Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Movie Night
What is the deal with every movie being 15-30 minutes too long these days? I saw Moneyball last night and, enjoyable though it was, I was dying at about the two hour mark. Did they really need all those montages of Brad Pitt being sad while people said bad shit about the A's on the radio? Or all of that Jonah Hill? How about just one guy calling Brad Pitt an asshole to his face and no Jonah Hill at all? Actually, no Jonah Hill at all is a good rule of thumb for any movie, if you ask me.
Anyway, it was pretty good. My comparative ignorance of baseball ended up being a pretty good asset because most of the plot elements were genuinely surprising to me even though they actually happened in real life. I thought that Brad Pitt's low-key-to-the-point-of-a-near-coma acting stylings were pretty appropriate to the role for once and the writing was also enjoyably not too aggressive. Having the guy from Parks & Rec (Oh, who am I kidding? The guy from Everwood) there was sort of distracting, but fortunately there wasn't enough of him to make that too big of a deal. And I actually sort of got goose bumps at one point, although that may have been because I forgot to close the flue on the fireplace a few days ago and there was kind of a draft.
Doesn't it feel good to actually make use of your Netflix? Now if only I could get to that copy of The Deer Hunter that's been sitting there for more than a year, I'd totally be in business.
What is the deal with every movie being 15-30 minutes too long these days? I saw Moneyball last night and, enjoyable though it was, I was dying at about the two hour mark. Did they really need all those montages of Brad Pitt being sad while people said bad shit about the A's on the radio? Or all of that Jonah Hill? How about just one guy calling Brad Pitt an asshole to his face and no Jonah Hill at all? Actually, no Jonah Hill at all is a good rule of thumb for any movie, if you ask me.
Anyway, it was pretty good. My comparative ignorance of baseball ended up being a pretty good asset because most of the plot elements were genuinely surprising to me even though they actually happened in real life. I thought that Brad Pitt's low-key-to-the-point-of-a-near-coma acting stylings were pretty appropriate to the role for once and the writing was also enjoyably not too aggressive. Having the guy from Parks & Rec (Oh, who am I kidding? The guy from Everwood) there was sort of distracting, but fortunately there wasn't enough of him to make that too big of a deal. And I actually sort of got goose bumps at one point, although that may have been because I forgot to close the flue on the fireplace a few days ago and there was kind of a draft.
Doesn't it feel good to actually make use of your Netflix? Now if only I could get to that copy of The Deer Hunter that's been sitting there for more than a year, I'd totally be in business.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Getting Real
This may be one of the few things I've never admitted on here before, but I'm kind of weirdly obsessed with real estate. When I was a kid, I always tried to get my hands on copies of Architectural Digest while my friends were sneaking copies of comic books or later porn. I would flip through them over and over and imagine the great clerestory my kitchen would have when I got old enough to have my own place. My parents even bought me some of those little paperbacks that are filled with floor plans for houses. I picked out three or four favorites, with my main criteria being lots of square footage and rooms with exotic names I had never heard before, like "media room" or "sex bunker." On one birthday I even got a computer program so I could design my own houses, but it ended up being really complicated and I don't think I ever got much further than slapping a window in a wall. It was a hell of a window, though, I'll tell you that.
I mention all of this solely because I went up to my friends' new house in Evanston last night for dinner and I am feeling a wicked case of real estate envy. Four bedrooms, four baths, a gorgeous open kitchen, and two of the biggest walk-in closets you have ever seen. Coffered ceiling in the dining room and crown molding everywhere. There's even a laundry chute. Can you tell I'm getting a little turned on right now? It was all I could do to stop myself from climbing back in through a window and setting up a squatter's colony in the fully finished basement. If I'd had a toothbrush and a change of clothes with me, it probably would have happened.
This may be one of the few things I've never admitted on here before, but I'm kind of weirdly obsessed with real estate. When I was a kid, I always tried to get my hands on copies of Architectural Digest while my friends were sneaking copies of comic books or later porn. I would flip through them over and over and imagine the great clerestory my kitchen would have when I got old enough to have my own place. My parents even bought me some of those little paperbacks that are filled with floor plans for houses. I picked out three or four favorites, with my main criteria being lots of square footage and rooms with exotic names I had never heard before, like "media room" or "sex bunker." On one birthday I even got a computer program so I could design my own houses, but it ended up being really complicated and I don't think I ever got much further than slapping a window in a wall. It was a hell of a window, though, I'll tell you that.
