Well, hmm, not nearly so chatty today, not nearly so many things to post.
Which is for the best, really. I think we can all agree on that.
(Bananas really are radioactive. It's true.)
We watched something like the first quarter of The Bourne Identity last night, which is both better than I expected and not quite as good as I hoped. Christopher keeps having trouble with the foreign characterizations ("Oh, sure, the Swiss are so hardcore about papers and sleeping on benches..." or fairly simple escape routes on the outside of foreign embassies.) and I keep having trouble with the actions of the characters ("Oh, right, he was found with gunshot wounds in a freaking ocean, went to look in a safety deposit box where there were various passports with his picture and different identities, loads of various currencies AND a gun, but he doesn't realize he's in urgent danger until he hits redial and is told one of the identities is dead by the hotel clerk. RIGHT." or a guy with a gun blows in through an apartment window and starts trying to kill this guy who just paid you $20,000 for a ride to Paris and you just stand there and watch. RIGHT.). And then we both agree that it's an action movie and we should stop thinking. Stop thinking, note to self, important for action-movie enjoyment.
But really, it's not that bad. We'll probably finish it tonight, maybe tomorrow. We'd have finished it last night if the extremely pleasant handyman Joel hadn't come to install our smoke detectors.
Hank Stuever writes on the new edition of The Joy of Sex. It's not as pithy as you'd hope, but interesting for little details those of us who've never read this book wouldn't know, like that the guy who originally wrote it thought bathing and grooming were overrated. RIGHT. I would have to say that bathing and grooming are essential to my joy of sex. And I'll go no further, or we'll all be blushing.
And, if you want to think of something truly scary, don't just think about Dubya. Think about Jeb. And Prescott. And hey, if you read this article, you can send Jeb an ole electronic missive and he might respond, but not with adequate spaces between all the words. (The man liked Forrest Gump, liked it so much he wept several times during it. To quote an ancient proverb: Enough said.) I expect my president to have meticulous grammatical skillz. Needless to say, I don't really have a president right now.
Which is for the best, really. I think we can all agree on that.
(Bananas really are radioactive. It's true.)
We watched something like the first quarter of The Bourne Identity last night, which is both better than I expected and not quite as good as I hoped. Christopher keeps having trouble with the foreign characterizations ("Oh, sure, the Swiss are so hardcore about papers and sleeping on benches..." or fairly simple escape routes on the outside of foreign embassies.) and I keep having trouble with the actions of the characters ("Oh, right, he was found with gunshot wounds in a freaking ocean, went to look in a safety deposit box where there were various passports with his picture and different identities, loads of various currencies AND a gun, but he doesn't realize he's in urgent danger until he hits redial and is told one of the identities is dead by the hotel clerk. RIGHT." or a guy with a gun blows in through an apartment window and starts trying to kill this guy who just paid you $20,000 for a ride to Paris and you just stand there and watch. RIGHT.). And then we both agree that it's an action movie and we should stop thinking. Stop thinking, note to self, important for action-movie enjoyment.
But really, it's not that bad. We'll probably finish it tonight, maybe tomorrow. We'd have finished it last night if the extremely pleasant handyman Joel hadn't come to install our smoke detectors.
Hank Stuever writes on the new edition of The Joy of Sex. It's not as pithy as you'd hope, but interesting for little details those of us who've never read this book wouldn't know, like that the guy who originally wrote it thought bathing and grooming were overrated. RIGHT. I would have to say that bathing and grooming are essential to my joy of sex. And I'll go no further, or we'll all be blushing.
And, if you want to think of something truly scary, don't just think about Dubya. Think about Jeb. And Prescott. And hey, if you read this article, you can send Jeb an ole electronic missive and he might respond, but not with adequate spaces between all the words. (The man liked Forrest Gump, liked it so much he wept several times during it. To quote an ancient proverb: Enough said.) I expect my president to have meticulous grammatical skillz. Needless to say, I don't really have a president right now.
posted by Gwenda @ 2/25/2003 01:31:00 PM
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