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Dec. 8th, 2013 08:52 pm
What I'ma gonna do?
It's snowing now and it's been snowing since I woke up this morning. Although it was heavy at times, it still looks like we'll only end up with a couple of inches. A great day to stay at home, you might say. But yesterday when ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu told me the prediction, I talked him into postponing his errands. For me, the choice between going outside when it's -7℃ and sunny and when it's -3℃ and snowing is a pretty easy one: Gimme snow! He wasn't so convinced, but he came around.
We divided up outside the liquor store; he went inside to buy smokes and I tramped over to Broadway to pick up more candles for the Advent wreath since it's pretty clear the four we bought won't get us through three whole weeks. They only had three in burgundy left so I gave into a certain nostalgia and bought a pink one for Gaudete Sunday. The perky clerk took one look at them and asked, "Are these for an Advent Wreath?" Ah, Mother Church, you mark us for life.
After that, it was over to the Dominick's whose days are numbered on Sheridan in search of deep discounts. I didn't find them, but I did leave with all the sundries I'd been looking for. The 151 was pulling out right as I left, but in classic style, another pulled up two minutes later nearly empty. It soon caught up to the first and became trapped behind it, effectively converting two single busses into a discontinuous tandem. There was hardly anyone on it and I kept turning to the window to look at the snow. But the scenes were completely different here close to the Lake than they were further inland. The winds made the flakes dance across the pavements and for a moment I fantasised that I was driving them with my mind. When I got back near home, the streets were white and the snow was falling softly straight down.
We did the usual chores and then sat down to watch Ratatouille. Being a fan of both Patton Oswalt and Brad Bird, I've been eager to see it, but I didn't think I could convince the Old Man to join me until a friend described it as a "love letter to Paris". He was impressed both by the spectacular nature of the animation and the many levels to the film. "I don't think it's really a movie for kids," he said and I have to say it pretty atypical for something bearing the Disney name. You have a lead (human) character who's an illegitimate child and who engages in some pretty steamy make-out sessions, a lot of discussion of the haute cuisine, and a running time of nearly two hours. It's also pretty balsy to follow up the death announcement of your fictional chef who you based on Bernard Loiseau with a scene of someone free firing with a shotgun.
I asked the Old Man who he identified with and besides the obvious answer (Remy) he surprised me by saying, "I liked the evil guy" (by which he meant the grim old food critic voiced--to my surprise--by Peter O'Toole rather than a voice actor mimicking Peter O'Toole, as I thought at first). He certainly had a much more interesting story arc than you expect from a Disney heavy. Conversely, being a Disney mother once again seems to be a more fatal occupation than being a friend of either Mike Hammer or Jessica Fletcher.
My initial enthusiasm at the diversity in the kitchen waned as it became clear that the one brown man was a hectoring villain, the other was a nondescript token (giving him the line, "This is some bad juju!" was a particular low point), and the woman was there to provide a love interest/helper to the boys. (I'm also kind of wondering how French rats reproduce given that not a single one of the rodents in the film was voiced by a female.) The decision to have the human characters speak in outrrrageous axsants while the rats used various flavours of broad American was also a curious one.
Meanwhile, a stuffed pork loin was in the oven which we eventually ate with leftover trofie sauced with homemade pesto from my mother. (I wish I could say this was an evocative food moment on a par with Ego recalling his mother's ratatouille, but she's only been making it for a few years now and I'm always a bit leery of how safe it is to eat.)
monshu told me the prediction, I talked him into postponing his errands. For me, the choice between going outside when it's -7℃ and sunny and when it's -3℃ and snowing is a pretty easy one: Gimme snow! He wasn't so convinced, but he came around.We divided up outside the liquor store; he went inside to buy smokes and I tramped over to Broadway to pick up more candles for the Advent wreath since it's pretty clear the four we bought won't get us through three whole weeks. They only had three in burgundy left so I gave into a certain nostalgia and bought a pink one for Gaudete Sunday. The perky clerk took one look at them and asked, "Are these for an Advent Wreath?" Ah, Mother Church, you mark us for life.
After that, it was over to the Dominick's whose days are numbered on Sheridan in search of deep discounts. I didn't find them, but I did leave with all the sundries I'd been looking for. The 151 was pulling out right as I left, but in classic style, another pulled up two minutes later nearly empty. It soon caught up to the first and became trapped behind it, effectively converting two single busses into a discontinuous tandem. There was hardly anyone on it and I kept turning to the window to look at the snow. But the scenes were completely different here close to the Lake than they were further inland. The winds made the flakes dance across the pavements and for a moment I fantasised that I was driving them with my mind. When I got back near home, the streets were white and the snow was falling softly straight down.
We did the usual chores and then sat down to watch Ratatouille. Being a fan of both Patton Oswalt and Brad Bird, I've been eager to see it, but I didn't think I could convince the Old Man to join me until a friend described it as a "love letter to Paris". He was impressed both by the spectacular nature of the animation and the many levels to the film. "I don't think it's really a movie for kids," he said and I have to say it pretty atypical for something bearing the Disney name. You have a lead (human) character who's an illegitimate child and who engages in some pretty steamy make-out sessions, a lot of discussion of the haute cuisine, and a running time of nearly two hours. It's also pretty balsy to follow up the death announcement of your fictional chef who you based on Bernard Loiseau with a scene of someone free firing with a shotgun.
I asked the Old Man who he identified with and besides the obvious answer (Remy) he surprised me by saying, "I liked the evil guy" (by which he meant the grim old food critic voiced--to my surprise--by Peter O'Toole rather than a voice actor mimicking Peter O'Toole, as I thought at first). He certainly had a much more interesting story arc than you expect from a Disney heavy. Conversely, being a Disney mother once again seems to be a more fatal occupation than being a friend of either Mike Hammer or Jessica Fletcher.
My initial enthusiasm at the diversity in the kitchen waned as it became clear that the one brown man was a hectoring villain, the other was a nondescript token (giving him the line, "This is some bad juju!" was a particular low point), and the woman was there to provide a love interest/helper to the boys. (I'm also kind of wondering how French rats reproduce given that not a single one of the rodents in the film was voiced by a female.) The decision to have the human characters speak in outrrrageous axsants while the rats used various flavours of broad American was also a curious one.
Meanwhile, a stuffed pork loin was in the oven which we eventually ate with leftover trofie sauced with homemade pesto from my mother. (I wish I could say this was an evocative food moment on a par with Ego recalling his mother's ratatouille, but she's only been making it for a few years now and I'm always a bit leery of how safe it is to eat.)