Getting your Firth fix

In honor of Colin Firth winning Best Actor at the Golden Globes on Sunday, I have a treat for you.

And yes, I'm operating here on the certainty that his GG nomination and win were deserved and right, unlike some of the other wacky calls that weirdo Hollywood Foreign Press Association makes. (Jennifer Love Hewitt nominated for Best Actress of anything? Especially for a TV movie where she plays a massage therapist who turns to prostitution to make ends meet, as so awesomely recapped by the Fug Girls?)

But anyway. Back to the point. A couple of years ago a movie called Easy Virtue came out.


I noticed it because it had Colin Firth in it. I read the description and learned that it's about an American woman (played by Jessica Biel) in the 1930s who meets and impulsively marries a Brit (played by Prince Cathhpian) in Monaco and is then taken to England to meet his family on their vast estate. Colin Firth and Kristen Scott-Thomas play the parents.


Kristen Scott-Thomas is the proper English lady who is horrified at her new American (gasp) daughter-in-law with her modern ways and her smoking (double gasp) and her career as a racecar driver (gasp and then fall over dead). She sets out on a campaign to run the floozy off.


Colin Firth plays the shaggy dad who just wants to be left alone to putter in the garage.

My initial thoughts: Meh. If Colin Firth isn't the romantic lead then I don't want to waste my time. Also if he's going to be shaggy and weird. And I don't want to watch a Jessica Biel movie. Also the DVD cover was not that cool yellow one above but this other kind of lame one. So I passed. A week or so ago, though, I saw it on Netflix and decided to give it a try.

Friends, I was so wrong about this movie. Turns out that first of all it's an actual SLA, being based on a play by Noel Coward (which, hi, means that unless some moron rewrote all his dialogue then it should be pretty darn witty). So, yes, witty it is. Jessica Biel did not bug me like I thought she would, and the rest of the cast is great (special mention goes to the butler, who was my favorite). I found that I actually quite enjoyed watching Colin Firth play a sardonic, can't-be-bothered sort of person. He is the only family member who welcomes his son's bride and doesn't look for every opportunity to judge her.

And then?

He finally shaved and this may or may not have happened.


That's all I'm saying.

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The King's Speech

Why oh why is this movie rated R? Because it's pretty much everything that I love and want.



British period drama: Check
Colin Firth: Check
Colin Firth Playing The King and Leading His Nation While Winning Academy Awards: Extra double-check

It's rude, is what it is.

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During the Oscars

(Upon hearing that Bradley Cooper and Gerard Butler would be presenting an award together.)

Me, perking right the heck up and actually looking up from my knitting: "Ooooh . . . It's like a Man-Candy Sandwich!"

And it was, cuz, behold:





At which point my husband turned to give me a look (read: glare).

Except whatever, dude. Let's see Natalie Portman and Zoey Deschanel come out together sometime to present an award. Then we can talk--after our living room finishes imploding, that is.

I also received looks and head-shakes every time I clapped and squealed "Heeeee, Colin Firth!" Which was pretty much every time the camera looked at him or somebody talked about him. But please do not ask me why they had Julianne "We Hung Out for Three Days That One Time" Moore be the one to talk about him. They should have hauled Jennifer Ehle out there for an impromptu P&P reunion. Then you woulda seen some imploding--and the only surprise of the evening.

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In which Masterpiece Theatre saved my bacon

I was almost dead to my sister this week, because I forgot to tell her that Masterpiece Theatre was bringing back the good stuff--most notably, Return to Cranford. Remember that one time when they aired Cranford and it was super good and made me sob until my face chapped? Yeah, it's still really good.


The good people at Masterpiece Theatre have put all of it online so you can watch it there for the next couple of weeks. It is good that they anticipated I might not be on the ball this year, woops. And this way my sister won't kill me for failing her.

I have only seen the first half so far, but the second half is waiting for me on the Tivo. Turns out that GH, in a testament to the depth of his true and extreme love for me, recorded it even though it meant that the 2nd half of the Golden Globes would NOT be recorded. For a movie/TV nut, that really is love.

Because he couldn't watch the Globes, he got online to follow some of the live blog feeds to try and keep up with the awards.

GH: You know Avatar's going to win.

Me: Yeah, and then James Cameron will get up there and say something stupid.

