Yesterday did not deliver the nothing that I'd sort of hoped for. There were errands that needed running. Usually, Spooky does the errand running, but since I wasn't writing, I wanted to go along, get out of the house. Nothing remarkable. There were supplies I needed from Staples (paper, mechanical pencil lead, etc.). Then PetCo, because Hubero needed stuff (the demanding little bastard), and a trip to the Eastside Market for groceries. We also went to three different liquor stores trying to find a bottle of Smirnoff Pomegranate Martini (vodka, pomegranate juice, Meyer lemon liqueur, and lemon juice), which just looks too tempting not to try; but, alas, no one had it in. It's very new, and we're going to try one of the big booze megamarts in Warwick or someplace. It was late in the day when we headed out, and the sky was beautiful. The day was about ten-degrees colder than Monday, but still, beautiful weather. I had a very brief absence seizure while we were walking on Benefit Street. I've had a few of these the last few weeks I've not mentioned. I call them "blips." Anyway, that was pretty much the excitement that was the daylit portion of yesterday.
Last night, after dinner, we went to the Avon Theater on Thayer Street and saw Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche, New York (2008). It's not often that a film simply leaves me at a loss for words. Or that it's so utterly briliant (as in smart, and also as in bright and shining), that it makes me feel stupid. But Synecdoche, New York pretty much did both. I don't want to heap hyperbole upon it, or resort to mere adjectives. But it's the best film I've seen this year, and it's one of the best films I've seen ever, I think. At the very least, it deserves Best Director. And it deserves a much wider audience, one that I doubt it will get. It's not as "accessible" as Kaufman's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) or Being John Malkovich (1999). I'm still trying to decide which "reading protocol" I should employ for understanding the film. It is arguably science fiction, but, then again, this degree of metafictional surrealism short circuits any meaningful attempts at such categorization. The screenplay...I wish I had it today, to read a couple of times. The film unfolds like an unimaginably complex puzzle box, or pop-up book. It's Danielewski's spiraling, labyrinthine narrative techniques, but translated, successfully, to the screen. And Philip Seymour Hoffman is grand. His performance here ranks with his work in Capote (2007) and The Savages (2007). He's just amazing. But the film...the film as a whole...see it if you are lucky enough that it's playing anywhere near you. It needs to be seen on a big screen. So, yeah, I have now officially forgiven the Avon for delaying Låt den rätte komma in by a week.
After the movie, we came home and watched the two most recent episodes of Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. I continue to be intrigued and entertained. But I think that with the latest episode, "Self-Made Man," the show's creator missed an opportunity to really do some interesting things, and tossed off what could have been a complex, fascinating direction for the story. Though I was pleased that I figured out what those three dots were before we were told.
Oh, and a new cat will soon be coming to live with us. A polytactyl Siamese named Linus, that we're taking from a shelter, because Hubero really needs a buddy. I think I finally feel stable enough to handle two cats.
Now, further thoughts on WoW, but I'm putting them behind a cut, because I know there are lots of people here sick of reading about the game: