I'm no bonkers royalist, but I do appreciate an instantly iconic shot of a good "tots in satin short pants" duchess scolding that doesn't even mess up her glorious yet precariously perched headgear.
Somebody posted a picture of Harrison Ford in Witness today on some movie blog and it occurred to me that this is the sexiest man in the sexiest movie there ever was or ever will be.
Even when he's covered in corn dust:
Or wearing this hat, and this expression:
Exhibit A as in okAAAAAAy:
Exhibit B as in Beefcake:
Those were essentially the same photo, one with background lumber and one with chains, but whatever. Exhibit C as in Case Closed:
+ You know who else is in this movie? Loops with the #1 worst haircut that ever has been or ever will be. Wow.
That's all I've got. That's the whole post! Now you know what blogs are for.
The winner for a backpack I can lug all my quotidian crap around in without crushing my clavicle or resorting to a second bothersome carryall is this North Face Pivoter (unisex) rig. In the front compartment alone I can fit: three pairs of glasses (regular, progressive, sun); a makeup bag filled with tampons and lip balm; a book; an umbrella; evacuation shoes; a roll of shipping tape; chopsticks; an apple; some trail mix; and two boxes of kleenex. It's purely accidental that I pack like some half-hearted survivalist in training, so please don't ask questions. Some of us make choices, some of us just chuck it all in there. (The main compartment is for your flatter items such as laptops or magazines or file folders, if you live in 1975). Why everybody in the world doesn't already own this bag is beyond me! "Stylish" may be a stretch, but still. When I die feel free to bury me in it.
Look at these two beautiful, hairy bozos in what the internet tells me is 1992, a year (decade) in which I also had a lot of hair (still do btw). I like to think of them as a bumbling comedy duo called Spanx! who solve cute, wholesome crimes to pay the bills, like The Case of the Missing Bowling Shoes, or The Great Pancake Breakfast Caper.
And this is Spanx! at the Beacon Theatre last Friday night, which I spent at the opera/hotel bar area instead, drinking biers and crying, even though this "conversation" happened right here in my neighborhood. New York City has taught me a lot of lessons about loss and the importance of not double-booking one's own personal calendar, that's for sure.
Not so hairy now, are we fellas?
The eye doctor prescribed Xiidra for me last week, for dry eyes. One of the side effects is a metallic taste in the mouth after application, she said, and then: "To prevent that, you can just occlude the eyes for a couple seconds."
I did not know what "occlude" meant, but I acted super chill while I rustled through the ol' brain box: ...? Nope! Thanks to the internet, I've lost all my smart words! Also my eyesight.
I looked it up and then I tried it; she meant "occlude the tear ducts." It helps and it doesn't: basically every instruction I've ever received from a medical professional works approximately 48% of the time, so I expect no more. I also googled "Xiidra side effects," though (I like to check their work), and found this: "A strange or bad taste in the mouth (dysgeusia) immediately after application."
Two for one!
Medical definition of dysgeusia: dysfunction of the sense of taste (pronounced with a hard "g," as in "girl" or "golly" or "good luck with that bullshit")
Then, while I was there, Merriam-Webster tried selling me this witchy ensemble. Really makes up for losing those jeans!
As a recent, if premature, panic shopper of sweatshirts, let me be the first to tell you to buy this sweatshirt. The Bean makes some heinous fashion missteps but this is all thumbs up, and if like me your favorite mode of dressing is "campfire lazy," you'll feel at home immediately. It's thin and soft and roomy ("relaxxxed") and has a perfect wide crewneck (tight crewnecks being the scourge of casual ladies everywhere) and is the best light shade of non-gym class gray. Or navy. Your pick! Let's all meet somewhere in six weeks or so, wearing this sweatshirt. The band at the bottom is loose and the fit is comfortable but not boxy—this is so important! NOT BOXY!—so we can let it all hang out. I think we'll have a really good time.
I started a list once but I can't find it. I keep too many notebooks in too many places. One of my many faults.
I saw Joan Didion in Central Park a couple years ago. She looked like a garden gnome. Like a tiny woodland sprite, made of mushrooms.
I saw Yoko Ono in the park also, on a separate occasion. Would it surprise you to hear she was wearing dark sunglasses?
I saw Susan Sarandon outside a pet shop. We were standing at the window looking at puppies at the same time. Everyone's up in arms over the Bernie thing and former fans are now foes but I can't hate Susan Sarandon. She'll always be Annie Savoy to me, and we both like puppies. I don't have to agree with everything everybody says or does. I never made that deal.
I saw Jon Stewart in front of the Barnes & Noble at Union Square. He was wearing a baseball cap.
I saw Elaine Stritch backstage at the opera, in the green room, while we were waiting for Renée Fleming. SarahB told her we had tickets to see her perform at the Carlyle and she said "How can you afford that?" We couldn't, actually: that night at the Carlyle cost almost $800 for three people. It was insane. Yet it's one of the best memories of my lifetime.
I saw Ted Danson exiting the Regency once, back when the Regency was still the Regency and we still went there to see Betty Buckley. He was the silver fox the term "silver fox" was invented to describe.
