn has been added that makes it much more unpleasant on a great many levels. The marvelous goth creepshow sequence that crowned the novel has been turned into a sort of shocker final shot. Also, Michael Caine is all well and good, but I'm not sure why he has to narrate events. Obviously the two magicians are unreliable, but introducing a third character only complicates events. Does his character have a big secret too? No, I suppose not: here are the end credits. And poor Scarlett Johanssen. I love her, but anyone would've done in this role.

Still, it gets three stars out of five from me: one for the marvelous, Edward Gorey-ish image of a pile of black top hats in a snowy forest; one for Christian Bale; and one for Mr. Bowie, who, it goes without saying, may carry me off if he ever wishes to visit L.A.

Salon has a nice review here. I'm sorry if you have to watch an ad.

The grocery store is unfair

I put off going to the regular grocery store for weeks, making do with the house-brand goods at Farmer Ted's for as long as possible, but tonight I had to get dish soap and butter and facial scrub and a rotisserie chicken, and there's only one place within walking distance that has all those things. It took about the length of one song for me to pick everything up and get checked out, and that one song was Eric Carmen's "Make Me Lose Control." Why? Why? I could have dealt with, say, "Hungry Eyes." A Go-Go's song started up as I was leaving. Goddamn grocery store.

This is not an intended slur on Eric Carmen's singing skills, but if I were to use the word "batrachian*," would anyone here know what I meant? I had to look it up recently and am trying to figure out if that was just me or not.

*I apologize for the earlier misspelling. It is my weekend and I have been kicking up my heels by misspelling terms for amphibians. Don't say copy editors don't know how to have fun!

You choo-choo-choose me?

Our Valentine's Day was nearly wrecked by a last-minute discovery that Art Boy and I do not, between us, own Season Four of "The Simpsons" and therefore do not own the "Monster Mash" Valentine's Day episode (such ugly realizations are among the many hazards of moving in together). But we managed to muddle through. I rather thought last night's "Lost" was one of the most lavishly romantic episodes to date; I just love Des and Penny, particularly since Penny looks exactly like Catherine Deneuve. Today I have been waltzing around humming tunes from "The Umbrellas of Cherbourg" and ordering forked-leaf giant sundews for the back patio. Also slept through my yoga class and had cookies for breakfast. Life is nice. Art Boy is pretty nice too.

Finding stuff

While hunting up information about "The Passenger" (after hearing Siouxsie's version on WOXY vintage), I came across this little essay over at Swoon. I don't know that it's necessarily a bad thing that finding stuff has gotten so much easier with the Internet. I do worry about the divide it creates socially: not every kid is going to have access to a computer growing up. And about how much easier it could get to sell kids things. Anyway, either way, "The Passenger" rocks.

Today's list:
Repot Nepenthes
Take nice brisk walk
Finish chapter of Spanish book
Attend flamenco class

Monday update

Just back from a semisuccessful trip to the hardware store... bought some sticky carpet-runner stuff to cover the areas of the floor where Sebastian likes to make messes, and some lovely cheap red pots. "Are these for Valentine's Day?" asked my eyelinered sales clerk, who looked about 15.
"Ah, no. They're just for me," I said. "What are you doing for Valentine's Day?" she asked doggedly. I explained that my Art Boy wasn't much of a fan. "That's terrible!" she said. "I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me for seven months. But how can your boyfriend not like Valentine's Day?" So take that, Art Boy!

Meanwhile, Nashville's mayor has made me proud, and the Anna Nicole paternity case is starting to sound like Richard III to me. I hope not a one of these conniving "fathers" gets a cent of the Marshall estate.

Wrung out

I am still what the good Spanish call agotada after last night's shift. Does anyone want to know anything about Anna Nicole Smith? I know more than I ever wanted to. There is no good way to scour this information out of one's brain.

More housekeeping

Adding Big Country to the links list. It took me 16 years (Jesus Christ) to get around to following his recommendation to see "Becket," but he was absolutely correct. The Times' film critic accurately described the two leads as "incandescent." It's a marvelous film.

I don't know that I'll be rushing out to rent "New Jack City," nonetheless...

