I LOVE the movie Stranger Than Fiction, and as I’m watching it, I’ve noticed that the apartments reflect each character’s personality.
Harold Crick’s apartment is full of IKEA’s minimalist tables and vintage late 70s/early 80s half-upholstered seating that is really geometrical. Mustard and Beige and Mossy Green. It’s in a yellow brick building, all squares and big windows. It feels very 80s/Miami Vice/smoky lighting. Like those Molly Ringwald movies. John Hughes? Right. That guy.
His co-worker, Dave’s apartment is in a concrete building with very, um, futuristic? lines. He eats vegetables that look like they were grown on Mars.
Ana Pascal’s apartment is in a house–on the second floor of a row house. Her furnishings are eclectic and draped in beautiful tapestries from mixed eras–present, 60s, etc. Beautiful Orange and pink and yellow and turquoise. The lighting feels organic.
Also–this movie is plain beautifully written. I’ve heard Emma Thompson talk about “honoring good writing.” It seems to me that she chooses movies that are extraordinarily well-written. Have you ever seen Treasure Planet?? It’s a Disney film. It’s FUN and good. Emma Thompson does the voice of the captain. She says, “I said something rather good this morning. What was it?… A ludicrous parcel of drivelling galloots. There you have it: poetry.” I love literary movies. I love literary people.
Today, I replaced my toaster oven. I was trying to live without one. I was trying to just go with my regular Toaster. In the place I lived before here, I had just a toaster oven, no toaster. Then it caught on fire shortly after I moved here, so I bought a toaster because the one I wanted was on sale, and thought I’d do without the toaster oven. But I adore toaster ovens. They help. You can make small oven-meals in them without warming up the full-sized oven and wasting all that energy. And now that the weather is, forgive the language, FUCKING hot, it’s great to be able to use just a cubic foot of HOT instead of 7 cubic feet of HOT when I make freezer pizza or jalapeno poppers or anything else that is small enough to go in the Toaster oven.
My friend Katney says that she has endured Ridicule because of her toaster oven. She has heard folks say, “It’s not the eighties anymore, dude.”
I’m sorry ridiculors. You are wrong. Toaster ovens are better than almost all other small kitchen appliances. They especially trump Microwaves. Microwaves are the work of Satan.
Convection is cool. Maybe someday I’ll have a bunch of convection ovens and a beautiful, cast-iron, professional-grade Gas Range.
I also dig the front-loading washing machine. It truly does marvelous work. It makes clothing clean, but makes it look less-worn-out. Especially if it already looks worn out. I have to say. The only thing about living in the suburbs I wouldn’t absolutely trade in if I moved in town is on-site laundry. I LOVE having laundry at home. Only thing is I wish it were either upstairs or in the basement. I know. Poles. But I am a woman of many polar distinctions and tastes. Nobody’s holding a gun to you and making you read this. And if they are, well, thank you. But I see no reason to be so extreme.
Anyway. I think I wanted to say something more philosophical about my toaster oven, instead of analyzing the appliances in my life.
Update on my man hating: I am this close to starting to spell all words ending in men myn or min, depending. Womyn, Specimin.
Update on my urban/suburban quandary: I would like to live in town. I would be safer and happier. I’m having a hard time being patient, but I want to be. Patience is a virtue I do not yet have.
Update on Pearl: She had perfect potty-usage yesterday. Near-perfect potty-usage today, and her slip-up was my fault, not hers. And even though she’s even not feeling all that well, she is a fabulously loving and calm. My new work schedule helps her with that.