Things with petals, things with blades.
After we saw Becoming Jane but before I fixed a sink sprayer and then had Noble Roman's pizza with my mother, I became briefly obsessed with this aluminum bloom in a parking lot. My mother, because she's wonderul that way, obliged by driving me around in said parking lot until I had the shots I wanted, neither of which I'm including here but one of which you may see tomorrow. For tonight, echoes.
This time tomorrow, deo volante, I will be back in my bed in Gambier, which (in a not-so-subtle Freudian slip) I have been calling Ithaca ever since I left town more than a week ago. It's getting to be that time again.
posted by Dr. S at 11:47 PM
2 Comments:
Becoming Jane -- how was it?
I actually liked it quite a lot. For historical value, I don't regard it as much more than pseudobiographical fantasia, and I don't like the idea that now anyone might think, "Well, so *that's* why Jane Austen's novels are the way they are!" But it was done in a lovely way. Anne Hathaway comports herself well, and James McAvoy's performance makes me really look forward to Atonement.
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