Monday, February 14, 2005
Cake to Make Nothing
It was a sunny but mostly unhappy weekend - someone was going on about her 'existential crisis' on Friday, and I caught it. So I had to nurse myself with lots of rest and cookies and what not. It didn't help that I rented The Talented Mr. Ripley, which was even further depressing. Not the story, though - the backdrop of beautiful seaside Italy and the characters' luxurious dolce far niente lifestyle. Sigh... (Yes, I already knew that phrase; doesn't it just roll off the tongue: dolce far niente, meaning the sweetness of doing nothing. Ahhhhh) Watching it was almost like sitting outside on a bright sunny winter day here, and wondering why exactly I left Florida. Again, sigh...
Since there's nothing to note from the weekend, here are some blips:
The Gates opened in Central Park over the weekend. I didn't see it yet. It'll be there for a coupla weeks, just enough time for me to forget to see it entirely and then just shrug. My roommate saw it and got a piece of the saffron-colored fabric. It's a purty orange. I'm going to pretend the whole thing is just for me.
I saw Masculine Feminine at Film Forum over the weekend. Their screens are small, I must say. I don't think I've ever seen anything there--I was going to see Blue Angel, or whatever that Marlene Dietrich film was called, but the line was so long I said BUMP THAT! The movie was really funny compared to the other Godard films I've seen; that said, I don't understand the abrupt ending. My favorite line from the film was when Paul was in a cinema and said to someone making noise: Can it, Trotskyite!
So Xtina's getting married. I heard it on the news--it broke for commercial and said something like 'Big news from this diva' and I knew it immediately. The biatch is getting married, I bespoke. And sure enough... What a damn disappointment. Not only was she the big sexual provocatrice of the moment, but I hoped she would have been the type to challenge all that humdrum pazzlegawazzle about getting married and having children and all that crap. Oh well. Guess we'll have to look to the future, which I guess at this point is Ashlee Simpson. The future is not pretty. Speaking of marriage, Laura Kipnis has a beep in Slate today related to Inside Deep Throat. Go read.
I picked up this magazine called Sly over the weekend. It's a lifestyle magazine by Sylvester Stallone for the over-40 man. It strikes me as a one-issue-only magazine, cux apparently Sly is the one doing the interviews, etc. and I can't imagine that he would have time to do that every month. Ordinarly I would assume that staff are doing all the articles, but from the looks of the stuff I actually read, I really think that Sylvester Stallone is doing it himself, cux it's not exactly the best work I've ever seen. In fact, the editing isn't great either: at one point he refers to the season of winter as 'the month itself.' Outside L.A., winter lasts longer than a single month. We'll see if it lasts. I do like the title, though; it's got more flair than Oprah or Boutros-Boutros.
There have been a lot of plays of Back to the Crack Shack from soundclick over just the past few days. I think someone linked to it. I just wish I knew who. Then again, maybe not. Maybe it's someone saying something evil about it, in which case I might not want to know. Well, I guess it will come out eventually, when google spiders it.
Lastly, here's a shout out: This girl makes unbelievable cakes - really moist and decorated uncommonly beautifully. Check her out at www.Sweet-Treats4U.com. Oh, and another shout-out: I got what I thought was my last bday present, but apparently may be my penultimate present (making Mark's my antepenultimate one - SLAMN!): A Smencil from Corey. A Smencil is a scented pencil; he got me orange, in the spirit of Celeditude. Thanks!
And those are the big bad blips for now.