look me in the eye.

"I looked under the beds to make sure that snake didn't have a brother that had sneaked in while I was outside. Then I reloaded the gun and put on some pants and a shirt. There is nothing more useless than an unloaded gun in a motel room."

--excerpt from Look Me in the Eye by John Elder Robison. This book is by Augusten Burroughs' older brother, and it's a memoir about growing up with Asperger's Syndrome. I'm really enjoying it, especially the fact that he writes how he (I assume) talks. It's almost staccato and very matter-of-fact. I relate to the fact that he is extremely logical and doesn't get emotional and is often confused by other people in social situations. Unfortunately, he is an engineering genius, while I am an unemployed bum. But I think we'd be good friends.

gee, what a nice fellow.

It just doesn't get any sweeter than Jimmy Stewart. He's like a warm oatmeal raisin cookie with a cold glass of milk. I've never felt compelled to hug someone so strongly as when I watch him on screen. And, I'm not gonna lie, I had tears in my eyes during the final scene of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. I wish he was my baby-sitter. I wish he was my older brother. I wish he was my husband when I'm eighty-five and sitting in my rocking chair on the front porch watching the fireflies come out during a June sunset in Georgia. Ah, Jimmy. I loves ya.

coincidence?

I decided Winston-Salem, NC looks like a really swell town. It is the cheapest city in the USA. And I am a very cheap person. So I do more research. R.J. Reynolds (the tobacco king) began his company there. My last name is Reynolds. And THEN I discover Jennifer Ehle is from there. (I thought she was British...?) AND I just bought the 10th Anniversary of Pride & Prejudice yesterday. So...coincidence? I think not. I have a new crush, and its name is Winston-Salem.

It's time to get sweaty.

"Tony Manero knows the old days are over - But nobody's gonna tell him he can't feel that good again."

Damn straight! And I's talkin' about the sexiest 1983 film of all time: Staying Alive. It just doesn't get any sweatier than this. You're dancing for hours in a hot basement wearing layers of spandex tights and polyester onesies that ride up your booty like a donkey in the Grand Canyon. I truly enjoyed this film and its many workout costumes. It put Flashdance and Fame! to shame. And the fact that it was written/directed by Sylvester Stallone brings tears to my eyes. It was his love letter to Travolta's lean, sinewy, sweaty, hairless man thighs. It goes without saying the Bee Gees' music in this delicious film put a cherry on top of my sweaty sundae.

I was supposed to marry Gene Kelly.

Unfortunately, I was born 70 years late. This makes me angry. There aren't too many other men like him out there. In fact, I would venture to say he was a once in a lifetime kind of guy. Sexier than steampot, a voice like molasses pancakes, and dance moves so good they make me believe in the Trinity all over again. There is nothing I like more than meaty, muscular thighs on men. And Gene Kelly more than delivers. I watched The Pirate a few days ago and almost had a cardiac arrest when Gene sauntered out (in a dream sequence, he loves those) in black, ragged hot pants. I hadn't known such a visual gift existed, and yet there it was in all its Technicolor, hairy glory. Needless to say, I rewound the scene multiple times. And words can't do his fantastically amazing bum justice. It's like two rock-hard Christmas hams dancing in my dreams. Ahem. Just thought it needed to be said that Gene Kelly was the most gifted, sexiest, smoothest, sensual-est man alive.

Is it possible to be simultaneously annoyed by/attracted to someone?

The answer is yes.

apple sucks donkey balls.

Microsoft: 1 Apple: 0

Was Jeff Buckley a pretentious asshole?

I refused to like Jeff Buckley for the longest time. I thought the only reason he became so cultishly cool was because he drowned. But then I discovered Grace is the best album to listen to when you are really, really depressed. Because it just makes you more depressed! And if you're having a pity party for yourself, why not go all out? I also recommend drinking lots of red wine and wrapping yourself in soft poly-blend blankets and staring blankly in the mirror. I'm a sucker for a beautiful voice, and his is so warbly and quivering and plaintive. I just worry he was one of those "mysterious" guys in high school that all the girls had a crush on--when in reality their aloofness was just a mask for no personality. But, since he is dead, I'll never really know. And maybe that's a good thing. Plus, he was pretty hot. And apparently liked Doritos Cool Ranch.

getting old terrifies me.

Just watched Away from Her. Bit of a downer, to say the least. Alzheimer's is one of the scariest diseases out there. I'm worried I'll get that or possibly lose an eye in a freak accident involving a raccoon, like my cat Bilbo. The bright side is that Julie Christie, at the age of 67, is still stunningly beautiful. And still a rebel. I mean, have you seen her in Darling? Damn.

I was deprived.