Home alone

Art Boy is in what he likes to call Sub Diego on a fun-sounding business trip. I am here by myself. Come and get me, ruffians! Tonight I plan to take myself to see the restored limited-run showing of "Becket" at the Nuart, and then come home and make a big pile of vegetables with chicken and peanut sauce. Mmm... broccoli.

Otherwise all is well here. My minibog is recovering nicely from last week's rain, and the lemon tree is sprouting new growth all over the place. The Nepenthes are suffering from low humidity, but they're surviving and the sooty mold they brought from Ohio (sorry, California agriculture!) seems to be dissipating. I think they will be showy and gorgeous again in a couple months.

Today's book: "The October Country" by Ray Bradbury. I have been a bit disappointed with Ray in recent years, having found "From the Dust Returned" a bit unfocused (despite its stupefyingly gorgeous cover); and finally having read "Something Wicked This Way Comes" only to be reminded that I am not intrigued by carnivals. But this short-story collection jumped off the shelf at Dutton's into my arms the other week and I have been enjoying it immensely. Ray is a pumpkin pie, and he lives in L.A. I do not know that he would be able to carry me off, as he is an aged gentleman, but if I ever meet him I will snuggle him.

Housekeeping

After having lurked around their blogs for some time (how sinister!), I am adding Eileen and Carrie to the blogroll. They are awesome blogs and it's an honor to link to them.

I have also alphabetized the people I know to move up Art Boy. Not that he links to me from his blog or anything. Last night we had one of our Mac/PC fights so I really am not going to get into this right now.

Iron Man vs. Daredevil: Who will prevail?

Bill: Tell me...why the hell does Iron Man get a live action and an animated movie? He couldn't carry Daredevil's jock...I'm just saying.

Me: Iron Man gets to have a cartoon and a live-action movie because he is IRON MAN! He is the biggest and strongest! He is wealthy and desired by many women! Daredevil is a weirdo who sleeps in a special pressurized chamber like Michael Jackson. He desires women who desire their fathers. Iron Man is clearly the winner. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you did ask.

Bill: The following I write with all due respect. Iron Man is a drunk, womanizing, cheap Howard Hughes knockoff with the most flaming mustache I've ever seen. Without his armor he wouldn't be a match for the crack-addict bag-lady on the corner. Daredevil, on the other hand, faces down hordes of gunmen with nothing but his stick and giant set of balls (I'll give you his issues with woman though). It's also not nice to call the handicapped weirdoes. I thought you were more evolved than that. His sensory deprivation chamber rocks. His senses are sexy. DD's a martial arts-boxing-acrobatic rock star. He protects those who can't protect themselves while others (like Iron Butt) only look after their wallet. Clearly DD is the winner in all ways of substance.

Me: What was I thinking?

Laaaaaaaaaa!

A young Nepenthes pitcher sings lustily at San Diego's Balboa Park. You didn't know tropical pitcher plants knew how to sing? You should get out more.

TV

I feel that I watch a lot of TV. Here is what Art Boy and I are watching right now:

- "Arrested Development" reruns (in no particular order). We're both pretty besotted with this. My favorite thing ever is Tobias as Mrs. Featherbottom. Remembering Jason Bateman from the teen years it is just really amazing to watch him walking around being such a damn cutie. It should give hope to awkward teens everywhere, or at least those appearing in unfortunate films. I think he now looks like Steve Martin. (Steve Martin, by the way, may carry me off if he comes to the door and asks nicely. This offer now applies to Mr. Bateman as well.)

- "The Office." Everyone in the universe apparently watches this. We do too. Team Karen.

- "30 Rock." We both have a simmering passion for Tina Fey. My feeling about this show at first was that, while Tina is a genius writer who may have anything of mine she likes including Art Boy, she is just not an actress. I have changed my mind; her interplay with Alec Baldwin every week is consistently genius. And the show is gradually turning into the ensemble thing it seems intended to be. We like it. But her cleavage vexes me; I find it a distraction from her sexy glasses.