I mention all of this solely because I went up to my friends' new house in Evanston last night for dinner and I am feeling a wicked case of real estate envy. Four bedrooms, four baths, a gorgeous open kitchen, and two of the biggest walk-in closets you have ever seen. Coffered ceiling in the dining room and crown molding everywhere. There's even a laundry chute. Can you tell I'm getting a little turned on right now? It was all I could do to stop myself from climbing back in through a window and setting up a squatter's colony in the fully finished basement. If I'd had a toothbrush and a change of clothes with me, it probably would have happened.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Wisdom
This morning when I started my car, the first thing I heard was a deejay saying "And that's the latest from Train. How can you not love that?"
I will assume it was a rhetorical question.
This morning when I started my car, the first thing I heard was a deejay saying "And that's the latest from Train. How can you not love that?"
I will assume it was a rhetorical question.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Difficulties
Well, it's Thursday night, which if the past two weeks are any indication means that it's either already snowing ferociously or about to start doing so. I have to say that it's been pretty great getting snowed in every time I'm about to actually have a little bit of time to go places. Hiking back and forth to the gym in my ten-year-old sneakers because I don't even have snow boots despite living in Chicago for a decade has been a true joy. Not to mention the fact that I've had to cancel two planned trips to Target in a row! You may have noticed from their stock dropping fifty points.
Anyway, it has been a trying week. Lots of work, no new Revenge, my work computer and my home computer have decided to gang up on me with a partial work stoppage, and someone sneezed on me on the el today. I fully expect to have the full-blown plague by Tuesday.
Oh, and I've seen the commercial for Ghost Rider 2 like six times tonight. Have all the demons of hell come to torment me?
Well, it's Thursday night, which if the past two weeks are any indication means that it's either already snowing ferociously or about to start doing so. I have to say that it's been pretty great getting snowed in every time I'm about to actually have a little bit of time to go places. Hiking back and forth to the gym in my ten-year-old sneakers because I don't even have snow boots despite living in Chicago for a decade has been a true joy. Not to mention the fact that I've had to cancel two planned trips to Target in a row! You may have noticed from their stock dropping fifty points.
Anyway, it has been a trying week. Lots of work, no new Revenge, my work computer and my home computer have decided to gang up on me with a partial work stoppage, and someone sneezed on me on the el today. I fully expect to have the full-blown plague by Tuesday.
Oh, and I've seen the commercial for Ghost Rider 2 like six times tonight. Have all the demons of hell come to torment me?
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Touchable
Drew Peterson: Untouchable weekend has drawn to a close and, as one might expect, there's a little bit of a letdown. Ever since those photos of Rob Lowe buried under sixteen pounds of moustache surfaced on the Internet we've been looking forward to it and now we can no longer look forward to the joy of hearing dialogue like "Drew just pushed me into the TV. Want to help me make Margaritas?" for the first time. And who knows how long it will be until the next wife murdering comedy comes out? Too long, that's for damned sure.
Anyway, I'm trying to mentally prepare myself now for a week without Drew. The snow is melting off rapidly, which helps a little bit. I'm basking in the promise of potentially being able to get my car out for a run to Target. I'm planning to buy snow boots and a spare phone charger, you see. If life gets any more exciting than that, I don't want to know about it.
It's going to be a long work week, I think. I pretty much tend to always think that, but I also tend to generally be right. Just like that time I predicted that Kate Hudson would win an Oscar, I would very much prefer to be wrong.
Drew Peterson: Untouchable weekend has drawn to a close and, as one might expect, there's a little bit of a letdown. Ever since those photos of Rob Lowe buried under sixteen pounds of moustache surfaced on the Internet we've been looking forward to it and now we can no longer look forward to the joy of hearing dialogue like "Drew just pushed me into the TV. Want to help me make Margaritas?" for the first time. And who knows how long it will be until the next wife murdering comedy comes out? Too long, that's for damned sure.
Anyway, I'm trying to mentally prepare myself now for a week without Drew. The snow is melting off rapidly, which helps a little bit. I'm basking in the promise of potentially being able to get my car out for a run to Target. I'm planning to buy snow boots and a spare phone charger, you see. If life gets any more exciting than that, I don't want to know about it.