When I read A Separate Peace or Prep or The Headmaster Ritual (all books about the glories of boarding school) I feel very sorry for my middle-class, non-distinguished self. When I was in eighth grade, I became convinced the reason I wasn't popular was because I went to a (yuck) public school, and no one there could possibly appreciate my braces-ridden smile or shaggy haircut or Old Navy denim shorts. But for some reason, my parents weren't feeling it. They preferred not to mortgage their house for the $20k a year tuition, for reasons I will never understand. So my dreams of ivy-covered brick dorms and kindly old professors and yacht-owning boys and pastel Lacoste polos never came true. Sad. Very sad.

Daddy's little hooker.

Miley Cyrus needs to be taken down. Immediately. I don't care if she gets knocked up by Zac Efron or hit by a high school bus after one of her shows or chokes on a Fun Dip stick. Just get rid of her. I don't particularly like children, but I disagree with slutty fifteen-year-olds with hooker hair extensions and tube socks being their role model. If she coats her stupid baby eyes with one more layer of jet black eyeliner I'm going to punch her in the throat. I don't ask for much, but whatever happened to fanciful Anne of Green Gables or wholesome Nancy Drew? And no, that stupid remake with Julia Roberts' niece doesn't count. If I ever had a kid I would make her wear a burka and sit inside all day and ensure she had no friends--except for imaginary ones.

I'm sexually attracted to Tony Goldwyn.

It started in Ghost. Got heated up in The Pelican Brief. Started crackling in the middle of Tarzan. Burst into flames during A Walk on the Moon. And now with his guest directing and acting in Dexter, it's a gentle smolder that will last for years. There was some cold water thrown on my sexual fire when he directed The Last Kiss. That piece of shit offended me in so many ways, and proved that Zach Braff is the squishiest douchebag today. I want to throw him under a train.Zach Braff, that is. Not my Tony Goldwyn. He will be forgiven for that hideous movie, but only because he is really, really hot.

Do you like fake cheese?

Then I highly recommend Healthy Choice's Four Cheese Pizza. I love my microwave diet dishes, but this one was inexcusable and highly atrocious. 'Twas like chewing rubber, only more rubbery. Not worth the 370 calories. I would rather guzzle three glasses of merlot and a candy bar and watch reruns of Cybill in my dirty bathrobe.

white chalk

I was listening to PJ Harvey's new album today on the bus and I was liking it so much I couldn't stop, even though I am also really into my latest library book, Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff, and was dying to read that, too. Back to PJ. It's quite haunting and macabre, but with songs about ether, what do you expect? I think PJ and Bjork are the only female artists young (straight) men are unabashedly proud to exclaim their affections for. They're too cool to admit a longing for Karen Carpenter or Joni Mitchell or Barbra Streisand or Ashlee Simpson. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe only sexy lesbians like PJ and artistic gay guys like Bjork. No. Nuh uh. I need to stop second-guessing myself. I know for a fact asshole-ish, trendy young men like PJ because there was this huge douchebag in my high school theater class who made fun of me until he found out I liked PJ, and then grudgingly gave me some respect--which is so lame. That guy's name was Carlos, and he has a baby now, and he was (and still is) a huge, nasty bastard.

George Washington..erhmhughhhsnnruwak.

I really wanted to like this movie. I liked All the Real Girls. And I want to like the director, David Gordon Green. And I watched the Charlie Rose interview and he seemed...okay. Kinda milquetoast. Boring. But...urghmm....It was like Terrence Malick meets Paul Thomas Anderson meets Country Fried version of Kids (minus the sex, thank God). And I despise Kids. It just rambled around and played ambient music and had really nice cinematography. I didn't care about any of the characters, and I felt like the whole movie was underwater and I could barely stay with it. All I could think about was how chocolatey the kids' skin looked. So maybe I should watch All the Real Girls again. Maybe I was fooled. The whole thing lacked enthusiasm. I am unenthusiastic just writing about it.

p.s. I also think white directors add their middle name in to make them sound more interesting than they really are. I only have two examples right now, but I'm going to find more to prove my useless point.

I love Tippi Hedren's voice.

It's velvety and purry and a bit on the nasal side. I can't describe its utter enchanting-ness. I see why Hitchcock was obsessed with her. I just watched Marnie, and she's utterly bewitching. And I want to date all of Hitchcock's leading men. They're so suave and bossy and well-dressed and open the doors for you and light your cigarettes and put your fur coat on so smoothly and have really nice face wrinkles and deep, commanding voices.

Driving in Florida

is absolutely terrifying. Old people are dangerous, volatile creatures that will lash out for no reason whatsoever. They will also:
1. never use turn signals
2. stop randomly in the middle of high-traffic roads
3. pull out in front of you whilst you are going 60 mph, causing you to heedlessly slam on your brakes
4. never let you over when you are in desperate need to switch lanes and get off the highway so you can go potty
5. give you mean, suspicious looks when you are ordering a milkshake at their favorite burger joint because you are in their town now and the only reasons you are here are to sell drugs to the degenerate youth and/or run insurance scams on the feeble-minded

Other than that, West Central Florida is very lovely and has nice, sandy, white, unspoiled beaches.