GH: I read somewhere that he worries he'll make a fool of himself if he wins any awards.

Me: Yeah well, it's a valid worry for Mr. "I'm the King of the World." Watch him--he'll get up there and say something in that stupid Nefertiti language from the movie.

GH: Uh . . . it's Na'vi.

(Says the man who actually saw the movie. In 3-D. At an IMAX theatre. To be fair, though, he hasn't felt the need to see it again, unlike all the weirdos who keep going back three and four times.)

Me: Uh huh. Bet you money.

(Five minutes later)

GH: Yep, Avatar won. [pause] Oh my gosh, you were right! James Cameron totally spoke Na'vi.

Me: (smugly) Of course he did.

GH: How did you know he was going to do that?

Me: I just asked myself what's the [Massengill]iest thing he could do up there. And then, he did it.

GH: I love you.

But back to my duty as Masterpiece Theatre Alerter, tomorrow night is when the new BBC Emma miniseries begins, starring Romola Garai as Little Miss Kind of Needs a Smack, Dumbledore as her grumpy dad, and Johnny Lee Miller as Mr Knightley.





Aw to the yeah. I do love me some Johnny Lee Miller (also known as Edmund from 1999's Mansfield Park).

Happy watching, friends!

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Can check this one off the "things to do in life" list

So this last weekend was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's annual Christmas concert and after pretty much committing mail fraud I scored some tickets (thanks Mom and Dad!!!). I went on Friday night with GH, Spitfire, and a coworker of GH's who just moved to UT this fall and has never seen the choir perform.

And here's the thing: this year the guest singer was Brian Stokes Mitchell. I was going to kill and eat people if I didn't get in to this one, because I have loved that man's voice for years, ever since I first heard him in Kiss Me, Kate. And then in Ragtime. And then some more in Man of La Mancha. I tell you, his voice is so pure and deep and righteous that when Savvy was a screetching baby she would quiet down upon hearing it. Because she gets it.



So here are some jotted highlights/impressions from the evening:

Sat in the balcony (so about 8 miles up) and watched as standby people were ushered in to the nice cushy front-section seats behind President Monson and within range of the tractor beam of Brian Stokes Mitchell's grin. Maybe should look into standby next year instead of mail fraud.

BMS, I must say it, was kind of a Broadway geek, but I'm going to insist that it was an a charming and lovely way. He seemed very, very excited to be singing with the choir. And several of the Motab women seemed to be very, very excited to be sitting behind him, if you know what I'm saying. I think I saw one lady lick her lips.

Brian Stokes Mitchell arranged some of the songs they sang. Yeah he did.

And at one point he walked over to a piano and started playing it and singing at the same time. I half expected him to look straight up to me, raise an eyebrow, and intone, "Oh yeah. That just happened."

Now for a lesserlight: You remember how I've discussed the people of UT with their dogged devotion to giving standing ovations to absolutely anything that even remotely resembles a cultural offering. Well, they've learned a new trick. They now give standing ovations at the end of every song. I shall call this The Jack-in-the-Box, and it will probably send me to an early grave.

BSM sang "Through Heaven's Eyes" from the Prince of Egypt soundtrack (yeah, that bit was him and not so much Danny Glover) and as soon as it was over this balding gentleman in front of us shot up out of his seat and started clapping furiously. I nudged GH and gestured to the guy with a WTH? expression. GH whispered, "He really liked that cartoon."

I saw that several people chose to ignore the age requirement of 8 years old and instead bring their 5 year olds who were bored to tears. Nice one, cheaterpantsess.

Also, I may be struck by lightening for this but I have to tell you about the costumes. Oh my WORD, the costumes. In the beginning they always do this big processional where dancers and singers and little kids and things come out. Like one year little kids came out to "Light a Torch" and they were all carrying little torches and lighting each other's torches and generally looking precious enough to eat with a side of Nutella. And usually the costumes have something to do with the song, or where the song is from, or what the theme of the concert is.

This time the theme was "Ring Christmas Bells" and the processional song was "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" and the costumes were From Hell. The boy dancers were wearing some sort of gold tunic-with-sash-over-Aladdin-pants thing, and the girls had these big long flowy white dresses with ruffly necklines and scary-trash ribbon bustiers. I have no idea where they were supposed to be from, but I'm guessing something Eastern Europterrasianish. There was no clue in the program or anywhere else.