- "Battlestar Galactica." Our favorite show! It's back tomorrow. So much has been written about why this show is brilliant; I'm not sure I can add to it. (Salon has a nice essay here.) Art Boy has some kind of weird deep-seated loathing for Edward James Olmos, so his affection for this show is a great testament to its quality. I can still tear up thinking about the pilot. The writing is brilliant and the space fights are awesome and the characters are all the kinds of people you want to both befriend and strangle. Oh God, I can't wait for tomorrow.

- "Lost." I no longer count myself a fan of this show but will probably grumblingly watch the rest of season 3 with Art Boy when it starts back up. "Battlestar Galactica" really killed this show for me. It has all the show's best elements: an isolated group of flawed people, sometimes fighting and sometimes trying to compromise, not really knowing what they're up against; some sci-fi, some spirituality; some searing ethical dilemmas. And it does them much better. I don't give a shit anymore about Sawyer and Kate with her little hot handcuffs and flowered dress. Whatever.

- "Blind Justice." He's a cop! Who's blind! Some baddies beat him up and steal his guide dog! It's Blind Justice! Art Boy won't let me watch this.

Is that a lot of TV? Yes, that is a lot. Sorry, good colleagues, I will not be watching "Project Runway" and talking about it with you. There's just no room.

Girls' day in

I am enjoying a pleasant midday in, working on a personal project and enjoying some new music from LaLa. Today's CDs: Dolly Parton's "Halos & Horns," the final installment in her bluegrass trilogy; and a marvelous Madonna "Like a Prayer" EP, with two seven-minute mixes of the title song. I had the latter on a record as a preteen and remember being enormously thrilled with it. Hearing a familiar song mixed a different way gave me such a frisson - it was like all the furniture in my mind had gotten broken up and rearranged. Listening to them now, there's not a whole lot to them, but I do still love this song. Dolly is nice too.

Last night I listed for an alarmed Art Boy the half-dozen people who may have anything of mine they like if they come to the door and demand it: Dolly, Nanci Griffith, Kate Bush, Patti Smith, Tina Fey and Tony Jaa. (Madonna doesn't make this list; she may not arouse my protective instincts in the same way.) I explained to Art Boy that Tina Fey is the only one who is also allowed to carry him off if she asks. At his request, I am also making this option available to Tony Jaa.

Anyway, back to work.

I do not hate everything

We saw a couple of good movies over my weekend. The first was "The Descent," which Art Boy rather surprised me by Netflicking. It concerns a bunch of women cavers getting chased by monsters, and sounded profoundly goofy to me, but he noted it was showing up on several critics year-end "best" lists. So into our movie-playing-device it went, and gosh, it was good. The cavers female-bond in a way that's realistic and cute, but never exploitative. I don't know that a movie about monsters pursuing ladies in tank tops can ever be quite feminist, but it is at least intelligent. As the cavers' adventure develops, they make a series of extremely reasonable decisions (except for one of them, who's confronted about it); their fate feels all the more horrifying for being so inevitable. And, these being women, there are complicated relationship issues going on. I highly recommend this movie to anyone who doesn't suffer claustrophobia...

We also went out to a proper theater to see "Children of Men," which my employer hailed as the new "Blade Runner." Not far off the mark. Clive Owen is impressively Harrison Fordesque with his brooding eyes, subtle pout and dystopian stubble. But unlike Deckard, whose inhumanity and self-loathing grow throughout "BR," Owen's character Theo is allowed to find redemption and hope. The movie is bleak but remarkably beautiful and upbeat. It's also full of animals - who seem to get special attention in a gray futuristic world without children - but none of the animals is ever hurt, which I appreciated. Alfonso Cuarón is a darling little lambkin.

What else do I like? Sally Timms, pink gin, my Nepenthes, Charles Dickens' "The Haunted House," reruns of "Arrested Development," the view out my computer-desk window (a square of perfect blue sky stacked on a square of pale yellow stucco: the house next door), Art Boy, my friends, having a heater. I hate pretty much everything else. Cheers!

Ay, España*

Art Boy and I went to see Pan's Labyrinth a few nights ago. I thought I would love it and I hated it. Isn't it awful when that happens? All the critics blathering on about "oh, it's a fairy tale for grownups" should have tipped me off. Things that strike other people as magical tend to get on my nerves.