It's going to be a long work week, I think. I pretty much tend to always think that, but I also tend to generally be right. Just like that time I predicted that Kate Hudson would win an Oscar, I would very much prefer to be wrong.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Silent Night
So I saw The Artist this week. It was pretty fun and cute. I could probably have done with about fifteen fewer minutes of it, but I say that so often these days that I really should create a macro for it. It is, as I suspect you may have heard, a silent film, which is a bit weird at first (it made it much harder for me not to notice the people eating candy loudly down in front of me), but ultimately not such a big deal. The main thing you end up noticing is that the score is gorgeous, even though they somehow failed to get John Williams. It's actually kind of nice to not have people talking over it.
As to the acting, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it may be the finest work that John Goodman has done since Coyote Ugly. (No, don't fret, he's not in it very much.) James Cromwell is there but doesn't do a whole lot, which is fine, as is Penelope Ann Miller, who I always confuse with someone else, although I couldn't tell you who. I think most of the cast is French, though, or I should probably say "Freedom." I do want to give a special shout out to Berenice Bejo, whose name requires two accent marks my keyboard cannot provide, for being maybe the most adorable thing ever. Except I have to take that back, because the dog in the movie is without a doubt the most adorable thing ever. Sorry, humans. Dogs just do it better.
Anyway, I thought the movie was quite fine. And given what a mediocre year this has been generally for movies, I'm not surprised that it's racking up so many awards. If only Rob Lowe's Drew Peterson movie had been a theatrical release instead of a Lifetime classic, I might be singing a very different tune.
So I saw The Artist this week. It was pretty fun and cute. I could probably have done with about fifteen fewer minutes of it, but I say that so often these days that I really should create a macro for it. It is, as I suspect you may have heard, a silent film, which is a bit weird at first (it made it much harder for me not to notice the people eating candy loudly down in front of me), but ultimately not such a big deal. The main thing you end up noticing is that the score is gorgeous, even though they somehow failed to get John Williams. It's actually kind of nice to not have people talking over it.
As to the acting, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it may be the finest work that John Goodman has done since Coyote Ugly. (No, don't fret, he's not in it very much.) James Cromwell is there but doesn't do a whole lot, which is fine, as is Penelope Ann Miller, who I always confuse with someone else, although I couldn't tell you who. I think most of the cast is French, though, or I should probably say "Freedom." I do want to give a special shout out to Berenice Bejo, whose name requires two accent marks my keyboard cannot provide, for being maybe the most adorable thing ever. Except I have to take that back, because the dog in the movie is without a doubt the most adorable thing ever. Sorry, humans. Dogs just do it better.
Anyway, I thought the movie was quite fine. And given what a mediocre year this has been generally for movies, I'm not surprised that it's racking up so many awards. If only Rob Lowe's Drew Peterson movie had been a theatrical release instead of a Lifetime classic, I might be singing a very different tune.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Leighton Meester Film Festival
Fresh on the heels of our Country Strong triumph, we watched The Roommate starring Leighton Meester tonight. It was not at all what I expected. Despite the presence of acting powerhouses like Leighton Meester, Minka Kelly, Aly Michalka, and Cam Gigandet, it was not really all that hilarious. There was limited catfighting and very little random bitchery. No one was buried alive or thrown into a pool. And worst of all, there was not a single Leighton Meester song on the soundtrack.
Does it seem like I'm trying to say the words Leighton Meester as often as possible? Well, you're wrong about that, because Leighton and Meester aren't even close to being words.
Leighton Meester is pretty incredible, though. I was actually kind of rooting for her throughout, and only partially because Minka Kelly wears a terrible hat and seems on the verge of falling into a coma the whole time. I mean, sure, she's a manic, possessive loon who murders on more than one occasion, but she's creative and well dressed and unfailingly polite. Plus her parents are rich, so she has a sweet car. I wish my college roommate had been like that, as opposed to a greasy Alan Parsons Project fan who obsessively cleaned our kitchen and took forty minute showers. Although I never had a problem finding a clean glass, I'll give him that.
Anyway, it was kind of a disappointment. On the plus side, it was only ninety minutes, although those ninety minutes seemed more like ninety years. Maybe that was the point? To challenge our preconceived notions of how to experience the passage of time?
Fresh on the heels of our Country Strong triumph, we watched The Roommate starring Leighton Meester tonight. It was not at all what I expected. Despite the presence of acting powerhouses like Leighton Meester, Minka Kelly, Aly Michalka, and Cam Gigandet, it was not really all that hilarious. There was limited catfighting and very little random bitchery. No one was buried alive or thrown into a pool. And worst of all, there was not a single Leighton Meester song on the soundtrack.
