last night Irk brought over A Love Song for Bobby Long. Not only is it well-written and well-performed piece about love, belonging and redemption, it is set in New Orleans and has a most magnificent soundtrack. my cravings to head to the Deep South are blooming once again.
today i finished A Long and Fatal Love Chase, the only recently-published thriller by Louisa May Alcott. i enjoyed it, and was nearly done when my mom surprised me with three of the john sandford Prey murder mysteries which we haven't read yet. i'm looking forward to a long hot bath, with rose petals even, while i begin the first of them.
altogether, the movie and book selections are ever so much better than my recent netflix queue offerings: Warriors was only good for pulling an evening of MST3K[?] with Phillip, and while the acting and directing and cinematography in The Astronaut's Wife, the story sucked and was delivered so badly that Irk & i were three-quarters of the way through the movie before we realized that this film not only had a genre, but which one it was (science fiction, not that we are ordinarily opposed). after that, Wonderland was a downright refreshing return to our standard drug-dealing-times-gone-wrong films. i honestly don't know what possessed me to add those three into the queue; there must have been something odd in the air.
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