I'm going to bed at a reasonable time tonight. No, really I am. Seriously. You think I'm lying? Look me in the eye and tell me that. I've even got my scarlet silk pajamas on -- JUST BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE IT.

Have a good weekend! Kisses.

Is it bedtime yet? Just a couple things before I go toss and turn.

1. I made some minor updates to my website.

2. Since it has become a matter about which so many of you have become deeply concerned, I wanted to let you know that I got a haircut today.

There's a place in Park Slope called Medusa that Nell had mentioned because she liked the name, and before I went through my whole haircut debacle over the past months, I thought I might try that place. Naturally, I should have gone with that instinct to begin with. Then again, perhaps I wouldn't have developed quite the hero-worship of my new stylist Joe if I had not first come face to face with the haircut mafia. In any case, Joe is an absolute sweetheart (with the cutest Brooklyn-native accent), and not only did he do a fine job on my hair, he even explained what he was doing as he was doing it, much like a caring doctor might during an office procedure. At $40 a pop (plus tip, of course) it's no Supercuts, but it sure isn't any more than I'd be paying in Seattle. The best thing of all: Joe's dad owns the business! So there's little chance that Joe will go skipping off to some hoity-toity Manhattan salon and start charging $200 a cut! Hooray! Life is sweet, indeed.

Okay, sorry about the run on political topics the last few days. I promise I'll get back to the important stuff: my recent purchases, my sleeping habits, and inappropriate dreams about underage celebrities.

Firstly, I finally broke down and bought a DVD player. Amazon had a sale, and although I hate the rat bastards at least I don't have to haul it home from The Wiz. Not that I need any further enticement to set it up (oh where is a boyfriend when you need one?) when it arrives, but I also threw in copies of Memento and Wet Hot American Summer, two films that made the year 2001 worth living.

I have tried, and failed, a number of times to go to bed earlier (ie. before dawn) and/or wake up earlier. However, I am finding ways to be more productive in the hours that I am awake, so I'm not quite as worried about it. I have a couple of hypotheses of why I am such a night-owl:

1. I'm still on West Coast time. Looking at it that way, I'm going to bed around 2am and waking up around 10am. A perfectly reasonable (if a bit luxurious from a corporate perspective) schedule!

2. My brain takes 12 hours to "warm up." I get all of my best ideas around the time I start thinking about going to bed. It only gets worse when I actually try to sleep. I start thinking of hi-larious anecdotes, turns of phrase, or amusing theories about the nature of pop music as I'm tossing and turning. While I was a respectable member of the work force, this meant that I usually had to choose between ignoring my writing inspirations or spending my life in perpetual sleep deprivation. Unfortunately, I too often chose the former. That may be why I'm here now.

3. My "biorhythms" are set to a 30-hour day. No matter when I get up, be it early or late, it seems I'm awake for longer stretches than the average person. Even in the rare occasions when I've re-set myself to a reasonable schedule, each night I stay up a little later, until I'm right back to typing blogs at 2am. This happens even when my schedule is already unreasonably night-owlish--the other day I couldn't get to sleep until 7am. Last night I even took a sleeping pill at 2am because I really wanted to be up by noon. The pill just made me panicky, and I still didn't sleep until after 4:00.

A lot of people have suggested that I just go with it and get a night job (or a musician boyfriend, if you remember Naomi's suggestion from a while back). The thing is, I don't particularly like working during my most productive and motivated hours. Perhaps that's why I've always liked school and enjoy sedentary office drone jobs. I can sort of sleepwalk through them and still do fine. Then when I'm struck with inspiration, I can do something about it, if I choose. The other obvious suggestion is that I become a freelance writer, and thus make my own hours. Great idea! Any wealthy readers out there who wish to become my patron, I welcome your proposals. Sorry, Mike says I can't post my e-mail here.

About the inappropriate dreams... well, I was just kidding (this time!)

This New York Times article reminded me that Michael Moore's new book, the nearly-banned "Stupid White Men" was finally released this week, after his publisher threatened to send 50,000 copies to the shredder unless he toned down some of his criticism of the Bush administration (see Moore's full story here). Following an author/publisher standoff and public outcry (which of course resulted in an enormous volume of pre-orders), it is on bookshelves today, unchanged.

Looks like Bush realizes he needs all the positive spin he can get. Check out the third paragraph, emphasis mine:

And while we're looking at headlines, this one isn't particularly encouraging.

Here's a way to ensure that the blandest, most inoffensive material be consumed by the largest number of people.
"It is rather like the idea that we are all going to pop out and eat Chicken McNuggets or something else horrid at once," he said.

This is completely insane.

So, here's what's up:

Though I'm no expert on Altman films, I'd say Gosford Park ranks up there with Short Cuts, if not surpasses it. It's a marvellous ensemble piece, full of lovely nuanced performances, including the Oscar-nominated Helen Mirren and downright hi-larious Maggie Smith. A gem though it is, it may be too light and subtle to impress Oscar voters, which is too bad. It would be nice to see something win that isn't begging for it. I'm not altogether sure it deserves the title of best film of the year -- but I'm not sure any of the nominees deserve that!

