I bought two books this week, and I almost bought a third. I know that shouldn’t be a big deal, but I have so many unread books. And then I have this other problem, which is that I bought two novels, when I have this sudden urge to read non-fiction. And then I have yet another problem, which is that I still have a (virtual) stack of review copies to get through, after my summer book request frenzy.
(Oh, you want to know what I bought? Okay.)
(What…now you want to know what I almost bought, but didn’t? Alright.)
(Wait. Should I get it?)
We watched not one but two movies last weekend. Lately we seem to be much more into watching television shows. (Our latest is Veep. Very funny. I see now why Julia Louis Dreyfus keeps winning the Emmy.) One I highly recommend is Jim Jarmusch’s The Only Lovers Left Alive, which features Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston as a married vampire couple. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s warm and hopeful. It also has the best suitcase-packing scene ever.
The other movie we watched was Palo Alto. Couple of things on this one: First, this movie is based on James Franco’s short stories, which I haven’t read, but judging by the movie I suspect they are your standard MFA stuff. Second, this movie is directed by Gia Coppola, who is Sofia Coppola’s cousin. I happen to enjoy Sofia Coppola’s films very much, but that doesn’t mean I want to see a knockoff. Emma Roberts basically plays a younger version of Charlotte from Lost in Translation (wardrobe, attitude, all of it, and to be fair, she does a good job), and the movie is full of cinematography meant to evoke melancholy while the airy soundtrack plays in the background, á la The Virgin Suicides. It’s pretty, but better done elsewhere.
I am pretty sure Jillian Michaels is trying to kill me. Well, let me rephrase that: I am pretty sure she’s out to kill anyone who uses her workout videos. Or then again, it could just be that I am out of shape. I’ve been doing her Shred video. It’s only a 20 minute workout, and it combines strength, cardio, and abs. Nonstop. I’ll keep doing these, but I admit I’ll be very happy when Mother Nature realizes it is actually September (and not early August) and decides to cool things down so I can run outside. It’s not the heat itself, but the fact that I spend 10 minutes putting on sunscreen that basically melts off after I’ve been running for 30 seconds.
This week I wrote a review of a book by a well-regarded author. I wasn’t so crazy about the book, and then I read a review of that same book in The Washington Post where the reviewer loved the book. The reviewer made some fine points I agree with and forgot to mention, but overall I still feel sort of meh about it. The thing is, now I feel lame for feeling meh. Does this ever happen to any of you? Do you ever feel bad for not agreeing with a professional reviewer, particularly one you respect? I don’t respect the reviewer any less for liking said book, but I may respect myself less. I’ll post the review next week.
Happy Friday, everyone!
*All images from Wikipedia