But with Pan's L., it's not so much that it's irritating as that it just is not a fantasy movie. Sure, it has Otherworldly Scenes with Fanciful Monsters. Those take up approximately 15 minutes of total screen time. The entire rest of the movie is about a little girl being slowly tortured to death in fascist Spain. If the movie had been summarized thusly, I might have been less disappointed, but every critic is going on and on about the cool monsters... they are nice, but instead of getting to watch a movie about them, we have to watch the antics of a tedious fascist captain who, in case you missed it, is The Real Monster. There is no payoff; there is really no story to speak of.

Art Boy and I had an interesting discussion afterward about fantasy. I feel very strongly that any fantasy story has to hold to its own set of rules, and part of the problem with Pan's L., I thought at first, is that the rules are unclear. Art Boy made the valid point that the rules deliberately change as her situation changes. I've since changed my mind about this. The Otherworldly Scenes with Fanciful Monsters are so short and vague as simply to qualify as set pieces between the adult drama that makes up the rest of the movie. Which is, of course, all about Franco. Guillermo, my darling, please stop enabling Spain.

*correct accent mark added to pacify an increasingly demanding readership

Speaking of supervillains ...

...(which I maintain is one word) good ole Wil Wheaton is also thinking about supervillains. I am not surprised by my results on this quiz. (Art Boy's supervillain is that terrible Pittsburgh coach with the chin and mustache who looks like a puppet.)


You are Poison Ivy

You would go to almost any length for the protection of the environment including manipulation and elimination.



Click here to take the Super Villain Personality Test

Happy New Year, gangstas

Your scribe has returned from Tennessee without incident ... it was a lovely visit home. My niece and nephew are exceedingly cute, particularly the niece, who apparently developed a passion for bats after my last visit. I told her parents I would get her some black eyeliner and teach her the ways of the goths. (Oh, we adults are awful. Why can't we leave kids alone?) Anyway, I received some nice gifts, particularly from Art Boy, who gave me the sublime "Absolute Sandman Vol. 1," a compendium of supervillains (very comprehensive! I'm learning all about Solomon Grundy), a collection of Ricky Gervais podcasts and a much-needed bottle of Hendricks. Go Christmas!

Now it is time for New Year's ... I am not aware of any plans that we have, and I cannot ask Art Boy about it because he savagely beats me when I interrupt Bengals games. My plan is to get home from work sometime before midnight and count down to 2007 in quiet, adult fashion. Be safe, gentle readers!

Merry Christmas, gangstas

I'm off to Tennessee. Everyone be safe and well, please.

If anyone has time, you can enjoy my favorite Salon holiday article on the virtues of Pottersville. Art Boy is always completely appalled by this idea.

Do they still make wooden Christmas trees?

When I brought this home, I was very grateful to Art Boy for not yelling "You were supposed to get a good tree! Can't you even tell a good tree from a poor tree?" We'll repot it outdoors into a bigger pot (Art Boy, reading at work: "We?") after the new year and hopefully it will bear lemons for us. In the meantime, the leaves have a pleasing lemon scent, and it's holding my collection of 5 nice ornaments and Mardi Gras beads very nicely.

Better than a yule log

Ahhh. The furnace repairpersons have just left after installing our brand-new wall unit. At last we have heat in the house ... something we never thought we'd need when we arrived in L.A. during a heat wave this summer. But it has been down in the 40s at night, and with the photoperiod at its shortest (happy winter solstice, by the way!), we have been a wee bit chilly. Now, though, the wall furnace is happily chugging away, and there's a vent right next to the house PC so your scribe can be comfortable while she blogs. Hooray!

While they were working, I did my annual round of shortbread, which I will just take to the office. No trays were dropped upside-down on the floor this year. I have also wrapped Art Boy's presents and put them under the tree ... suppose should finish assembling Mom's Christmas gift to us (furniture) so can photograph the whole shebang. The five-CD changer has Charlie Brown up now ... I think Art Boy ran off with my Solstice CD this morning.

