the best thing about MUNICH

I went to see MUNICH for many reasons. I was born in Germany. We were there during the Munich Olympics. I remember the hideous hostage-taking and murder of the 11 Israeli athletes with vivid clarity. So I very much wanted to see this movie about the aftermath--about how the Massad hunted down the planners of this horrible terrorist act and systematically avenged the deaths of their countrymen. That this gorgeous hunk of manliness was the star of the movie was a bonus--albeit a very distracting one. All I can say, girlfriends,is that Eric Bana = yummy.

still honeymooning with my iPod

If I could make love to my iPod I would. It has brought me so much immense pleasure (and without the hassle of double-A batteries)! I feel like I owe it something.

Anyway, I'll be back soon, promise.

In the meantime, my comments on the week: I loved Chris Penn and I got a big old lump in my throat when I read on the wires that he had been found dead. Loved him in At Close Range, Reservoir Dogs and True Romance. I am a sucker for big-old burly guys. And Jesus Christ, it just sucks when someone dies so young...

Note to Oprah: Give it a fucking rest with the indignant posturing. Like you never lied before. Get over yourself. Go shopping or something.

Randy (the Milkman) is feeling better, his new meds are helping and his T-cells are better. And we have been having a great time lately. Only the GITB is a little irritated that Randy sent me a huge extravagant arrangement of orchids for opening night last week (and he sent Schmoopie a gift and the card read: "with love from your big, gay dad"). The GITB brought me a bunch of daisies. I loved them both. I am a very lucky girl to be so well loved by the incredibly exceptional men in my life.

mop the floor? what floor?

I explained to the GITB years ago that because I am a creative girl, I cannot be expected to do the whole domestic engineering thing. I do my own laundry and he does his. He cooks because he is more into cooking than I am. I change the oil in my car but I do not mop the kitchen floor every other day because it never occurs to me. It just doesn't. That's how my brain is wired. And I do my laundry when I am almost out of clean underwear. Although I do make sure Schmoopie's laundry basket is always empty and her closet is always filled with clean clothes. It's true that once in a while I will stay up until 4:00 a.m. cleaning the entire house and re-arranging all the furniture but then I usually have to sleep the whole weekend to get over it. I am not a housewife. Never have been, never will be. But that is not to say that I am a slob. I have a very tidy house but there is one corner of each room that is my creative pile of clutter. Not dirt, creative clutter. That's all I have to say about that.

End of the week roundup:
Randy's t-cell count fell below 200 this week and he is a mess. So am I because I love him and I want him to be well.

Saw the 40-year-old virgin movie. I get mel's point now.

Noticed while in the car line at Schmoopie's school today that one of the dads has spinners on his mini van. Muttered "what the fuck???" while noticing the spinners and looked up to see he was looking at me and my guess is he probably read my lips based on the expression on his face. But really: Spinners? On a MIN VAN??? Dude.

Lived through three kick boxing classes this week. Hated it. But glad I went.

Listened to my iPod way too much. Family members are now requiring I be frisked at the door before allowing me to leave the house because I embarrass them in public due to my communing with the tunes. Plus they say I am being rude by popping the ear plugs in when we are in the car together or going out to eat. Hmm.

My extended family is still obsessing over arguments that cropped up at mom's during Christmas dinner and calling each other to bitch about the other ones. Oy.

Went to Wal-Mart at 1:00 a.m. last night (today) to buy baby shower gifts for my friend, Jo, who is having her first child at the age of 40. Thanked god while in the baby section that I will not be doing the labor and delivery thing ever again. Toyed with purchasing a Queen Latifah bra for shits and giggles. Decided it wasn't that funny anyway. Hated myself for shopping at Wal-Mart. It's like screwing an old boyfriend only because he's there and available and the pleasure costs you nothing more than your self respect.

Quote of the week: "When two people love each other, they love each other. And people should hold on to it as hard as they can, whether it's homosexual or heterosexual," Brokeback Mountain star Jake Gyllenhaal told reporters at the Toronto Film Festival. Amen.

more guilty and embarrassing pleasures

my latest embarrassing iPod (thank you, Santa-baby!) uploads with favorite parts noted (which means in part that it is the point in the song where I pause whilst bopping through the kitchen and stand in front of the dishwasher or some other appliance to gyrate and acknowledge my adoring fans):

Three Dog Night: "Out in the Country" (favorite part): "...before the breathing air is gone, before the sun is just a bright spot in the night time...out where the rivers like to run, I stand alone and take back something worth remembering..."

Grass Roots: "Sooner or Later" (favorite part): "...It's just a matter of time before you make up your mind to give all that love that you've been hiding, its just a question of when, I've told you time and again, I'll get all the love you've been denying..."

Moody Blues: "Go Now" (favorite part:) "...We've already said: Goodbye...since you gotta go, oh you'd better go now, go now, go now...before you see me cry I don't want you to tell me just what you intend to do now, 'cause how many times do I have to tell you darlin', darlin' I'm still in love with you now, whoa-oh-oh-oh..."

Oh, yeah, I am such a loser. But a happily humming loser. How cool is this: I am tuning my kid and spouse out with the same shit I used to tune the parental units out with. I'm not old, dammit. I'm cool. And probably working on a good case of hearing loss. But damn, it's good stuff. And I don't feel so dorky since an old hipster friend of mine sheepishly admitted to me last week that he has been listening to Blood, Sweat and Tears in his car lately. Loser 1970s music fans unite!

12 things: post #100

Bikini wax? Never had a bikini wax, but I am not a furry girl anyway…

Favorite bread: Arnold’s seedless rye, toasted with real butta

Last trip: Boston, December, with one slight detour on the way home. Nuff said.

My car if it were free: 2006 Lexus RX, silver with moon roof

My car and it's paid for: Buick Park Avenue with leather seats and a v-6. Hauls ass.

Sleep: Naked. Always. Exception: when Schmoopie is hosting a slumber party

Favorite drink: Southern Comfort & Diet Coke, two cherries. (summer: frozen Cosmo)

Reading: Woe is I and Wicked (always read more than one at a time)

Current anxiety: Opening night is coming up fast. Do I know all my lines? Um, no.

Love this about my job: Do it from home, from the road, wherever,no need to sit in an office 40 hours a week.

Hate this about my job: When I fuck up everyone knows about it, the curse of media.

Hair: Red (not orange)

I'm in love with a dead gay guy

and this would be the reason why: he's been dust for 40 years but still, he can crawl into my soul and make me melt with sappy-ass songs like this:



We love each other so deeply
that I ask you this, sweetheart,
why should we quarrel ever,
why can't we be enough clever,
never to part?

Ev'ry time we say goodbye
I die a little,
ev'ry time we say goodbye
I wonder why a little,
why the gods above me
who must be in the know
think so little of me
they allow you to go.

When you're near
there's such an air
of spring about it,
I can hear a lark somewhere
begin to sing about it,
there's no love song finer,
but how strange the change
from major to minor...ev'ry time we say goodbye.

~Cole Porter, 1944

elizabeth, step away from the blog. Do it now.