The last few days I've been suffering from the stomach flu and a wee bit of depression. To overcome both, I've been immersing myself in the dynamic duo of film - Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg (I can't leave out Nick Frost here - he's effing hilarious and just as cute as he can be). What can I say? Some people have Wellbutrin, I have Shaun of the Dead.

I can't help it. I love Shaun.



Actually, I just adore Simon Pegg. He's a good writer, a film buff, and he giggles very easily (see outtakes, esp. the ones on Hot Fuzz). Plus his nice deep voice doesn't hurt. I also find it endearing how his weight fluctuates all the time.

Check out every single special feature on Hot Fuzz and Shaun. They're so much fun. You can tell these guys are total fans by the geek-candy on their bonus stuff. There's a video diary of their promotional tour in America which is utterly fantastic. At one point they're so bored by their phone interviews they start taking off their clothes.

I can't wait for the trio to put out their latest - it looks to be a thing called Tintin.

Also, I have "Spaced" on reserve from the library. The complete series. They haven't even processed it into the system yet, but I'm first on the list.

Look - get out there. Get these movies. Watch them, and you'll understand. And if you're ever wondering what to get me for my birthday, I tell you now - a lunch date with Simon Pegg that will be our little secret.

I tend to read a fictional novel between each nonfictional one that I read, and my taste in books ranges from 19th century novels to contemporary crime fiction. I like to read just about everything (although I have a harder time reading sci-fi/fantasy than I did when I was a slip of a lass). This month I seem to be stuck on Carl Hiaasen novels. I read Sick Puppy, Basket Case, and then my first and favorite, Skinny Dip.

There are a few reasons that I really enjoy reading Hiassen (although I haven't enjoyed all of the novels, the ones I like, I like so much I have to write about it). The first reason is that he's really funny. It's not easy to make me laugh out loud.

I also have a long-standing penchant for the older man-younger woman relationship model, which Hiassen seems to play around with. It's not my fault. It started with Sting and this fantastic video. Understand, young Sting, you don't have to stand close to me to feel this heat. My lingering fancy for the mature male also stems from reading Jane Eyre during the days of sexual imprinting. Mr. Rochester and Jane Eyre were separated by about twenty years. Smokin' hot. In my defense, it only does it for me if the two companions equal each other on some level. I get totally hot and bothered by an egalitarian match. So the Joey-Mick pairing in Dip and the Emma-Jack couplet in the Basket had my full and favorable attention.

The last thing I noticed about Hiaasen is how accurately his characters sound. They all have interesting quirks, but better than that are their distinct voices and vocabularies. Even in the internal dialogue.

Out of all this comes the confession that I have a love jones for Mick Stranahan. He's fit, he's smart, he's tough, and he takes all kinds of care of Joey at the same time that he knows she can take care of herself. He's constantly feeding her, teasing her, or giving it to her under picnic benches. Deeelicious.

I apologize for the unexpected hiatus. Technical difficulties and such. A couple things today.

Correction: The title of the Glenn Ford movie I could not watch because I was too sexed up is actually Gilda. I was thinking about the novel, Wicked. It was an awesome book, only recently read. Very political.

This week I've been studying the Boleyns because I picked up The Other Boleyn Girl. I have no interest in the cinematic adaptation, but I could not set this book down. It wasn't the greatest writing, but such a riveting story. And I'm always fascinated by Anne Boleyn and King Henry. No particular reason other than they were the epitome of the first rock star couple - brawls and sex and adultery and intrigue. It's almost cheating to choose them as your topic to write about because you don't have to do much work to make it interesting.

I wish they would have done a better job making the film. Once they cast the two most perfect actresses for the principal roles of Mary and Anne Boleyn, they had a responsibility to make the film as perfect as they were.

I'm on men today.

Not literally of course. Earlier I walked down the hall after a man who wears a particularly strong, though not unpleasant, cologne. I don't even like cologne. I prefer the natural state of things. Yet that unmistakable smell of man brought tears to my eyes. Plus moisture elsewhere.

You know what ruined dating? Psychology. Back in the day, a man liked the smell of a woman, dragged her back to his cave, and they would fuck, hunt, and raise little cave babies.

There was no feminine drama or male reluctance. No "what are you thinking about?" or "I'm just not a commitment guy."

It was all instinct. No questions asked. Now, thinking is great and all - but I think (hehe) that we constantly underestimate instinct in favor of hyperanalysis. Dumb. We are animals, too. Don't forget.

I want to add here that I know this is totally a case of me, the pot, calling myself, the kettle, black. The entire theme of this little site is thinking too much. But I hope that by identifying this issue I can work against the 21st century tendency and start acting on impulse and intuition again. Get back to my baser self, as it were.

Sorry - due to a lapse in health insurance, I'm off my meds so my ovaries are killing me. One would assume I wouldn't want to have anything to do with sex and sexuality right now, but the discomfort's just diverting my attention downstairs.

This all brings me back to Glenn Ford. I have Glinda from the library, waiting on my shelf at home. In this condition, however, I might just have to rain check it.

I've been having trouble sleeping, so the last couple nights I put in seasons 5 and 6 of Scrubs. I have a weird history with this show. I watched it a few times when it was mid-third season and thought it was really funny. Then I got totally into it because I was a fan of Garden State. Now I watch it because it's really funny, but also because I'm a big fan of John C. McGinley ("Dr. Cox").

I'm attracted to him for several reasons based on his own merit: he has a fantastic body (see any episode where he's down to his underpants, which, happily, there are several), in character he's both biting and vulnerable, and in life he's a devoted father to a boy with Down's Syndrome. Also you can tell he's a really good guy by watching the female cast members cuddle with him at any opportunity (like you would cuddle a teddy bear, not a stud monkey).

Aside from his own sizable qualities, in some indefinable way he reminds me of the Professor a wee bit. Enough for me to develop this selective Tourette's Syndrome that surfaces after just one or two episodes, and I start talking to the television in abrupt bursts of enthusiasm.

Example: "You are a big man and I want to sit on your lap."

This is a milder sampling of what flies out of my mouth. That's pretty much why I'm watching it by myself. I used to watch it in marathon viewings with the youngest sister but she cut me off because she couldn't handle the imagery.

Now, this is what I call fixating.

While we were watching Jane, the topic of governesses came up. My SSLP, who is the femme version of the sexiest brainiac I've ever met, gave me the skinny on the class perceptions of the governess. (She has the brain of a neurosurgeon and the face/body of a goddess, I tell you - if only I had scientific inclinations, I might win her...except for the whole 'til death thing with that really perfect guy she met all those years ago...)

Anyway, so here's a wee bit about the Victorian governess.