Category Archives: Screen time

Screen time

Caruso

David Caruso is an “actor” in only the Affleckian sense: He gets paid to appear on screen. And yet, I sort of like Horatio Caine. Maybe it’s the pale one’s foolishly bold absence of sunscreen. Or perhaps it’s his pointed enunciation-and-glasses-on way of ending every scene. Or maybe it’s that his cat’s name is Bosco.

Now, Bosco. You know what you did was wrong. What you did was improper. It was inconsiderate. But you didn’t think about that, did you? You thought you could get away with it. But you forgot the most important thing. You forgot that the only thing that matters is evidence. …
From Brian Graham’s “David Caruso scolds his cat about its lackadaisical litter-box use” at McSweeney’s.

Screen time

"The Matador"

Yesterday, Rockford and I got a babysitter and went to the movies (and then to the grocery store, because we’re cool like that). I’m not sure what the last movie we went to was, but I think it might have been “The Chronicles of Narnia” two days after Christmas. If you know us, you know that’s crazy talk. Four months without a visit to the theater?

Anyway, we joined our friends Monica and Amy to see “The Matador” at our local funky downtown theater. We donated our ’70s-era, orange couch to the theater awhile back and were hoping to get a chance to sit on it one more time. It’s in the very front row, though, which is a little too close for comfortable movie-watching. But here’s a brief exchange from the people who did sit on it, while they were standing behind me in line for the bathroom at intermission:

Mom (I’m guessing, anyway), gently holding daughter’s hand: Do you want some soup?
Teenager: I can’t even think right now.

Shortly before the movie restarted, the girl walked in with a bowl of soup, so I guess things had mellowed for her. Good for you, Girl Who Sat On My Couch Eating Soup And Watching A Movie. (Hey, I’ve done that before!)



So. “The Matador.” Rockford is much better at this review-writing thing (and I’m still hoping to get him to post his thoughts, but he keeps yammering about “packing” and “moving” so I’m not sure he’ll get around to it), so I’ll keep it short.

Pierce Brosnan, you are so much better than those silly James Bond movies. What were you thinking, squandering yourself on that? Oh, you were thinking about the very big paychecks? Well, OK then. I can see that.

And you, Greg Kinnear, I think I love you just a little bit. You’re so cute and nerdly, just like my Rockford.

“The Matador” is funny and sad and touching. But it does have some R-ratedness to it, so have your eye-covering pillow at the ready.

Screen time

Goodbye, Bristows

I started watching “Alias” in its first season, in 2001. The year we graduated college, got married and moved to Missouri. The year I started my first “real” job. I watched the last episode tonight with some friends under a strict no talking, no mocking rule (which they violated, repeatedly) that I instituted because I know the show has been awful for at least two seasons and that it’s infinitely mockable. But I wanted to stick it out. And I’m glad I did.

My friends asked a few times during the finale if I was going to cry. I didn’t … during the show. I was glad everyone cleared out so quickly after the closing credits, which included the phrase “Thank you for an incredible five years.” It sort of brought home the fact that we’re leaving in less than two months. I’ve grown to love this place and these people so much, and it’s almost over. And there won’t be a nice, soft-focus end to our story. We’ll move, and things here will carry on. We’ll carry on.

So yes, Amy, B and Rachel, I did cry when “Alias” ended. But it wasn’t because I’m going to miss the Family Bristow. It’s because I’m going to miss you and here and this time of my life.