Go see Love Actually when you get a chance, gentle reader, and bring some buddies along when you do so. While Matrix Revolutions may be the very antithesis of schmaltz, I challenge you to walk out of Love Actually and not find it a more enjoyable movie experience.
Now, understand I speak as one who hasn’t tottered over to the artsy theater since Amelie, and die-hard art housers would probably paint that movie as hopelessly mass marketed. I also speak as someone who wishes that good ol’ Sly would tumble down those steps, a defeated husk of a man too wheezy to make a difference.
I’m glad I shared all that with you. So what makes Love so good? There are multiple storylines, for starters, so chances are that at least one of them will strike your fancy. The cast is also as varied as it is fun, and even Bill “I single-handedly sucked the few drops of dignity out of Underworld” Nighy enhanced the experience. Hugh Grant also got his hair cut. That alone is worth seven bucks.
Feeding Splotch some White Rabbit Candy–poetic moment or grievous mistake? This is a hypothetical, gentle reader, as Splotch has only ingested carrots, bananas, grapes, alfalfa, the smallest bit of duct tape, and some paint. No, I did not feed him the last two items. Yes, he’s still alive. No, you cannot eat duct tape. Yes, paint is good for you. It’s filled with Vitamin P. Who says? My PhDJ says. Talk to the advanced degree, biznatch!
Windows fused shut by paint and age, noisy radiators that refuse to be turned off, temperamental electricity–the list continues to grow, gentle reader!
Perk #21: I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but the past few days have seen–or smelt, to be more accurate–something ripe outside my apartment complex. It’s either trash gumbo, aged dog shit, or a corpse. Fate would think it simply hilarious to combine all three, so I’m not going near the dumpster anytime soon.
Perk #22: doubtless the only real perk of the bunch, a super-comfy chair recently arrived in my studio by way of Neatfreak and One-Woman Times. Thanks, guys! They seem to think they’re making both my living arrangement and me more civilized, but this is simply delusional. A vacuum cleaner, I am told, is next on the list of things to get. Too bad I’m fine with rolling around my studio and being the vacuum, collecting dust bunnies and bits of hair on my person as I go. I also like to lick linoleum floors circa late 60s, early 70s.
Perk #23: my complex sits right across the street from a “care” institute for “special” people. While most simply mill around quietly and make occasional trips to the convenience store and our dumpsters, one fellow roots himself to the park bench and cackles at passersby. This is when he’s not busy yelling at himself. There, there.
Should I move? I should move.