The only truly, truly sad part of the evening--sadder even than the costumes and the part where the people around me stood up for everything (except the "Hallelujah Chorus," go figure)--was that my sister Jenny got sick and couldn't come. We had been so excited to see this together. We were going to squeal and smacked each other on the legs and stuff when The Voice came out. Spitfire was an excellent seat partner but did not seem to appreciate being smacked when BSM began singing Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring (arranged by him, btw) just before I passed out cold and landed on the 4-yr-old in front of me.

But yeah, it was a great night, and afterwards we walked around and looked at the lights on Temple Square and came back to my place for banana pudding.

To understand what I was getting so hyped up about, check out this clip from when Brian Stokes Mitchell sang with the choir back in October. Have a paper bag handy.

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Conversation between me and my new director

As she saw the library's copy of Wives and Daughters get checked back in:

New Director: That's the best movie.

Me: Yeah, it's really good. Have you seen . . . North and South?

(this is absolutely a test)

ND: OH yeah. Love that one. That last scene is pretty much perfect.

Me: At the train station? I know! OH! Or what about the part where she drives away in the snow--

ND:---And he's like, "LOOK BACK! LOOK BACK AT ME!!!!

Me: Baaahhhhhggghhh!



And then we embraced and started sobbing. As would you.

Except we didn't really.

But I think we'll get along okay. People who like North and South are generally right-thinking, I find.

And here's another one, just because it's Thursday and I like you.

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This is what I'm TALKING about

So last night I settled down to watch the new Sense & Sensibility as part of the Estrogen--sorry, the Jane Austen Season.

And yeah. I am really liking it. I think my favorite thing about it is that it's not 90 minutes long. I should have known something was up when I kept seeing things like thoughtful, deliberately paced scenes. And beautiful lingering shots of the countryside. And conversations that exist solely for character development. It was a novel experience, given how dang rushed the rest of these recent adaptations have been.

Plus, it's Andrew Davies, and I think you can automatically calm down when you see his name in the credits. "It's okay, I'm Andrew Davies. I gave you the Wet Shirt Scene. I know what I'm doing."

Now for other impressions:

The first two minutes of the movie spice things right up with a bosom-heaving seduction scene. And even though they don't say who it is, you know it's Willoughby and that poor Eliza. Which is kind of a smart move, really, since the seduction sets off such an important chain of events. Plus, it's one thing to hear Alan Rickman intone "She was . . . with child . . . " and fill in the blanks. It's another to actually see it and think, "Oh that's right. Willoughby totally lied to, knocked up, and then ditched that poor orphan girl. Willoughby sucks, dude!" (Note to Alan Rickman: Never stop intoning, though. Never stop.)

Fanny Ferrars Dashwood. She is a nasty, nasty snake of a woman. The actress playing her is brilliant and I want to slap her until my hands cramp up.

Lots of characters that were cut out of the Emma Thompson screenplay have now been reinstated. It's loads of fun to meet everybody. People I can't wait to meet next week: Lucy Steele, who I'm hoping to loathe entirely, and Bavmorda as Edward's mother. Nice one.

But speaking of Edward, I absolutely have a new crush. He is so, SO sweet an' cute. Both Spitfire and I really, really like him so far. No stammering and mincing about here, Hugh Grant.


Willoughby is too short. But he's played by our BF James McAvoy's cheeky friend Spencer from Starter for 10. So we'll give him a pass on that one.

Colonel Brandon is growing on me, even though I always associate David Morrisey with his role as the completely cracked-out homicidal schoolmaster Bradley Headstone from Our Mutual Friend. I'm slowly getting used to the idea that he is not going to be beating anyone to death with an oar during this movie. Unless Willoughby keeps asking for it.

It's nice to see characters played by actors who are in the right age range. I'm loving Elinor, and Marianne is sweet even though the actress is no Kate Winslet. Some of you may have seen that brown dress Marianne is wearing before. The boobage may have thrown you off, though. I understand.

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It is like there is a reason to live again

So here's the big exciting news on my end.

Remember that one time like 4 years ago when my library director up and moved and left me in charge with the eye twitch and the two jobs? Yeah. Still doing that, 6 years later. I have, of course, tried to rule with grace and dignity and for the most part I believe I've succeeded. Or at least I've hidden the bodies of the naysayers. But I am happy to report that my time is almost up. The library board has finally selected a new library director and I'm Not It!

