Yesterday evening, I finally gave up and lay down in front of the television. I watched The Bridge on the River Kwai, one of my several hundred faves, and then Spooky watched the Oscars with me. I was fairly happy with the results, though I do think that best director should have gone to Scorcese. That makes three times he's be nominated and lost, and Eastwood already had an Oscar for Unforgiven. Eastwood is a good director, yes, but Scorcese is a great director. Therein might lie the problem. I think only six of my seventeen "wishes" were on the mark. I was pleased that Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind got Best Screenplay (original), but very disappointed that Best Picture didn't go to The Aviator. It was a good year for dressses, a lousy year for suits. I think Johnny Depp and Jeremy Irons were the only well-dressed men we saw. Has anyone else noticed that the Oscars seem to be somewhat less festive the last couple of years, almost rushed, hushed, something like that? Anyway, Chris Rock felt out of his element, though his opening monologue improved near the end (I loved the bit about The Gap declaring war on Banana Republic, only to discover there never were any tank tops). I predict he will not be back. Whoopi, please. Oh, and if I never have to hear that wretched Beyonce child again, it'll be way too frelling soon.
It sounds like Spooky's tearing out the kitchen. Ah, well.
We have cold, cold weather coming back. I'm making room for the mammoths and buying a train ticket to Miami. I already have the sniffles, though I think it's only allergies. I hardly ever get sick anymore, but one can never tell.
I still haven't sent my Koja piece to Steve Jones. I have to read it through again to be sure I don't hate it. The deadline is tomorrow.
Oh, and the guiche is doing just fine. I'm contemplating other southerly piercings.
What's with these silly little short-ass paragraphs? Ugh. Let's make an end of this entry, then. Thanks to everyone who's taken part in the auctions so far. I have received a couple of e-mails from people wanting to know about the reserve on the lettered of The Five of Cups. Of course, telling you that would defeat the purpose of there being a secret reserve. However, I will say that while it's quite a bit more than the current high bid, it's far below the $200 publisher's price for this edition. It's most definitely a deal. And hey, you got those ten-dollar copies of Silk and copies In the Garden of Poisonous Flowers and From Weird and Distant Shores and etc.