Wednesday, March 18

Strange days, indeed

Okay, so we are living through some weird shit right now, people. And there's not much that we can do but hunker down and wash our hands a lot. So I'm reading a bunch (mostly happily-ever-after romance stuff, because I don't need anymore reality, thanks), and I'm creating playlists on Spotify. Also, petting my dogs a lot, because they are gorgeous and sweet and have no idea what the hell a virus is.

Thursday, February 6

It takes more than whiskey to make that flower bloom

Now, as much as I'd like to be the cool chick who drinks whiskey on the regular, I think we all know that's not me. Sure, in my head I'm some variation on Marlene Dietrich (with better eyebrows) who is far too jaded and eyebrow-arching to drink anything other than whiskey (neat), but in reality, I'm more a Mountain Dew and margaritas woman. We can't all be smoky, dammit. Bygones. My point is this: I recently discovered Chris Stapleton. (Yes, I know, I'm about five years late to the party. Shut it.) And many (many!) of his songs are either about whiskey or feature it prominently. Sure, this seems like rampant alcoholism, but it's damn good music. And it has inspired my latest attempt at the perfect playlist, the Whiskey Mix. Sure, it's got Stapleton's version of Tennessee Whiskey (so good) and Whiskey and You (even better), and the Doors' Alabama Song. And a few others so far that evoke the right mood (Thin Line … because whiskey, and because always HoneyHoney. Always). I'll keep working on this list, because with the way the world is going, I really, really need a stiff drink. And this may be as good as it gets for me.

Update: Spotify playlist, bitches!

Friday, January 31

I'm gonna go to west Memphis and look for my joy

When the world gets to me a little too hard, there are a few things I can do to make myself feel better: Re-read a good romance novel. Or Anne of Green Gables. Watch Dirty Dancing for the 8,000th time. But when it comes to "no, for serious, I fucking need to smile right now or I will either cut a bitch or dissolve into a pool of anxious goo," my go-to for the last several years has been Jensen Ackles lip-sycing to "Eye of the Tiger." Because I cannot watch that video without 1. smiling like an idiot and 2. feeling better. I mean, even if you're not a Supernatural fan, that shit is funny as hell. And Jensen is stupid hot. Bygones. My point is this: There's a new contender in town, and that is the Boston-themed Hyandai ad. Chris Evans! John Krasinski! Rachel Dratch! Big Papi! (His Bigness, if you please.) It cracks me up every time I watch it. The over-the-top accents. The combined hotness. It's fucking perfect. (And when John calls Chris "kid," it slays me. I don't know why.) Hopefully, these two YouTube clips will get me through the rest of what is guaranteed to be a truly epic shitshow of a year.

Wednesday, January 22

Jen's deadliest sins

In the world according to me, burning your sister's book is apparently a sin far worse than say … shivving your father with a lightsaber. Okay, not really, but I have to admit, I came close to almost forgiving Kylo Ren by the end of The Rise of Skywalker. I'm not sure why, since I'm generally not a fan of Adam Driver (it's been hard to take him seriously as a villain since I saw him first in Girls). Maybe it was because Rey believed in him? Maybe it was just because Amy is so much worse. She would have never betrayed the Dark Side!

Episode IX was pretty decent, on the whole. There could have been a bit more judicious editing, but they took the story where it needed to go, plus lots of fun bonus crying for every scene with Carrie Fisher. Actually, to be brutally honest, I started crying as soon as the scroll started. I've been watching these movies my whole life, and it's weird finally getting to the end. I mean, sure, there will likely be more movies, because Disney never met a franchise it didn't like, but it won't be the same. And, unlike Little Women, I still like these stories, even as an adult.

Sunday, January 19

Short stack

My stack of book gifts was a bit smaller this year, but I've got a couple gift cards burning a hole in my pocket, so I'm sure it will grow. 

Friday, January 17

Still not over it

I remember really liking Little Women when I was younger. I remember enjoying Christian Bale immensely as Laurie. But I had no desire to see the latest remake because I'm coming to the realization that Little Women is not really a great book. Or at least, I no longer like it. Amy is trash. Jo foolishly turns down Laurie (which I think I would be okay with if she became a spinster author or ended up in a nice Wellesley marriage, but she marries that horrible German professor guy. So gross). And did I mention Amy is the worst? The. Worst. She burns Jo's book. There's no redemption from that, people. I warn you now: If I ever write a book, and you destroy my only copy of it, I will not forgive you. I probably wouldn't forgive you even if it weren't my only copy. And I may cause you serious bodily harm.

Nonetheless, my friend Leigh convinced me to go see it. And sure, it was a lovely adaptation, regardless of whether or not they played with some shit that was not in the book. (Not. In. The. Book.) Sure, I cried my way through most of the second half, because I'm not a monster, and Beth dies, all tragic and beautiful and shit. Timothee Chalamet did a nice job as Laurie, but still … there's something inherently flawed about the story that I can't quite put my finger on. I think the real reason I liked it as a kid was because I was so eager to see depictions of female writers. That's definitely part of the reason behind my love for the Little House series. Also, Manly. Sigh.

Monday, December 16

Just your usual semideranged partiality

When all else fails, read.
"The truth is, my granddad's a pretty biased man. He thinks I'm this astonishing, talented, wonderful person, in spite of all available evidence to the contrary. But that's sort of what love is, I guess. A perpetual state of semideranged partiality."
-- For Real, by Alexis Hall

Thursday, December 12

You just don't understand how funny I am

The scene: Nightime in the Garrett/Hughson house.
Me: Babe, that’s your phone.
JR: Fuck, it’s a page.
[Phone typing ensues. Deep sighs follow. Computer is retrieved from bag and loud typing commences.]
Me: Are you fixing it?
JR: No, I’m providing judgement.
[I begin to cackle helplessly.]
JR: What? No, not like that.
Me: [more laughter]
JR: You’re going to tweet this, aren’t you?
Tweet it and blog it and Facebook it and Instagram it, if I can figure out how. Are there other social media platforms I can join to share this with the world?

Tuesday, December 10

Movies I always stop and watch (Robert Redford edition)

For whatever reason, whenever certain movies cross my screen, I must watch them. Is that Say Anything? I am now busy for the next two hours. Most of my other must-watch list would not be surprising to any reader of this blog (Some Kind of Wonderful, Reality Bites, Gone With the Wind, Working Girl -- the classics, people). But for some reason, I cannot not watch Three Days of the Condor. Is this the best Robert Redford movie ever? No. (Probably The Way We Were wins my vote for acting and Ordinary People for best Redford movie without an actual appearance by Bobby (and also wins as one of the saddest movies I absolutely fucking love). Sure, you bitches are going to be all, "But what about All the President's Men? Or The Sting? Or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? To which I will reply: Babs. And also, have you even seen This Property Is Condemned? And you didn't mention it? Shut it.) The point is this: I have no rational reason for loving Three Days of the Condor, and yet I do. It's eminently watchable. Is it Redford playing an out-of-his-league spy? Faye Dunaway being the weird photographer who is weirdly (not weirdly! Hello, he is Robert. Redford.) drawn to the Condor? I don't know. It just works, people. It just works.

Wednesday, February 6