Does it seem like I'm trying to say the words Leighton Meester as often as possible? Well, you're wrong about that, because Leighton and Meester aren't even close to being words.
Leighton Meester is pretty incredible, though. I was actually kind of rooting for her throughout, and only partially because Minka Kelly wears a terrible hat and seems on the verge of falling into a coma the whole time. I mean, sure, she's a manic, possessive loon who murders on more than one occasion, but she's creative and well dressed and unfailingly polite. Plus her parents are rich, so she has a sweet car. I wish my college roommate had been like that, as opposed to a greasy Alan Parsons Project fan who obsessively cleaned our kitchen and took forty minute showers. Although I never had a problem finding a clean glass, I'll give him that.
Anyway, it was kind of a disappointment. On the plus side, it was only ninety minutes, although those ninety minutes seemed more like ninety years. Maybe that was the point? To challenge our preconceived notions of how to experience the passage of time?
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Golden Globes Wrap-Up 2012
The Golden Globes just ended and I have more questions than answers. Why was Jessica Biel wearing her grandmother's wedding dress? Better yet, why was Jessica Biel at the Golden Globes at all? At least Antonio Banderas and Melanie Griffith had the excuse of Puss In Boots being nominated, although really, who shows up to be honored for their voice work? Plus, I honestly thought that Melanie Griffith was Carol Burnett when I first saw her. But of course that's not right, because Carol Burnett still works occasionally.
I have to say it was pretty enjoyable overall, despite the fact that I had little or no interest in most of the nominees. I'm sorry, but I can't really get amped up about seeing George Clooney come to terms with his wife being in a coma or Tilda Swinton come to terms with her son being a school shooter or Michael Fassbender come to terms with his penis. Frankly, I think we're all much better off not coming to terms with things. Unless the thing is explosive diarrhea, because that is hilarious.
Anyway, award shows can be fun, unless they're the Grammys. Madonna's arms were an atrocity, as was the fact of Madonna winning yet another Golden Globe. On the other hand, Jane Fonda served as a tribute to the power of good plastic surgery, low-impact exercise, and having been married to a very, very wealthy person. She's already won a bunch of awards, so what the hell does she care? Which is also, coincidentally, why Meryl Streep is allowed to roll out of bead, pull her hair back into a ponytail, put on a country-western-looking skort and head over to pick up her Golden Globe. At this point, she's just begging them to stop giving her things.
The Golden Globes just ended and I have more questions than answers. Why was Jessica Biel wearing her grandmother's wedding dress? Better yet, why was Jessica Biel at the Golden Globes at all? At least Antonio Banderas and Melanie Griffith had the excuse of Puss In Boots being nominated, although really, who shows up to be honored for their voice work? Plus, I honestly thought that Melanie Griffith was Carol Burnett when I first saw her. But of course that's not right, because Carol Burnett still works occasionally.
I have to say it was pretty enjoyable overall, despite the fact that I had little or no interest in most of the nominees. I'm sorry, but I can't really get amped up about seeing George Clooney come to terms with his wife being in a coma or Tilda Swinton come to terms with her son being a school shooter or Michael Fassbender come to terms with his penis. Frankly, I think we're all much better off not coming to terms with things. Unless the thing is explosive diarrhea, because that is hilarious.
Anyway, award shows can be fun, unless they're the Grammys. Madonna's arms were an atrocity, as was the fact of Madonna winning yet another Golden Globe. On the other hand, Jane Fonda served as a tribute to the power of good plastic surgery, low-impact exercise, and having been married to a very, very wealthy person. She's already won a bunch of awards, so what the hell does she care? Which is also, coincidentally, why Meryl Streep is allowed to roll out of bead, pull her hair back into a ponytail, put on a country-western-looking skort and head over to pick up her Golden Globe. At this point, she's just begging them to stop giving her things.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Training Day
Normally I take a cab home from work. The firm pays for it, it's quick, and I can talk to my friends on the phone while someone else drives. There are drawbacks, of course. If I can't reach anyone on the phone and I have a talkative cab driver, there's the terrifying specter of having to chuckle demonstratively at various inanities or, worse yet, avoid advising someone about his immigration problems. If I can't reach anyone on the phone and I don't have a talkative cab driver, meanwhile, there's still the possibility of Christian radio or, worse yet, talk radio. (The Delilah I don't really mind that much.) And recently, there's motion sickness. Apparently my inner ear is not ready for me to manage my Tiny Tower while hurtling around a corner at 40 miles per hour.