I did apply, but I have never been so excited to not get a job in my whole entire life. Yes, sure, more money would have been nice. But I still kind of didn't want it. This last week I've been pretty much walking on air, singing, giggling, and treating the eye twitch as a somewhat charming house guest whom I will probably miss once it's gone. The new person isn't here yet and it will still be awhile before they are, but I feel completely different. And now I get to smile blissfully at people and say things like, "Yep, you'll sure want to discuss that with the new director when they start. I wouldn't want to step on their toes." And, "Sure, what you're talking about is really interesting. It's not really my concern anymore, though. In fact, I've been on a fabulous dinner date in my head with Ioan Gruffudd the whole time you've been talking. But at least we're both having fun, right?"

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One step closer to being too pretentious to live

I'm in Salt Lake City today and tomorrow at a library conference. It's called "Turning the Page" and is about library advocacy. Which I'm all for. I'm also all for my sweet hotel bed. And the hydrotherapy pool. And the triangle-shaped powdered-sugar dusted nut brownies in all the hallways. Let us have more of them.

In all the sessions they have trays by the doors stocked with pitchers of ice water and those lovely stemmed water glasses. I've snagged one at every session which means that I have now drunk more water today than in possibly the entire previous week.

Turns out I sip lots more water when it's in a schmancy water glass. Somehow it feels more likely that a tuxedo-wearing Daniel Craig will saunter over to my table and say something cryptic. To which I will raise my eyebrow suggestively and take another sip. And also we would be in France.

(I told my sister Jenny about this fantasy on the phone and she blurted out "And then he could change into a blue Speedo, right????" Because she's dirty like that when it comes to Daniel Craig.)

I really don't think a styrofoam cup would have the power to produce such results. Plus I'd be distracted by the crying baby trees in my head. Nor, I feel, would the drink of my table companion--a hot-pink aluminum can containing Sobe Adrenaline Rush High Performance Energy Drink ("New Face . . . Same Taste"). I honestly think that, given the choice between this and fresh urine, I would have a hard time deciding.

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Maybe a shower would have been wise, but I was sleeping

Do you ever get that one kind of zit--the kind that has no real head but still manages to protrude about 3 inches out of your face, causing poor posture, neck strains, and a limp? The bit I like best is when it starts flaking, and so when I try to put concealer on the thing it looks like I'm about to start molting and shed my entire epidermis in the manner of a garden snake or other reptile.

Which I'm sure would prove a lot of library moms right about me.

So yeah, I'm not so much feeling like my gorgeous best today. Let's hope this is not the day in which my personal magnetism pulls Ioan Gruffudd, dazed by love, into my library in the manner of Justin Timberlake being dragged across town by a Pepsi drinker in this Superbowl ad.

(And yes. Sometimes my laughs come cheap, like at the end of this video.)

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Because who wants cheap when you can have free?

If you're looking for free stuff now that you're in Christmas debt and everything, Lifehacker has put together their 2007 Guide to Free Software and Web Applications. It is the Internet's way of holding you close while feeding you chocolate and showing you pictures of Hot British Boyfriends and telling you how much it loves you.

Pretty much the most beautiful words in the English language to me are "Open Source." (The other most beautiful words are "I'm waiting for you by the fountains at Pemberley.") Open Source basically means "Fabulous thing that someone created and which they decided to offer for free rather than finding a way to patent it and take all your money and your soul."

Or, if that's not actually the kind of mood you're in, it's the Internet's way of allowing you to flip off The Man.

Anyway, you should go check out the link. Here are the categories of stuff they've pulled together:

Application Launchers
Backup Utilities
BitTorrent
Bookmarks
Calendar
Desktop Search
Disk Space Visualizers
DVD Rippers
File Syncing
Image Editing
Image Viewers/Managers
Instant Messenger
Macro Makers
Media Players
Password Managers/Helpers
PDF Readers/Writers/Editors
Personal Finance/Money Managers
Start Pages
Telephony Managers/Helpers
Text Editors
To-do List Managers
Virus Killers and Malware Cleaners
Web Clippings
Wikis
Zip File Extractors

I don't know about you people, but that list kind of has me breathing heavily. Has anyone here discovered an Absolutely Fabulous Free Thing online that they'd like to share with the rest of us?

