“As I suspected! You’re a rank sentimentalist.”
Sadness! Someone has a blog called “absolute a,” as I titled my journal in high school. Rather, mine was “absolut thea” but you get the picture. I guess I’m not as original as I thought.
In any case, I just felt the need to say that today was beautiful. And I mean multi-sensory, multi-layered metaphorically beautiful. Fridays usually kind of suck, being busy and stressful, and I’m usually too tired to enjoy life. Today, however, started off quite well indeed.
I showed up just barely on time to the English House at Bryn Mawr for my film class screening; this week: Casablanca. Now I know what you’re all thinking, that “everybody loves Casablanca” and all that crap. So did I; in fact, I hadn’t seen it all the way through until today.
There’s a reason for all the hype.
It’s so great, so beautifully filmed, so wonderfully acted, and the dialogue is nearly impeccable (although I STILL think that “here’s looking at you kid” is stupid, cheesy, and non-sensical). It’s the kind of movie that only an America in the midst of WWII could pull off, so weighty and *important* while being true to the heart of the Western soul. Fantastic.
Still high on life, I scooted off to the arboretum to have my aloe re-potted after class, and then it was on to the Farmers’ Market, where I picked up a beautiful rockfish fillet and some fresh sourdough bread. Today was sunny, brisk, but cheerful, and the weather outside was screaming at me to leave the house, so I went for a deliciously mind-clearing run around Ardmore before my meeting with G. She was so busy that she didn’t have time to really read through what I’d wrote, so I was saved from (most of her) criticism until Monday. Score.
Scurrying home, I fired up the oven to make myself an epicurean experience: pan-seared the striped bass once I put some spices on, broke out the last of the pinot grigio, and tossed the kale that I’d made last night in with a marsala pan sauce ready to be soaked up by chewy, cruncy sliced bread. Now, as I like to have some company when I’m dining alone in the apartment, I stuck in Ocean’s 11, which I haven’t seen in years, the memory of that night in the theater here in Philly with Mandi and my ex-friends from the customs group warming my sentimental little heart =).
Spinning, this time with delight…better than my other vertigo this week, the movie begins. Now, this is a guy’s movie: bank heists, revenge, manly bonding, blowing things up and such, but damn, those guys look good. I swear, there are more good looking well dressed men in this flick than in 10 lame empty calorie movies with star billing. Sigh, Brad. Sigh, George. Sigh, Casey and Scott. Sigh, Matt. THEN, as I’m enjoying life on so many different levels, finishing off my coup in the kitchen with some nutella (again), I hear on the screen….
…”In all the gin joints in all the world…”
HA!!!! Proving, in one fell swoop, the intertexuality of movies, the validity of the filmic genre as art, and that Steven Soderbergh is indeed, a god. Shut UP, he was NOT just throwing in a random Casablanca quote. Can’t you see it’s so much *deeper* than that? Made my fucking day, man. Made my fucking day. I hope Klu gets back soon so that we can go enjoy another, though most likely less high quality cinematic event this evening. Yay for Fridays.