But anyway, this week I've decided to take the train home from work and it turns out to be sort of great! It's not especially crowded by the time I can leave the office and, since I've been hitting the station right as a train gets there, it's actually been faster than taking a cab home. I can read without feeling like I need to throw up (unless the New Yorker's running yet another Malcom Gladwell piece, but that's not the train's fault) and put in my headphones without fear that someone will think I'm rude or start shouting at me about the directions. Plus it kind of makes me feel like a real person again. Yes, in the spirit of the Republican primaries, I've decided there are "real" people and fake people, and now I'm one of the real ones. Just Joe Sixpack living the American Dream.
I'm guessing this won't last, but it's a noble experiment. Unlike that one I did with kerosene and firecrackers in the sixth grade.
Sunday, January 08, 2012
Tower Heist
I have become shamefully addicted to an iPhone app. Well, several, actually, but the current addiction is by far the worst I've had. I mean, I spent a solid week playing Family Feud five times a day, but that was just a blip compared to this. Words With Friends continues to draw my attention three or four times a day through the present, but that is by comparison rational. And Angry Birds is awesome, but it sort of gives me a headache, so it's never truly obsessed me. But Tiny Tower, of all things, has more or less taken over my life.
You see, Tiny Tower combines the addictive micromanaging of my favorite PC classics like SimCity and Civilization with the constant access of a handheld device. The result is that, whereas I used to have to eventually power down my computer and go to work after playing the Sims for, say, sixteen hours straight, with Tiny Tower I can just carry it with me. And although I do shut it down while I'm at work, I check it at lunch. And when I'm on my way to fill up my water bottle. And sometimes in the elevator. This is definitely a sickness.
To explain it to you in brief, the game has you manage a high-rise tower with all different kinds of restaurants, stores, and residences in it. You operate everything -- the elevators, the hiring, the stock of the businesses -- and can spend money to add on floors and buy cool new accessories and stuff. It keeps moving 24 hours a day, even when you're not paying attention, so when you come back after a while everything is completely messed up and you have to spend hours fixing it.
I'm cringing as I type this from how lame it sounds, but I can't help myself. I've finally found a game that is the functional equivalent of work and I think I'm in love.
I have become shamefully addicted to an iPhone app. Well, several, actually, but the current addiction is by far the worst I've had. I mean, I spent a solid week playing Family Feud five times a day, but that was just a blip compared to this. Words With Friends continues to draw my attention three or four times a day through the present, but that is by comparison rational. And Angry Birds is awesome, but it sort of gives me a headache, so it's never truly obsessed me. But Tiny Tower, of all things, has more or less taken over my life.
You see, Tiny Tower combines the addictive micromanaging of my favorite PC classics like SimCity and Civilization with the constant access of a handheld device. The result is that, whereas I used to have to eventually power down my computer and go to work after playing the Sims for, say, sixteen hours straight, with Tiny Tower I can just carry it with me. And although I do shut it down while I'm at work, I check it at lunch. And when I'm on my way to fill up my water bottle. And sometimes in the elevator. This is definitely a sickness.
To explain it to you in brief, the game has you manage a high-rise tower with all different kinds of restaurants, stores, and residences in it. You operate everything -- the elevators, the hiring, the stock of the businesses -- and can spend money to add on floors and buy cool new accessories and stuff. It keeps moving 24 hours a day, even when you're not paying attention, so when you come back after a while everything is completely messed up and you have to spend hours fixing it.
I'm cringing as I type this from how lame it sounds, but I can't help myself. I've finally found a game that is the functional equivalent of work and I think I'm in love.
Tuesday, January 03, 2012
Help Wanted
I watched The Help on demand tonight. The choices I was presented with were Friends With Benefits, Beastly, and The Help, so I think I chose wisely. I'm pretty sure that watching Beastly can give you hives.
Anyway, I learned a lot about the horrors of racism by watching this movie. For instance, I had not previously understood how much white chicks with bad hair and glasses suffered during the civil rights movement. The plucky maids definitely seemed to feel their pain.
The other thing you definitely need to know about The Help is that Bryce Dallas Howard plays like the most awful human being ever. Or maybe she's not acting, I don't know. But there's a lot of hair tossing and nostril flaring involved.
Viola Davis is pretty great. I'm not saying that just about this movie, I'm saying it in general. She was super solid in Doubt, too. I do continually find myself wishing that she would actually play the viola, however. How fantastic would that be?
But overall, I guess I'm just super glad that we've finally got this whole racism thing beat. Mad props to us.