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Get ready to OD on Sumptuous Literary Adaptations

It all begins tonight. Changes are afoot at Masterpiece Theatre, including the recruitment of Gillian Anderson as a new host. Which makes sense now that she's basically British. Will be listening on Jan 13th to see if she and Madonna share the same mid-Atlantic accent. As will a whole lot of X-Philes, I'm sure.

Anyway, Scully will be hosting the "Masterpiece Classic" portion of the season, which will include the Jane Austen Season, a new adaptation of Room With A View, a Judi Dench & Co. miniseries, and some film starring Daniel Radcliffe's Eyebrow.

Tonight and next Sunday they're rebroadcasting last year's Best Jane Eyre Adaptation Ever, which I believe I have already mentioned and shown to my friends and urged you all to watch even if it means locking the other members of your household up in the cellar. Really. You deserve this.

But then, THEN on January 13th the Jane Austen Season starts with Persuasion. Remember about Persuasion? And how we've waited 9 months for it to be aired in the US? Because yeah. If you're a girl and are fortunate enough to have a supportive and drama-appreciating Significant Other who likes to watch SLAs with you, then you may want to tell him to skip this one. He might be offended when your bosom starts heaving and you launch yourself off the couch to go do filthy things to the TV screen. Do like my sister Jenny is doing--throw a Bosom-Heaving Persuasion Party with your like-minded friends. Be sure to wear coordinating Victoria Secret pajamas--they're all the rage.

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Guilty Friday treat

I know I'm slacking, I promise next week will be better. Running the world is hard, y'all. Also I apologize that you had to look at my sick green face on Halloween. It looked even worse close up and I had to sacrifice a Sonia Kashuk foundation brush to get it looking that way. (While at my bathroom mirror I lost all sense of perspective and forgot that "better" is not always the same as "good.")

Anyway. Lucky for me I didn't worry too much about the face (and neck, and upper chest, and pores shrieking in agony while planning a high-stakes revolt) because I was busier worrying about the fact my hair was still damp when I crammed it underneath that wig and it was probably mildewing and was going to fall right off any second.

Good times.

So here is my guilty Friday pleasure--the trailer for Wanted, which is almost sure to be one craptastic movie. And yet I cannot look away because hi, we're talking James McAvoy (whom I am currently dating), Angelina Jolie in Mr. & Mrs. Smith mode, and Morgan Freeman. I think they possibly just got him so that he could narrate the trailer and give an ounce of plausibility to this whole thing. But whatever. You should watch it and laugh at your desk like I'm doing right now.

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Pretty sure I need this

It's a new shirt over at Threadless, and it is my new favorite thing.



Nice, huh?

I probably owe you all an apology. I've been pretty distracted lately on account of work stuff. Which I know is amazingly lame of me since it's not like I'm being a cool spy or anything who gets to wear all the different outfits and wigs and then make out with Michael Vartan. (Or am I . . . ) It's like when Sydney Bristow would be all whining about her masters program and I'd yell "Shut UP already! Where is Vaughn? Why isn't Vaughn here now and speaking the French and making me shake the windowpanes with my squeals???" As I'm sure you did, too.

All I'm actually doing is running a library and being a lone reed. And even though there are stories there that would have you writing your congressional representatives, I can't actually tell them if I want to keep this job. But I can say that I'm working on making this place amazing beyond belief and that it feels really, really good. And I've let the City know that I'm interested in the actual Real director position in the hopes of moving that many notches higher on the Intimidating To Young Mormon Men scale. (Least intimidating: dental assistants, high-school students, and coma patients. Most intimidating: lawyers, doctors, and feminist goddesses of doooooom.)

So here's what I've been working on for the last few weeks:

Setting up free wireless access so that the glassy-eyed Runescape-addicted 11-year-old boys can now bring in their own computers and play until their eyes dry out and their fingers fall off.

Installing free, open-source timers on the public computers so that the computer starts doing the kicking off for me and I can just sit at my desk with my feet up and laugh evilly when people get automatically logged off after an hour. Because I like to bottle the tears of children and use them in secret midnight ceremonies.

Starting a new storytelling program. Because I've really, really missed the storytime rush, what with the screaming, the negligence and subsequent perv bait, the vandalism . . . [sigh] . . . all good times.

