movie nights!

Last weekend, something completely unprecedented happened. I rented two movies and my family enjoyed both of them.

Granted, it probably had something to do with the fact that it's the time of year when the weather is getting nice and everyone is a little more easily pleased, but I didn't really expect both Enchanted and Dan In Real Life to be hits. My stepdad tends to rent kung fu movies, or action things, or comedies we've seen a hundred times (at one point, I am fairly certain that everyone could quote along with the entirety of Down Periscope). Mom likes things a little more esoteric and enjoys foreign films, but she'll cheerfully watch martial arts. My brother goes for scifi action films and raunchy collegiate comedies. I tend to go for indie and foreign films like the pretentious liberal arts graduate I am, so it was interesting that a partially animated musical and a comedy in the lives-of-quiet-desperation genre (made so popular by Garden State, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and another recent Steve Carrell venture, Little Miss Sunshine) actually seemed to please everyone.

Of course, they both have their charms. Enchanted manages to simultaneously subvert and reinforce the Disney standards of love at first sight and the naive but plucky princess' journey from doe-eyed maidenhood to doe-eyed marital bliss. The songs, if not Oscar-worthy, were well-executed. I even managed to suppress my distaste for roaches through the "Happy Working Song". Giselle's series of dresses were too fabulous for words, and Amy Adams does an admirable job of being wide-eyed and cheery but nobody's dupe. My only problems with the movie were first, if you've got Idina Menzel, let her sing, and second, I was never convinced by Patrick Dempsey that he could form an attachment to anyone. But maybe that's just my indifference to McWhatever and his monotone. It would have marred the pacing of the movie to show anything worthwhile about his relationship with Nancy (or her motivations - it was nice to have the cut scene on the DVD showing that she was a hopeless romantic looking for a prince in addition to being a self-motivated, no-nonsense Manhattan fashion designer), but he did seem to fall for Giselle awfully fast when she was asleep on his couch. So much for rationality. It was a little too easy for me, but then again, I have to remind myself that this is a movie marketed to children, and that in a Disney movie, it's always going to be easy to fall in love.

Dan In Real Life was much more grown up. Even if it went along with the love at first sight trope, it was a lot more complicated and satisfying. Steve Carrell as the frustrated widower father of three was funny and warm, and the rest of the family was great too. Besides, it's conceivable to me that no one could resist Juliette Binoche. It's not so believable that everyone loves Patrick Dempsey. The only problem with Steve Carrell movies is when they degenerate into Will Ferrell-style hysterics (though it can't be denied that Carrell does a great histrionic fit, as we've seen on The Office), but the only moment where that happened was the "Put it on my tab" comment to the policeman, which felt believable at the time. Dan In Real Life was sweet and funny, if not laugh out loud hilarious. Ah, the claustrophobia of being around one's large family for a week at a time.

Oddly enough, last night's rental of Kinky Boots was a hit too, though it turned out that everyone had seen it except me. Now we'll have to see if we can continue the trend of finding happy mediums (by which I mean I will impose my movie wishes on the rest of the family and the films I choose will conquer their hearts, or at least entertain them for a while).

hey, nice car!

So Anderson Cooper is coming to speak on Friday, and the bookstore staff are organizing his book signing and hanging out at the reception, which meant that I was running around today papering all the local coffeehouses with charming photos of his dreamy face. When I came out of the last one (my usual hangout, but I wasn't in the mood for coffee this evening with the weather turning rough), a couple of guys were standing on the sidewalk looking at my car.

"Nice car!" said one of them. "That an '81?"
"'83!" I said.
"Nice," he said again, nodding sagely.
"Thanks," I said, and got in and drove away.

Funny thing is, that happens fairly frequently. People who own Volvos like my car a lot. There are a few around town of about the same vintage, big old station wagons with peeling bumper stickers. The other day, I saw one on my way to the gym, and the driver had her window rolled down, so I said, "Nice car!" and she grinned as she went on her way. It's kind of like being in a cult. A cult dedicated to vaguely retro things. If we ever had a meeting, we should probably wear bellbottoms and serve that cheese dip made out of Velveeta. And talk about the latest literary novel, of course. We're Volvo owners.

Lots of people are fond of their cars, sure, but I love my car more than most, I feel. It's been in the family since before I was born, as you can see: Mom bought it new and we've had it ever since. It's two years older than I am, and apart from the occasional cosmetic bit falling off, it runs pretty much like a dream, albeit a dream that is sometimes interrupted by the transmission falling out (hyperbole). For a car that spent a long time in coastal states, the paint job's still pretty good. She's been fairly well-maintained over the years (I suppose only having one owner helps with that, as most Volvos of that era have been bought several times). Of course, it's nicer from the outside. And once you get in, it's hard to get out, since the doors don't much work. But I love it anyway.

The Volvo is the car I grew up in. It's the car I came home from the hospital in. It's the car I learned to drive in (mostly). It is my fat-bottomed car. So there are no air bags and no air conditioning. The heater still works really well, which is a plus, and I've learned how to wedge my coffee mug between the parking brake and the passenger's seat, so everything's groovy, except it could use a radio. I cruise around town with my windows rolled down bellowing Sara Bareilles and gathering all sorts of indie cred. Plus she's easy to find in the parking lot, and no one would ever want to steal her.

Someday (soonish) the Volvo will probably cease to function normally, but knock on wood, that day's a few years off. I know I'll miss her when she's gone.

lists!

Like so many people, I am fond of making lists. So here are a few.

Things of which I am quite fond, at the moment:
01. Turbokick
02. A sunny, warm Saturday, even if I am stuck inside
03. Free tickets to the university production of an Oscar Wilde play
04. Scrabulous
05. Lists

Things that I have at some point claimed not to like, but now enjoy:
01. Broccoli and asparagus
02. Flipflops
03. Exercise
04. Soy products
05. The Facebook newsfeed page

Things that I am trying to like but probably never will:
01. Ankle socks: better than tall socks on bare legs, but with that weird feeling
02. People who come to the library regularly to use the computers and act entitled to being logged in that very minute, even if I am with a patron with an actual question (and they only want to play games and look up local prisoners), after which they take it upon themselves to police everyone else with respect to cellphone and headphone policies

On an unrelated note, what's with Israel and Jewish voters claiming foul if anyone says anything positive about Palestine? Note this, Israel: saying that your policies regarding the way you've totally overrun and continue to oppress Palestine and the Palestinians, most of whom are not involved in Hamas, is not anti-Semitic. It's a political issue, not a religious one, and knock it off.