BetterMost Community Blogs > My "Great White North"
Bitch, Bitch, Bitch
Jeff Wrangler:
--- Quote from: serious crayons on January 14, 2010, 01:19:17 pm ---What makes you feel that Meryl is slumming in IC?
--- End quote ---
Well, it ain't Doubt.
serious crayons:
--- Quote from: Jeff Wrangler on January 14, 2010, 02:13:05 pm ---Well, it ain't Doubt.
--- End quote ---
No, though I'm not sure there are all that many rungs between the two (but I've never seen Doubt). And as overall films, I liked It's Complicated better than Julie and Julia or Mama Mia. Maybe not better than The Devil Wears Prada.
delalluvia:
--- Quote from: Marge_Innavera on January 14, 2010, 11:57:09 am ---What's interesting there is that there's no equivalent term for a male-oriented escapist movie that focuses on boobs and car chases.
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Action flick/Buddy movie. Because both invariably have women characters as eyecandy. And if the hero is not some Rambo/Batman-type loner, he's got a sidekick.
delalluvia:
Man, I hate spooky houses. I'm trying to sleep I'm so tired, but my mother's house is spooky. Not the inside, but outside. I know in her yard neighborhood cats pass through on noctural jaunts, possums live in the attic, rats argue noisily in the bathroom wall and snakes make housecalls on the backyard rodents, but odd sounds occur often.
My mother has outside motion sensor lights. Nothing gives you a heart attack more than one of those lights suddenly coming on and illuminating your window. :o
We hear strange things. My cats whip around, having heard the noise as well, but we can't figure out what it is, or what caused it. We see nothing, don't hear it again. :-\
I miss my clean, quiet, landscaped, peaceful apartment. :( :'(
Jeff Wrangler:
--- Quote from: delalluvia on January 18, 2010, 01:52:07 am ---Man, I hate spooky houses.
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When I was a small boy we would sometimes stay overnight at the home of my maternal grandparents, the house my mother was raised in. It was a very old house, built, I believe, in the 1870s. It also wasn't a very large house. There were only three bedrooms. As a child my mother slept in one room--in one bed--with her three sisters, and my four uncles shared another room, and my grandparents shared the third bedroom with my great-grandparents.
Anyway, the attic was entered by way of an enclosed staircase that opened into the back bedroom. The room was so small there was barely room for a large bed, a small nightstand, and a large chest of drawers--which was placed so it effectively acted as a barricade to the attic door. That freaked me out as a small child. I mean, it was like, What were they trying to keep from getting out of that attic? ??? :o :laugh:
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