twenty-something

I'm back in Vermont. The house is quiet, lonely. Even the dog is mellow, not demanding any attention tonight. I thought I'd dig having the place to myself, but after a social long weekend in Boston, I'm not eager to sleep alone -- be it alone in my bed, or alone under this roof.

It was a fine trip to Beantown, full of holiday-flavored Starbucks drinks, futher shopping procrastination, and even more beer that usual. Thursday I spent as I planned -- in a self-imposed exile. I spent it alone, in town, without my usual support or defenses. I strolled the streets solo, ate by myself, and ended up in my comfy hotel bed before midnight.

Friday was spent out and about, some of it in frigid rain, much of it with my ex-boyfriend. Ended up in Fanieul Hall that night for dinner and drinks with a few quality folks, including said ex and his older brother. A slightly awkward night saved by a decent cover band at Paddy O's. Straight people are so weird.

So I did see Brokeback Mountain on Saturday with Yelli, Natalie, and Matt. We chased that with dinner at Fire + Ice (yum), sipping caramel apple martinis and sitting next to a plump, odd British woman whom we dubbed "Nanny 9/11" (That one's for you, Nat.). With full bellies, we ended up an odd house party in Somerville (where I got to see a few familiar faces, ones I don't see very often these days). Got back to my hotel at 4AM. Ugh.

I'm a tired boy this evening, but it was worth it. Good times.

So here are five quick thoughts on the much-hyped cinematic event of 2005:

1.) Harvard Square is a cool place to see a movie, but the seats suck. My butt was numb before any on-screen buttsex -- and that's no good.

2.) I need to get this out of the way next: seeing The Princess Diaries' boobs was disturbing. Very, very disturbing. In fact, anytime Anne Hathaway (Lureen) was on screen, was I was fighting hard to suppress giggles, even in her final, powerful scene. Giggles. I think it was all of the ridiculous hairstyles. And that Disney thing, too. (See also: 2005 Guide to Modern American History As Told Through Anne Hathaway's Hair in Brokeback Mountain - via towleroad.)

3.) Everybody else can go on about Jakey (so over him, the actor) and Ledger (so powerful, the actor as Ennis). They rocked. The film was breath-taking with the two leads together on screen. But how about the supporting cast? I thought everybody put in stellar performances -- despite the fact that the female casting in general was distracting for me. Besides Princess Diaries (as I mentioned above), you have powerful parts played by actresses best know for very silly parts -- on Dawson's Creek (Michelle Williams), and in Scooby Doo (Linda Cardellini) and Scary Movie (Anna Farris). They all did great -- especially Williams (ex-Jenn) and Farris (in a brief-but-delightful surprise cameo) -- but the giggle factor, which not as high as it was for Hathaway, was always in the background for me.

4.) I'm shocked that I haven't seen more blog-ink spilled over David Harbour, who plays Randall Malone (Anna Farris' husband). Granted, he only shows up in one scene, but he's a fairly important character -- and really, really cute. Considering the gay blogs that I read (check the blogroll), I'm really surprised that I can't recall a single mention of this hunky, bearded man (on the right, clean shaven). He was much hunkier than Jake and Heath (but maybe that's just me). He looks kind of like a lost Fisher brother from Six Feet Under. I hate when people say "woof" about hot scruffy guys -- really, really hate it -- but Harbour kinda makes me want to say it. Is that a good thing? (Anybody have any other pics of him?)

4.) The hype -- and expectations that come with it -- will ruin this movie for many folks. It didn't ruin it for me, but it might have.

5.) The two straight women in our party were the ones crying. Heartless Matt was dry as a bone. My eyes were misty and I shed a single tear. I wanted to be sobbing. I wanted the film to take hold of me, bend me over and make me it's bitch, but it didn't. It was emotional, powerful, really good -- but it just didn't hit me the way I wanted -- expected -- it too. Ultimately, I found Annie Proulx's tale in its original, print form to be much more affecting. Is it because I'm a reader? A writer? Because of The Princess Diaries' tits? I don't know. But I read the story three times in the past week. I cried the first time. The film is effective and well-done, remarkably faithful to the original material -- but the prose, man. You gotta read the prose.

Alright. It's time to sleep.