I have mixed feelings about A Beautiful Mind. While watching it, I was entertained, but I'm a total sucker for Big Hollywood smoke and mirrors--Ron Howard's swoopy camera and James Horner's quirky-inspirational score were just the thing. As much as it may not be cool to think so, I thought Russell Crowe's performance was very good. It's a showy part, but he put some nice layers into it. The way he seemed to visibly gain and lose weight just by the way he carried himself was impressive, and he carefully balanced Nash's humor with his misanthropy (though I would have been happy with more of the latter). Jennifer Connelly conveyed the frustration and patience of Nash's wife more effortlessly than Crowe portrayed Nash's tics and eccentricities, but what bugged me was that she was too beautiful! It just seemed inconceivable that a woman that gorgeous would be anywhere but a photo shoot or a Hollywood set--and certainly not in an MIT classroom. The film's hair, makeup and costume crews seemed to deliberately defy any semblance of historical reality just so Ms. Connelly could look every inch the movie star. Unwise.

As much as I enjoyed the film while watching, shortly afterwards I started feeling empty, as if I had eaten a big mound of junk food, and--while it was very yummy--it was ultimately unsatisfying. As everyone knows, the movie is about a genius/schizophrenic, and the main issue for me is that the schizophrenia was emphasized at the expense of the genius, rather than fully exploring the interdependent relationship between the two. Instead of digging into the workings of Nash's troubled head, his genius/madness is demonstrated with a few twee special effects and ominous orchestral swells. Nash's work is apparently important because his professor (Judd Hirsch) pages thoughtfully through his doctoral thesis, and then a bunch of people shake his hand. But that doesn't make it real enough to grasp the loss when Nash is unable to work through the fog of treatment and medication. We are told that he is brilliant, but we are shown that he is crazy, and thus it becomes a Crazy Movie, not an innovative one. Worst of all, the whole turns into a Power-of-Love melodrama in the third act, with lots of "think with your heart, not your head" nonsense. I admit that complex mathematical theory is difficult to get across to a mainstream audience (the one attempt to do so, early in the film, comes off as a glib--though amusing--chapter of "Non-Competitive Game Theory for Dummies"), but isn't that why they pay directors and screenwriters the big bucks? This reluctance to push the boundaries of Big Hollywood Feel-Good conventions turns the film's best qualities into inauthentic fluff. This movie makes me want to see Pi and Donnie Darko, because I have a feeling that both of those films could teach A Beautiful Mind a thing or two. Of course, I am still convinced it's the front-runner for Best Picture.

My next-door neighbor just came home, groaning all the way up the stairs and into his apartment: "Help a nigga please! Why I gotta work so HARD? I'm tellin' you! Lord, help a nigger out!" Sorry if that's harsh, but I'm just quoting. He's a funny guy, always talking (yelling) to himself, and listening to the TV way loud. Gosh, maybe he's a genius.

I finished The Fellowship of the Ring today--I could hardly put it down once I started reading. I'm thinking about seeing the movie again, to compare (and also review its Oscar chances). I think I'll like the movie better now that I know more about what's going on, though I share the dismay with longtime fans that some richness of character is lost in the translation (particularly Frodo, and Galadriel). I'm surprised by some of the turns at the end of the film that aren't in the book, so I suspect that perhaps Peter Jackson, et. al., dipped a little into the next book. I was planning to wait to read The Two Towers until after the next film comes out, but I'm afraid I won't be able to wait that long.

I haven't been much following the doings of Hanson as they slog away in the studio on their as-yet-untitled new album. However, they have posted some short song clips on their website, so I listened to those. The first two, "Wake UP" and "Strong Enough to Break" are, well, Hanson songs. They don't seem particularly different from anything they did on the last album, in that they are catchy and inoffensive. The other clip, a "demo" of the embarassingly-titled "Rock 'n' Roll Razorblade" (ugh) has a prog-rock feel--but more Styx, say, than Pink Floyd. I don't think that's really a good thing, but I know better than to judge from short clips. Really, it doesn't matter what they do--I'll end up liking it, even if I don't, if you follow.

Perhaps it's just bad camera timing, but every recent photo of Isaac makes him look stoned (check out 2.13.02). Actually, discovering that Ike has a pot habit would be just what the band needs to establish some street cred, not to mention give their songs a creative boost. But it would be way more funny if--instead of repeating the A.J. McLean rehab scene--the younger brothers intervene because Ike's penchant for late-night Funyuns snarfing causes the young hearthrob to gain an extra 30 pounds.

In my dream last night, I was dancing in a sequined bikini and stiletto heels on my old high school stage, in front of a large audience of very unimpressed people. I don't know why I was onstage, or what the performance was meant to accomplish, or why I was dancing when I am not a very good dancer, but I have to admit that I looked pretty good in the bikini. I hope that part of the dream comes true.

I was one in a string of performers (including "Rollerball" hunk and erstwhile Nebraskan Chris Klein singing a song from "Newsies"), but unlike the others I had nothing at all prepared in advance. As I was dancing, I realized that even though I didn't know what I was doing, as long as I appeared to be confident, I would be better-received, so I conciously stood up straighter, and my kicks and spins were executed with relish. At the end of the dance I expected at least some polite applause, but it was dead silence. But the funny thing is that I wasn't mortified. I just thought to myself "well, what do you expect? If you don't prepare or rehearse anything, you can't expect people to be polite when you've just wasted their time." I think this has something to do with my feelings about looking for a job.

I came up with an idea for a novel, or a screenplay. I'm not sure why, because the last time I wrote any kind of fiction was before I turned ten years old, and I have pretty much lost interest since then. Maybe I feel that since I have little to write about in my own life then I might as well create something. The idea reads something like a psychological thriller at best, and a really bad horror movie at worst. I'm not sure the world really needs more of that. Though I have to admit the thought of selling a trashy script to Hollywood and seeing it one day in the "crap" section of the video store fills me with a sort of thrill. I doubt anything will come of it, though.