I watched The Help on demand tonight. The choices I was presented with were Friends With Benefits, Beastly, and The Help, so I think I chose wisely. I'm pretty sure that watching Beastly can give you hives.
Anyway, I learned a lot about the horrors of racism by watching this movie. For instance, I had not previously understood how much white chicks with bad hair and glasses suffered during the civil rights movement. The plucky maids definitely seemed to feel their pain.
The other thing you definitely need to know about The Help is that Bryce Dallas Howard plays like the most awful human being ever. Or maybe she's not acting, I don't know. But there's a lot of hair tossing and nostril flaring involved.
Viola Davis is pretty great. I'm not saying that just about this movie, I'm saying it in general. She was super solid in Doubt, too. I do continually find myself wishing that she would actually play the viola, however. How fantastic would that be?
But overall, I guess I'm just super glad that we've finally got this whole racism thing beat. Mad props to us.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
2011: The Year That Was
Another year has come and gone. Are large parts of it sort of fuzzy memories for you? Perhaps I can help with this list of 2011's highlights and lowlights, as determined by an entirely scientific survey of me:
Highlight: The Lifetime Movie Network. It's just nice to know that Rebecca Romijn and Nicole Eggert have somewhere to go to keep them off the streets. And the production values! There's no reason the set from your high school production of that Neil Simon play should go to waste.
Lowlight: Transformers 3. What was once entertainingly nonsensical has now just become boring. And who would have thought that Megan Fox's acting would end up seeming understated by comparison?
Highlight: The CVS clinic on Southport. It's near my house and I was able to just walk in and confirm I did not have the plague within an hour. Which left much more time for lying helpless in my bed and praying for the sweet release of death.
Lowlight: Netflix pausing to load content like six times in the middle of Insidious. Watching Barbara Hershey in freeze frame for five minutes is not the sort of suspense I had in mind.
Highlight: The box of Bottlecaps I bought at the Wal-Mart in Quincy. I'd forgotten about Bottlecaps, honestly, but they're amazing. There's like six flavors, some of which I cannot tell apart. I need to find a dealer in Chicago.
Lowlight: The forty-five minute flight to Indianapolis in a plane so tiny I can barely fit my magazine into the space between me and the seat in front of me. Although the food court at the Indy airport is comparatively glamorous.
Highlight: The Arab Spring. At first I had this confused with Spring Awakening, but then I noticed the lack of sexy teens. But anyway, I am all for democracy until it results in the election of someone unpalatable to the US.
Lowlight: The endless Republican debates. Seriously, it's been going on longer than Kate Winslet's Oscar campaign. And with a similar degree of desperation. Although I do think Rick Santorum would have been great in The Holiday.
Another year has come and gone. Are large parts of it sort of fuzzy memories for you? Perhaps I can help with this list of 2011's highlights and lowlights, as determined by an entirely scientific survey of me:
Highlight: The Lifetime Movie Network. It's just nice to know that Rebecca Romijn and Nicole Eggert have somewhere to go to keep them off the streets. And the production values! There's no reason the set from your high school production of that Neil Simon play should go to waste.
Lowlight: Transformers 3. What was once entertainingly nonsensical has now just become boring. And who would have thought that Megan Fox's acting would end up seeming understated by comparison?
Highlight: The CVS clinic on Southport. It's near my house and I was able to just walk in and confirm I did not have the plague within an hour. Which left much more time for lying helpless in my bed and praying for the sweet release of death.
Lowlight: Netflix pausing to load content like six times in the middle of Insidious. Watching Barbara Hershey in freeze frame for five minutes is not the sort of suspense I had in mind.
Highlight: The box of Bottlecaps I bought at the Wal-Mart in Quincy. I'd forgotten about Bottlecaps, honestly, but they're amazing. There's like six flavors, some of which I cannot tell apart. I need to find a dealer in Chicago.
Lowlight: The forty-five minute flight to Indianapolis in a plane so tiny I can barely fit my magazine into the space between me and the seat in front of me. Although the food court at the Indy airport is comparatively glamorous.
Highlight: The Arab Spring. At first I had this confused with Spring Awakening, but then I noticed the lack of sexy teens. But anyway, I am all for democracy until it results in the election of someone unpalatable to the US.
Lowlight: The endless Republican debates. Seriously, it's been going on longer than Kate Winslet's Oscar campaign. And with a similar degree of desperation. Although I do think Rick Santorum would have been great in The Holiday.
