I went to see Manchurian Candidate on Saturday night with a friend I haven’t seen in years. We were front row center, so we got really huge, distorted views of Denzel’s chin, and that’s about it. Quite aside from that, the movie sucked in a way usually reserved for made-for-TV movies on USA. Now, despite having both seen the original and read the book, I was quite prepared to judge it on its own merits, but there was maybe one good scene in the whole freaking thing, and none of the chemistry of the original.
Then Sunday morning I woke up bright and early for the last day for Shakespeare in the Park (plans to see it with friends kept falling through) and discovered a two mile line of people who had woken up brighter and earlier. Since there was no chance in hell of getting in, I caught up with Chris and Mulzer, old college buddies who I discovered on line with their new beagle, Bartleby, then went home to clean my place top to bottom, watch Queer as Folk, and put together my new patchwork vest. At this point it’s completely basted; all I have to do is sew it up. It’s a cute, lacy little number I’m going to wear over tight black shirts to go clubbing in. No, I’m not crazy; I’ll post pictures of it up here when I’m done and you’ll see what I mean. Think less quilt and more chain mail bra.
But anyway, while I was cleaning my place, I managed to shatter a little bottle of perfume, which immediately soaked into the cracks in the hardwood floor, so between my new Palestinian embroidered pillows and the scent, I feel like I’m trapped in a harem.