Making friends with the other library directors in the area, who are actually a pretty cool bunch.

Revolutionizing the acquisitions process by introducing a little thing I like to call record keeping. It's an amazing thing. I can now staunchly recommend it.

Buying fabulous, fabulous things for the collection, and ignoring the very existence of items like Blonde Ambition: The Untold Story Behind Anna Nicole's Death. Books like this, to me, are the literary version of rubbernecking. And just because it's on the Times Bestseller list one week doesn't mean it'll be on there two weeks later (and it wasn't).

Compiling all the yearly stats and writing a 3-year plan for the library's future, which . . . wow. Because I was really getting bored before, you know, with all the free time. So finding out about this all of a sudden was pretty much the same as getting Ioan for my birthday (in Righteous, Noble, Slave-freeing and France-Defeating mode rather than Stretchy, Jessica-Alba-Pretend-Liking mode or even Drugged, Accidentally-Marrying-Wrong-Blond-Person-in-Mexico mode) for my birthday.

I need a vacation.

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Yes, I will absolutely bribe people with carbs

Had my first Smackdown Staff Meeting (unofficial title). To get everyone happy and relaxed and playing nicely, I baked. From scratch. There were fresh apple muffins made with apples from my obliging (read: too lazy to pick their own dang apples instead of just letting them rot, wasters) neighbors' tree. They were fabulous, and excuse me while I go get another one. I did cheat a bit on the blueberry muffins, but that's because I haven't found a recipe yet that I love. So they came from a box, but it's from a Salt Lake City company. I tell myself that this somehow makes me a better person than I would have been if I'd gone with Duncan Hines. Also I added more blueberries.

Meeting went well, I think. I like to think things are generally going well here, but now that I'm the official Person We Will Blame And Possibly Burn Alive in a Public Ceremony of Some Sort if This All Goes to Crap I find myself thinking about work all the time and even dreaming about it. Which, hi, unless my work involves candle-lit workroom trysts with members of my breeches-wearing British male harem, I don't want to be thinking or dreaming about it when I don't need to be.

Also I'm slightly terrified that the place is just going to burn down one of these days and it will be on my head. Am also reminding myself not to do too much too fast (like take all the crap movies out of the collection and replace them with every BBC drama ever created--it's happening, but slowly).

Am also facing the fact that my semi-anonymity is even further compromised and that the ramifications would be even worse if I were to shoot my mouth off about something that I shouldn't. Which, really, is kind of lame. Don't worry though, you'll still receive unsettling updates about my greying ovaries, because like I could deprive the Internet of that.

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Man-candy Thursday

Sorry you had to wait so long for this post. And sorry that most of the male readership won't consider the wait worth it. But oh well. I have estrogen. Deal with it.

For those of my friends who have not discovered James McAvoy (pronounced MAC-uh-voy), it's time you get on that.

I first noticed him in Chronicles of Narnia, wherein I couldn't help taking more than a passing notice of Mr. Tumnus. Which worried me a little bit, and made me wonder if it's right to be attracted to a goat. Only come on! He was sweet and brave and cute and he believes in a Free Narnia, people!

And then he started cropping up in all kinds of places, it seemed. He played Paul Bettany's skeezy younger brother in Wimbledon, and was, for me, the hilarious bright spot in an otherwise forgettable movie. So yay, he's funny too! Then I saw him as Joe Macbeth in the BBC's Shakespeare Retold series. (Which, seriously? If you haven't tracked these down then you are no kind of Pretentious English Lit person, and frankly I'm disappointed in you. There's still time, though.) Anyway. Turns out he can do the drama and the tragedy, and that his natural Scottish accent is quite easy on the ears.


I went to see Becoming Jane with some girlfriends over the weekend. McAvoy plays Tom LeFroy, who was (according to this movie, anyway) the love of Jane Austen's life. And seriously? Even though I don't believe hardly anything the movie script says, and even though I didn't think Anne Hathaway was great as Jane, I was still totally crying at the end. I would cry for anyone who doesn't get to marry this guy.

Also? If I ever do watch Becoming Jane again, it will only be for him--specifically for the Ballroom Scene. Some of you ladies know what I'm talking about. It was the part where he suddenly appears and all the women on my row Gasped At the Hotness. You had to be there.

