Not that I've gotten much done the past few days. I cleaned the house yesterday, because we're expecting company today and I thought I could potentially be useful after sitting around doing nothing all week. Then I went to the movie store and picked out a couple films: "Elizabeth: the Golden Age," "Becoming Jane" and "Brokeback Mountain" cheerfully explaining to the woman behind the counter that "Jake Gyllenhal is hot! The only thing that makes him hotter is Heath Ledger--attached to his FACE!"
Speaking of Heath Ledger, I was dreaming about making a movie of George Washington and thinking (in my dream) "huh, Heath Ledger would make a GREAT Washington." And when I woke up, I realised that was no longer possible. Sad panda.
Speaking of hot guys, whilst cleaning yesterday I came across a stack of old Seventeen magazines and a red notebook my thirteen year-old-self had clearly labeled "BABES" and inside were pictures cut out of magazines of all my youthful crushes, with helpful arrows pointing to them and captions like "SO JEALOUS OF NICOLE!" This for Tom Cruise. Ironically, still jealous of Nicole Kidman, only now it has more to do with "Moulin Rouge" and that perfectly flawless skin. Anyway. It was mortifying, to say the least. Apparently I had a real thing for Keanu Reeves (and this was pre-Matrix, remember!). Oooh, so embarassing. Luckily I'm all grown up now and can dispassionately say I only like actors because they're good actors and not because they're "babes":
Javier Bardem took his MOM to the Oscars! And then thanked her IN SPANISH!
James McAvoy in breeches. Oh, trust me. If anyone would know, it would be me.
Laurence Olivier is dead. But he can still act circles around most actors today.