because boys sometimes miss
My head is too full of ugly black things this morning, and there's nothing good whatsoever that I can say about writing, either about my writing, specifically, or about writing in general. So I shall steer clear of the subject entirely.
I'll talk about other things, instead.
Last night, Spooky and I watched Wim Wenders' Faraway, So Close! (1993), which I am ashamed to say I'd never seen before. It's one of Spooky's favourite films, and blu_muse sent us a copy on DVD some time ago, but, what with one thing and another, we only got around to watching it last night. What a beautiful, beautiful film. It was too filled with perfect moments to single any one out and say, "There. That's why this was such a perfect, beautiful film. That, right there." Pulling it apart like that would only diminish it, as the beauty lies in each moment and the whole they comprise. And I understand now, more so than after viewing Wings of Desire, why Brad Silberling's City of Angels was such a superficial and unnecessary film.
My thanks to morganxpage for teaching me a fine new word yesterday: cisgendered. Well, not so much a new word, but a word which is new to me. It shouldn't be. It's a word I don't quite know how I missed, but there you go.
Also, I'd meant to mention earlier that I very much enjoyed Friday night's episode of Battlestar Galactica, particularly after the last three or four lackluster episodes. I've been waiting for the writers to turn things around and give us something approaching a Cylon perspective, and I thought Friday night was a nice step towards that end. It didn't make me dislike Lucy Lawless any less, though.
I'll talk about other things, instead.
Last night, Spooky and I watched Wim Wenders' Faraway, So Close! (1993), which I am ashamed to say I'd never seen before. It's one of Spooky's favourite films, and blu_muse sent us a copy on DVD some time ago, but, what with one thing and another, we only got around to watching it last night. What a beautiful, beautiful film. It was too filled with perfect moments to single any one out and say, "There. That's why this was such a perfect, beautiful film. That, right there." Pulling it apart like that would only diminish it, as the beauty lies in each moment and the whole they comprise. And I understand now, more so than after viewing Wings of Desire, why Brad Silberling's City of Angels was such a superficial and unnecessary film.
My thanks to morganxpage for teaching me a fine new word yesterday: cisgendered. Well, not so much a new word, but a word which is new to me. It shouldn't be. It's a word I don't quite know how I missed, but there you go.
Also, I'd meant to mention earlier that I very much enjoyed Friday night's episode of Battlestar Galactica, particularly after the last three or four lackluster episodes. I've been waiting for the writers to turn things around and give us something approaching a Cylon perspective, and I thought Friday night was a nice step towards that end. It didn't make me dislike Lucy Lawless any less, though.