Okay, who has an in with the weather department, cuz (there’s that word again) it SNOWED ON MY BIRTHDAY! In addition to Christmas, may I remind.
Checked out the Toytopia exhibit at a local museum, where I met Zoltar (not the Brazilian death metal band), but he had nothing to offer in way of fortunes. Sometime later, Bean walks up to me and presses a card into my hand, “Ya want it?” It’s a slightly crumpled fortune she’s found strewn in among a pile of legos at a nearby table. I waited to read it till late that night. It went on about how happiness (joy is still best) was in store for me, which made me laugh and not in a bitterly scoffing kinda way either. I tucked it under my pillow as a reminder to snap a photo to share in the a.m. when daylight streamed through the window. I remembered to grab the card, but not the photo. How many different fortunes are available? Are there new cards written regularly? Is there someone out there with an extensive card collection? Wonderments.
Here’s my favorite museum companion exploring the sounds of historical messages piped through a black blocky item called a phone receiver. Notice her quick scan for the ‘rents before relishing the tongue bath she gave that germ-laden thing under the aghast gaze of Auntie. The oral fixation is strong with this one.
This ginorm faux Crayola box found at the exhibit has me wanting to paint the box front on a wall in the future.
Crayola to cortado. I dig names with multiple syllables and vowels, what can I say. It’s like a less foamy cousin to my favorite, the cappuccino. Warm liquid buried under mounds of foam. Wait, I just described a sink of dishwater. Snagged this particular cortado before wandering into the adjacent movie theatre the other day to view the last film on the list for this year’s Oscar-nominated Best Picture category. Bean’s been surprisingly big on trying to fit them all in, whereas, I’m like, “Hey, can I just hang out with Edie?” Maybe I’ll return to my fevered run (drive) around Washington to see all things nominated in the coming year. I definitely miss aspects of it. Fun fact: every time I say the word “coffee,” Edie coughs.
“Hey, Bun, I’m gonna make some coffee, let’s go to the kitchen.” *cough-cough*
“Shane, do you have any creamer for the coffee?” *cough-cough from a nearby room*
“Did you hear that, you think she did that intentionally? Say ‘coffee’.” *cough-cough from a nearby room*
I thought I’d find myself rooting for The Shape of Water given a number of components- the director, the retro time period and accompanying aesthetic (!), an unusual love story, Michael Shannon, but, no. It felt empty somehow, the love story wasn’t given enough time to get off the ground (outta the water?) and served up a few unnecessarily harsh and clinical sex scenes likely meant to juxtapose the tenderness to follow, but the intent fell flat, instead marring the fantasy of it all. I favor Darkest Hour and the touching and quirky Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri which had surprising heart with humanly flawed characters that weren’t afraid to confront their failings, share their remorse, and attempt amends. World, take note, blueprint for life! I’ll likely be thrilled if Get Out wins, though I’m not championing it at the moment despite a rewatch. Phantom Thread was worth the wait of its slow unfold in the summation of one deliciously satisfying line and action at the very end. It produced gleeful delight on my part! It’s nice to be surprised in the theatre. ♦