Ah, speaking of this morning: The cat was startled by something and ran across my face, digging in with her back claw in her alarm. Two of her toenails caught on the edge of my mouth and dragged down slightly. My first words to Art Boy today were "Am I bleeding?" I did not bleed, but I have two lovely small scratches that resemble whiskers. And this is one of our good cats.

Anyway, furniture. Be back.

The Sounds of Christmas

As vaguely promised, here is a list of my favorite holiday CDs. Keep in mind that I generally loathe holiday music. Shopping this time of year is just agony... yesterday H&M (where I had to buy clothes for my sister) was pounding out the "Winter Wonderland" at top volume and oh oh oh, my ears. (Presumably it usually plays Madonna at that volume.) So this is really a select group. I've been playing them the last couple weeks and Art Boy has been amazingly tolerant.

"A Charlie Brown Christmas" soundtrack
Well, duh. You can perform the Charlie Brown dances in your living room, quote favorite lines to your tolerant art boy ("Don't you know a sarcasm when you hear it?"), and reminisce about making your friends watch the special in college. This music was also used to excellent effect in the Arrested Development episode "Good Grief."

"John Denver and the Muppets: A Christmas Together"
Most of this album consists of weenie songs performed by John Denver. And then there's "Alfie the Christmas Tree," a bizarre narrative about a tree struggling with its feelings about being cut down and displayed in a living room, then suddenly concerned about nonChristians around the world (a thought which causes the tree to "pause"). Denver reads the whole thing in a voice cracking with emotion. But there are some great Muppet moments as well:

Gonzo: Now bring us a figgy pudding...
Miss Piggy: Piggy pudding?!
Gonzo: No, figgy pudding. It's made with figs.
MP: Oh. Sorry.
Gonzo: And bacon.
MP: What?

So you can either skip the weenie songs to the Muppet songs, or enjoy it all as one kitschy whole, which I have taken to doing in latter years. There are two CD versions floating around out there, one of them without "Little Saint Nick," which you need because of Animal doing the "Run run reindeer!" chorus.

"Christmas Caravan," The Squirrel Nut Zippers
Every Christmas my family listens to this and my mom wonders whatever has become of the Squirrel Nut Zippers. It was nice of them to produce this before going into hiding. My favorite tracks are "Carolina Christmas" (for the line "We're chillin in our underwear") and their loopy, infectious instrumental version of "Sleigh Ride."

"Christmas Is..." Johnny Mathis
I guess I shouldn't make fun of the late Mr. Denver for having been a weenie before endorsing music by Johnny Mathis. But dammit, Johnny is just so happy! You can't resist him! You can just hear the sleigh bells in his voice! I would love to see him perform. I bet he bobs up and down merrily. On this CD, just when you're starting to think he's a little too happy, he settles down with "Ave Maria," and it's pretty enough to melt even the toughest cynic. (And dear readers, that would be me.) Johnny also has a nice peppy version of "Sleigh Ride" but it is not on this collection... maybe for next year.

"An Even Scarier Solstice" The H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society
This CD really makes shopping easier, particularly because they've tackled many of the most annoying holiday songs and made them much more palatable. I was in J.Crew a few weeks ago and they were actually playing "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth." Now, really, who wants to hear that? Everyone in the store looked annoyed. But I thought of "All I Want for Solstice is my Sanity," and was able to continue shopping with a serene smile on my face. I'm not just endorsing this album because one of the Arkham Carolers is me. You can't particularly hear me, thank heavens.

"Christmas with Johnny Cash"
I am still on the fence about this collection. I can't really stand listening to it all the way through, but if you're going to put a bunch of CDs in the changer and set it to "shuffle" (if any of you iPod people still do that), this is a fine one to include. It startles you in a nice way to hear "Jingle Bells" and realize it's Johnny Cash singing. Taken as a whole, though, his merriment is just a little forced. If anyone wasn't lighthearted, it was Johnny.

This had better not be about your cat, Ralph

I made up the bed this morning, but Sebastian unmade it and got completely wound up in the bedsheet. We normally don't like him to do this because then he does awful things necessitating immediate laundry, but right now he's just sleeping.



Anastasia and Art Boy share an affection for plastic storage bins.