And now he's in the new adaptation of Ian McEwan's Atonement, which looks so good that I can't even stand it. Only I just know it's going to be tragic and everyone is probably going to die or be miserable. Haven't read the book yet, so don't spoil it for me! (I picked it up last year and started it, but I was unemployed and stuff and just really was not in the right frame of mind for tragedy. And I still might not be, considering that something as fluffy as Becoming Jane put me into a hormonal tailspin. The moment will come, though.)

Anyway. James McAvoy. Am adding him to my list of UK boyfriends. Life would be simpler for me, surely, if I could only fancy more American and Canadian actors. Because we probably would have more of a future together.

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Mondays can just kiss it. And then they can roll over and die.

Really should have stayed in bed this morning. But first, let's give out a Happy Birthday shout for Saxon! I won't even tell you how old he is. Except it's not as old as me, so I'd better not hear any whinging. Also, check me out with the Britishisms. I've still got it. I'm sure that work visa will be in the mail for me any day now. As will marriage proposals from Ioan, Clive, Richard, and Colin. Might need help sorting out which one to accept.

I turned up at work to find half the computers down and all these angry children beating on the front door and monkeys and dogs living together. That is just not good for me, I tell you. And of course tech support can't come until closing time. Because THAT meets my needs. So I'm just here at my desk trying out some camouflage techniques in the manner of crafty Amazon treefrogs in the hope that people won't notice I'm here. I've applied sticky notes all over my body. And I'm holding very still. And in case anyone does come in for a closer look, I've arranged for the fires of hell to blaze in my eyes.

That oughta keep 'em back.

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Stupid books that make me stay up reading til 2am

So I got Eclipse home and read it. My plan was to only read the first few chapters and then set it aside til the weekend when I'll have more time. Yeah. That got shot.

I think I'll have to read it again before I can do any kind of decent review. But I will say that this book has moved me firmly over to Team Edward. As has the scene in the Big Bed, about which I will say no more. Just . . . whew. Don't get me wrong, I love me some Jacob Black in a Sleeping Bag too but I think Edward totally won out in this one. Which is good since I spent the last book bugged at what a whiny baby he was being.

Also, I don't think Bella is very bright. I really don't.

So. For those who've read the books, which team are you on?

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Warning: Contains Profanity

I like to think that I have a sophisticated sense of humor. But then I watch something like this and I realize that no, no I don't. Because all it takes is a song where Hugh Laurie sings the word "ass" a whole bunch in a Southern accent to leave me yelping and shrieking on the floor.

Although . . . if Hugh Laurie thinks it's funny too then maybe my taste is just fine. After all, he is British. And brilliant.

Also? He and I should probably just stop this "will they or won't they" dance we're in and just get married already.

Happy Weekend, y'all.

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British Man Candy, continued

A couple of weeks ago I watched Under the Greenwood Tree. You remember I'd been worried about this one since it was written by Thomas Hardy. I didn't want to watch some movie where the bodies of disenchanted, disenfranchised villagers get piled up under the greenwood tree. (Side note: during a Study Abroad we went to Thomas Hardy's house in the countryside and I wondered how anyone who lived in such a beautiful place could write such depressing things. But it turns out that he can do light romantic comedy as well, so that's something.)

The movie is relatively short at 90 minutes and it's more a sweet story about village life & intrigues than grand big passions. The pretty schoolteacher moves into town and three men fall for her. That's about as complicated as it gets. But there's lots of fun local flavor. Also, there's this one part where the hero is shirtless, which, like, never happens in these movies! So that was kind of awesome if only for the novelty of the thing.

Anyway, moving on.

Ever since watching North & South I've had a thing for Richard Armitage. So when I found out he's in the BBC's new series "Robin Hood" I ordered it for the library. And then took it home. Because that is what is called perks, madame. Anyway. Armitage plays the broody bad Guy of Gisborne. And ohhhhh, does he play him well.

It's just too bad that he isn't in a better show. It's pretty cheesy, and the actual Robin Hood kind of bugs me. A lot. He looks like he belongs in a boy band rather than in Sherwood Forest, and he's way too "Oh look how cute and cheeky and smirky I am with my 12-year old self!" You know it's bad when you wish that Robin could just die already so that the evil Guy can drag Marian off into the woods.

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