Knight and Day

From time to time, I think that I should go see things or listen to music or admire art, and then come blog about the experience so that I give off the impression that I am a cultured male. And this blog entry serves as my Man About Town type of entry in The New Yorker. Or whatever that column is called in the early pages of the magazine.

So I will do a cultured thing and give you my review of Knight and Day. Which you should watch if you are drunk, or you really don't have anything to do and you want entertainment so mindless that only you yourself are to blame for the decision at the end.

Knight and Day, starring Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz, is a fun, action-packed summer thriller, involving plenty of car chases, improbable shooting scenes with big guns (including a scene where Ms. Diaz can't figure out how to stop firing bullets at Mr. Cruise -- hint, take your finger off the trigger instead of shrieking like a banshee). There is supposed to be witty repartee and sexual tension between the two characters (after being drugged, Cameron (no longer Ms. Diaz in this blog entry) finds herself in a bikini, and is outraged at the thought that Tom has seen her naked. And she should be outraged -- note to youth, it's not cool to drug people and then strip them naked when they are unconscious. But she gets back at Tom by doing the same to him (putting him in bathing shorts, though, not bikini bottoms, the latter would have fueled the Tom is Gay tabloids to no end, no doubt. Note to young females watching the movie: If you are drugged and wake up feeling violated, well, just get back at the man who did that to you by doing the same!).

Cam and Tom do have some chemistry between them. There's a cute scene (spoiler coming up at the end of this sentence) where they flirt on board a plane, Cam goes to the restroom to freshen up, and while she's psyching herself to hit on him, he goes about killing at least six people on the plane, oh FYI there were only six people in total to begin with, including two piliots. She's all ready to plant a big smooch on his lips and then they find themselves in the midst of a crash landing . . .

Tom is remarkably jacked in the film. It's a little bit scary. I thought bodies were supposed to get softer instead of harder in one's older age? Maybe there is hope for me yet. New role model in my life!

Anyway, the movie is silly. Like really silly. And you're not supposed to believe anything that happens, you're just supposed to suspend your disbelief and move willingly and happily from a car chase in Boston to a tiny island located in the middle of nowhere (incidentally, nowhere does have some cell phone reception) to a train ride in Salzburg. But it's asking too much of you -- it's not sexy, sleek and sophisticated enough to make you want to give up your bearings altogether.

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This is the first in a series of posts about summer movies. Because I intend on watching a lot of movies this summer. I want to see Despicable Me next. Just because I think the 3-D animated character in the ads looks quite adorable, and I like the name of the movie.

Mad Men Season 4

Mad Men Season 4 is starting on July 25. I can't decide whether I should drink scotch or martinis while watching the show. I think they tend to drink more of the former (at least Don Draper does) but, well, martinis are my new drink of choice, namely because one of them will go to my head and leave me flat out drunk.

Summer time

Jeezmonster decided yesterday that she would inflict havoc on my work life and entice me out of work with a bottle of wine in Central Park while listening to the New York Philharmonic Orchestra. Off we went, despite the earlier rain shower, which left the ground just a wee bit damp. Astute forest rangers that we are, we managed not to get lost, and made our way to the Great Lawn. We got there just in time for the Shanghai Orchestra members to ring a ting ting with the triangle and fall on to the piano one or two times in thundering crescendos. And then silence. For like a very long time. The kind of long time that makes you wonder if you showed up too late and have missed the entire show.

But Jeezmonster is easily distracted by the glow sticks that were being sold to the little kids. And I whiled away the time drinking the bottle of wine and eating chocolate chip cookies that were not Famous Amos and stale chips.

Turns out that there was plenty more to listen to, including excerpts from snippets of songs from West Side Story and then Bolero, which might just be the the longest song in the history of the world. Actually, Jeezmonster and I decided to be adventurous, and try to break into the coveted seating area meant for VIP pass holders. Needless to say, we were not VIP pass holders, and, in case there was any doubt, we were caught within steps of swinging ourselves over the fenced-in area. Damn capitalists.

July

And so we find ourselves in the second half of the year. I find myself in my fourth decade, I am now 30.

Turning 30 was significant. I know that age is just a number, it's a state of mind, etc. and etc. But milestones remain milestones; at the very least, they're a moment for reflecting.

Work is tremendously busy. Although even though I find myself at work late, late, late, I wonder what I have been doing there. Do you ever look back at ten or so hours and wonder, "What exactly have I been doing? I don't see anything on the page." Or the computer screen, as the case may be. I have some deadlines coming up later this week, and I just don't care. Don't get me wrong -- I went in this weekend, have been going through the motions, but . . . something is definitely lacking.

When I moved into my apartment, I told a friend, "All I want to do now is order Time, The Economist, The New Yorker, New York Magazine, and read books under a cozy lamp by my couch." And my friend reacted as follows: "All you should want to do now, as a home-owner of a two-bedroom apartment in Manhattan is go out on the town and try to get laid."

Something to consider as I trot off to bed.