Okay, I’ve changed my mind. It is gross.
This morning I went to Target and Whole Foods (what demographic does that represent, I have to wonder?). At the latter, I found the gourmet chocolate display, which included several Vosges Haute Chocolat bars. Which did I pick? Why, Mo’s Bacon Bar, of course, described as “applewood smoked bacon, Alder wood smoked salt, deep milk chocolate.” I decided that it had to be either delectable or disgusting. It wound up being just okay–not gross (well, maybe a little gross) and kind of weird tasting, but definitely chocolate-y. However, that was not the defining activity of the day: next, we went to the movies.
The Dark Knight lives up to the hype. It’s dark and tense, and Heath Ledger’s performance as The Joker is simply amazing. What a loss that was.
At least this Gotham looked like a place that would actually have residents; in Batman Begins, I couldn’t understand why anyone at all would live in that ruined city. Even Katie Holmes’s wretched Rachel Dawes couldn’t plausibly have been that much of an idealist. Speaking of Rachel Dawes, neither J nor I cared at all about the character, even after Maggie Gyllenhaal took over the role. Rachel just isn’t a compelling character. Although as I said to J, “Are any of Batman’s girlfriends all that compelling? Did you care about Vicky Vale?” And it turns out the answer is no–Batman movies lack compelling female characters.
On the other hand, I didn’t want to see this movie for Rachel Dawes. I went to see it for Heath Ledger, Christian Bale, and a slew of Batgadgets. And they did not disappoint.
This movie was really nerve-wracking. Based on how they develop Harvey Dent’s storyline, I’m not sure I’ll be able to watch a third movie in this series.
So I guess that you could sum up my review thusly. The Dark Knight: Better than chocolate with bacon.
Our realtors just called; apparently there has been a scheduling mix-up, and they had to cancel this Sunday’s outing. My first thought was “Oh! I can read magazines!”
I love magazines. Somehow they manage to present the perfect combination of information and fluff. If you suspect that I’m not talking about The Economist, you’re right. It’s informative, but wow, is it dense. (Although the photo captions are excellent.)
Over the years, I’ve had an astonishing number of subscriptions. Eventually, though, a magazine will run through its material, and it becomes far too obvious that the editors are trying to put a new spin on old news. After several years, for example, I wasn’t sure that Allure and Self had much more to tell me.
Sometimes the entire tone of a magazine changes. Once upon a time, Glamour used to present a cross-section of fashion, beauty, and women’s issues. Ironic? Sure. But there was a lot going on in that magazine, and I enjoyed it. At some point, though, it became a repository of reader-submitted anecdotes and Top 10 lists. And it turns out that Glamour readers have lives that I don’t really want to read about.
Over the past few years, I’ve moved toward a selection of health, home life, and cooking magazines. I like to read a magazine without interruption, which means that they generally stack up until J goes for a long bike ride.
While Women’s Health doesn’t seem to have shown up this month, and Gourmet is floating somewhere out there in the postal system, I do have Everyday Food, Prevention, and Real Simple to look forward to. Somewhere around here is this week’s copy of Time. And since tomorrow is Saturday, and Saturday means mail delivery, who knows what else may lie ahead?
Quincy’s serves “the best BBQ under one woof,” which is a little cutesy. However, the pulled pork is quite good, and the chicken is really tender. After several trips up and down Ventura Boulevard–and a couple of meals at The Habit (excellent burgers, fries, and onion rings, BTW), we decided that Quincy’s was our next stop. Both food and service were good, and although it isn’t our favorite place in the Valley, it’s not half bad.
Oh, and we put an offer on a house. How’s that for burying the lede?
When a DVD arrives from Netflix, J and I put it on top of the television. And there it sits, until we watch it. The problem is that while our queue is full of movies that we want to see, very few of them are, shall we say, lighter fare. As I mentioned in a previous post, There Will Be Blood sat on top of the TV for two months before we saw it. The Conversation also lasted about that long as well.
This week, however, we’ve made some progress. Last night we watched Alfred Hitchcock’s Foreign Correspondent, and it didn’t live up to a review that I read somewhere I can’t quite remember. Frankly, I can’t remember much about the movie, and it hasn’t even been 24 hours. George Sanders was, as usual, the standout. Whatever it was he did.
Tonight we watched The Illusionist. It’s not as complex a story as The Prestige, which we saw several months ago. However, it’s well-constructed and shot beautifully, and the performances are excellent. Of course, what else would you expect from Edward Norton and Paul Giamatti? J felt that Rufus Sewell’s Prince Leopold was too plainly a villain, but based on what little I know about the waning Hapsburgs, he would have fit right in.
So now I’m wondering what movie I should move to the top of the Netflix queue. Currently Pollock heads the list, and I have the feeling that it will hold a place of honor on top of the TV for longer than makes sense.
I’m still very far behind on my scrapbooking. Last night I finished the Caribbean cruise I took with my parents (I finished the actual cruise in 2002, which should illustrate what I mean by “very far behind”), and tonight I was going to sort the photos from the trip I took to London that summer.
But where are they? They’ve vanished, although I saw them in the process of sorting the Caribbean photos, and now they’re gone.
Perhaps it’s a sign that I should go back to the box of photos from 1990. And if you think that’s a lot of back photos, keep in mind that just a couple of years ago, I was scrapbooking 1978, and I still have several years of the ’80s waiting in storage. What a trip down memory lane that will be–the hair, the clothes, the eye shadow . . .
Remember how Molly Ringwald’s character in Pretty in Pink cut up a darling dress and made it into a monstrosity? Remember how no one who saw the movie liked that dress?
Well, it turns out Molly Ringwald never liked it, either.
It’s summer, and that means we’re watching the Tour de France. I have no idea who is riding this year; I haven’t really been following it, and I don’t recognize any of the names that I’m hearing from the commentators. Regardless, I enjoy watching it. I’m sure I won’t catch all 21 days of racing, but J will probably see the majority.
The doping scandals of the past few years have been really disheartening. I recognize that the stakes in professional sports (across the board, not just in cycling) really do encourage cheating. Yet I want to see athletes perform at their peak. It’s always disappointing when their peak turns out to be chemically assisted. For some reason, I was particularly dismayed when it became clear that Marion Jones had been doping.
The commercials are fascinating, though. We just watched a vapid woman decry “dating lines for older people who want to get married.” Apparently she knows the phone number for the service you want if you’re just looking for “easy fun.” Clearly, Versus gets all of the quality advertising.
I’m microblogging on Twitter now rather than Plurk. I know the Plurk thing lasted less than a day, but I really wanted to use Twitter from the start. For whatever reason, though, I had trouble getting the account straightened out. After a while I gave up and went to Plurk. But today I gave Twitter another shot and, magically, everything worked!
At any rate, this is an experiment. We’ll see how microblogging fits with the general blogging. It seems like it might work.