So just to maintain a semblance of a running diary here...
Ali, Beck and I went to Moe's to support the Tufts marathon team on Tuesday night. More accurately, I picked up Ali and then we grabbed Beck and then we went to Moe's. This info is mildly relevant because I had popped in The Grateful Dead's Live/Dead on the way home from work that day (after the aforementioned jazz lectures), so when I picked up Ali in her driveway, St. Stephen was playing. And Ali and I bopped heads and sang along to the quirky tune en route to picking up Beck. I don't think I've ever sung along to St. Stephen with anyone other than myself before; 'twas nice.
Though, according to a recent phone conversation I overheard, um, five minutes ago, Ali thinks I am "so nasty." Thanks, PGoat.
Moe's was awesome. For some reason we were all ravenously hungry. Unfortunately, a lot of other Tufts vet folk were eating there also in support of the running team, so Ali and Beck did not feel it right to rip them in the usual manner. D'oh. But we scarfed our burritos and the ladies had a beer and a frozen margarita, collectively. A British guy named Gareth sat with us for a while; I remain "in stun" that no one at the school has spent hours making The Office (UK) jokes at his expense. Anyways, great meal, fun times as usual. (And for the record, I did NOT almost kill Ali on the way home; she was being a back seat driver in the front seat. Phbbbbbt.).
Also of note - a couple of kids in front of me at the soda fountain were dicking around and taking their sweet time. I eventually got fed up and said, "Hey, andale guys!" I cannot decide whether this is because I am from San Antonio or if it was because I was swept up by the When in Rome qualities of the authentic Moe's experience. Let's see what my inner musical consciousness says...
Nyet's inner consciousness: I'm sorry, but I'm just trying to think of the right words to say. I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be. But if you wait around a while I'll make you fall for me. I promise, I promise you I will.
Okay, so it was obviously the Moe-bience that o'ertook me.
That was a fun night, but Beck got home late Wednesday so we just huddled up and watched Lost over an omelet and a pair of Lean Pockets.
And that more or less catches you up - I will try to do something dangerous and vibrant in the upcoming days to spice the nyetverse up...
In the meantime, a review... for you:
The Player: 74
Robert Altman made a hyper-smarmy movie about Hollywood elitism and the incredible shallowness of the scene. I enjoyed this film tremendously more than MASH, but it still rang hollow for me - the cameos and blending of the real / fantasy was all nicely done, but there was a little too much wink-wink fourth wall destruction for my tastes. Case in point: in a brilliant long shot, single cut, nicely orchestrated opening sequence, fraught with characters establishing a major theme of the film by name-dropping and paying homage to the greats of Hollywood's now distant past, Altman wrecks the ENTIRE effect by having characters "ironically" commenting about famous long shots from another film. The meta is too much: it's not clever, it's cheap, like a matter-of-fact hey ma no hands. Whoopi / Lovett's intentionally absurdist scene drowned in its own awkwardness, too - trying to establish a freaky dis-ease by referencing the king movie of freaky dis-ease did not flow and just made it seem like rent-a-mood. So that was a big turn-off. Fortunately, Tim Robbins portrayal of the enormously self-centered, soul-less but still neurotic and vulnerable "Player" was great. The style overall was tres cool and expertly executed; this film was a classic example for me of watching something that I didn't actively like but could recognize that it, in its own way, nailed its intended delivery.
Alright, Bedtime in Giraffetown. Here's hoping for an S.D. in the wintry mix morn'.
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