I've seen Jeff Goldblum and Neil Patrick Harris at the theater—both for different performances of Mary Stuart, I think. Wise choice, if true. Also Kate Winslet with Sam Mendes—back in the day—and Maggie Gyllenhaal with Peter Sarsgaard, both at the same performance of Endgame at BAM. There are more. Diane Sawyer, Mike Nichols, Dana Ivey, all at Encores!. I'm forgetting a lot of people, I know. SarahB would remember. She sees famous people all the time.
People eating at the same restaurant where I was also eating: Patti LuPone, Renée Fleming, Christina Hendricks, Bill Nighy, Alan Alda, Linda Lavin, Christine Ebersole, Donna Murphy, Raul Esparza. Harriet Walter, Janet McTeer, John Benjamin Hickey, Marian Seldes. Stephen Sondheim, Hal Prince. There are more. They escape me.
I saw Piers Morgan once, when my brother Todd and his then-girlfriend/now-wife Darcy and SarahB and I had dinner at Quality Meats. Todd surreptitiously took his picture in the mirror and then texted "I'm sitting next to Piers Morgan" to our brother Kyle, and Kyle texted back "I'm sitting next to Captain Morgan." No flies on Kyle.
I stood behind Rachel Maddow at the Rockefeller Center Starbucks once. Make that one of the two Rockefeller Center Starbucks, the one closest to 6th Avenue, with the door that's impossible to open due to the wind tunnel effect of being located in the bowels of Rockefeller Center, which connects to the BDFM lines.
People I saw at the Bruce Springsteen show at the Apollo: Tom Hanks, Rita Wilson, Scarlett Johansson, Paul Rudd, Pat Riley, Tommy Hilfiger, Ben Stiller, Christine Taylor, Michael J. Fox, Tracey Pollan, Ed Burns, Elvis Costello, Andrew McCarthy. Bruce Springsteen.
Mark Ruffalo lives in my neighborhood (a lot of people live in my neighborhood). SarahB has seen him twice on the street. My stylist has seen him in her salon. She showed me a picture of him with her and her sister, who works at the same salon. He came in for a trim once and had to run back home to get money when it was done. Imagine having an I.O.U. from Mark Ruffalo! I'd probably stuff it in my bra. She said Keanu Reeves strolls past the shop a lot, too. I tend not to look up much when I'm out walking, which is a problem. I could be married to Keanu Reeves right now, for heaven's sake.
* to be continued *
I'm mostly a devil-may-care beer drinker, in that I know what I don't like (IPAs, blech) but have no deep, discerning palate. Also let's be honest, there are just too many beers out there, and while I enjoy a good beer as much as the next cat it's not exactly a hobby. But if (big if) I'm paying attention I usually gravitate toward sours, wheats and Belgians (especially saison! saisons are the best!), which as it happens all sit safely in the same top right quadrant on this pretty beer chart.
Look at that! I care more than I thought. Thus ends this post on beer.
My current Twitter account has been active since 2010, but I delete my tweets on a regular basis and all I really use it for anymore is liking things. You know how they ("they") always say you should listen more than you talk? That's me and liking things on Twitter; my like-to-tweet-ratio right now is 17,000 to 1:
I have a theory that you can learn more about a person by what they like on Twitter than what they actually tweet on Twitter, although that theory falls apart a little when you realize what's being liked are tweets. I suppose that's unavoidable. I still like my theory, though: it's both free and self-reinforcing. Jason Kottke (of kottke.org fame) used to have a tool called Stellar that pulled in likes from Twitter feeds, and it was my favorite way to follow anybody on Twitter. It's dead now, like the future of America, but I'm still a flagrant liker of anything involving wordplay, the worthy comeuppance of knuckleheads, small displays of heartwarming humanity, wicked Trump burns, or furry animals:
Ladies! Please stop criticizing Mike Pence's unquenchable sex appeal and allow him to govern your uterus while he eats a piece of ham alone!— Lauren Duca (@laurenduca) March 30, 2017
If you want to know what Westminster Bridge is like on this beautiful morning: An Iranian man is playing the Doctor Who theme on bagpipes.— Vinay Patel (@VinayPatel) March 25, 2017
I just saw a recipe for Brussel sprout sliders on Pinterest.— CandyWhore (@CruisinSoozan) April 3, 2017
Here, I made you these tiny, angry, cabbage like burgers.
Because I hate you.
It's a good habit to have, liking things, even though the world is a shithole. I pat myself on the back for it all the time.
I like to browse the latest GQ when I'm at the beauty parlor so I can see what the gents are wearing lately (tight pants, bomber jackets), but I didn't realize I had read the same issue two months in a row until I got to this Patrick Stewart fashion spread, which made me happy both times. (Sorry, Tom Hiddleston, yr just not 4 me). Now I'd like to see anyone other than Patrick Stewart try to pull off this ensemble, but mostly I want to give him a high five for being so jolly. Wouldn't you like to hike around Brooklyn with Patrick Stewart as your tour guide? You wouldn't even care whether or not he knew what he was talking about. It wouldn't even occur to you to ask. He could probably lead you straight into some canal and you'd still go away saying, "Thanks Patrick Stewart, it got wet for a while there but I truly learned how to live."