I did not get time to blog yesterday. Stacey wrote up a list of chores for me to take care of around the house. Immediately.
A tooth brush needed to be applied to the bathroom tile grouting. Staceys white gloves run across the tops of the cabinets revealed dust. I pulled out my retractable ostrich duster. Soft eggs needed to be hard boiled. Coffee needed to be brewed. Is that spotlight out up there top right corner ? Fix it. What’s this toilet brush doing in the bathroom garbage can? Rinse it and Rack it. Nature abhors an errant brush! Are those shower curtains open? That causes black mold instantly you know. Close them tight. If you don’t eat your meat you can’t eat your pudding! How can you eat your pudding if you don’t eat your meat?
My deodorant is now definitely put somewhere safe. I can’t find it. Probably close by my gel, moisturizer and lens spray. All stored somewhere in their proper place – hidden. I never really liked it where I kept it.
My old office space got commandeered. I’m relegated to the basement, working off a foldout card table. I do enjoy the view down here. So much so I decided to make it a more permanent work space and ordered a proper desk. Expected delivery in 10 days. I watched a great storm across the Catskills from down here yesterday.
Stacey and myself lead very separate lives. Stacey works like a crazy woman and spends what little time she has free with the horses. I have a job and fooster around. She is s self described Type-A. I’m described by many other letters; F’s and C’s are popular, with the occasional W. I have a short attention span and I’m easily distracted. Stacey is heads down driven and diligent. Stacey has always been an athlete. I was number 19 on the soccer team. Stacey is a successful anti trust litigator. I do something with a computer.
Bottom line, we have never in our 25 plus years of partnership spent a lot of consecutive time together. I think maybe two weeks together on Honeymoon. I believe that was 2001. This should be an interesting Ancram lockdown adventure.
Which brings me to tonight’s binging recommendations:
The Staircase (NetFlix) in one of the first docu-series. A smarmy novelist is accused of murdering his wife. He claims she fell down the staircase. Let’s just say she made a long journey of a short stairwell. The story, covered in three seasons through to 2018, is fact stranger than fiction. As we say in the old country, it’s a long road that has no turns.
Body Heat is a steamy loose remake of Double Indemnity. A shyster lawyer gets involved with a married woman and they scheme to murder her husband for that big insurance payout. Kathleen Turner, at her Eighties hottest, let’s William Hurts’ little head do his thinking. As Kathleen says , “You’re not too smart, are you? I like that in a man.”
Body Heat has a glorious symphonic John Barry Score. I’m now listening to his greatest hits on Sonos. This is the first album I played obsessively on cassette as a kid and the one that taught me to love music. It never gets old. I was an odd child.
Jagged Edge – Lawyer (Glenn Close) defends publisher (Jeff Bridges) accused of murdering his wife in one of the best neo-noir mysteries of the 1980s. Robert Loggia in support was Oscar nominated and has the best last line. This one keeps you on a jagged edge (nice word play there) until the last scene.
The Cook, the Thief, his Wife and her Lover – In this bizarre movie a foul mouthed gangster ( (the thief) finds out his wife is having an affair. Things get very ugly. Stick around for the last meal from cook and try the ……
Michael Gannon excels as the Thief, one of cinemas vilest villains. Most of you know him as Professor Albus Dumbledore. To watch some of his best acting, before his excellent wand work, check out the 1986 Musical Noir from BBC – The Singing Detective!
Finally, Blood Simple – the Coen Brothers first, and one of their finest. An unhappy wife tries to leave her husband in small town Texas. The husband contracts her murder. Nothing goes well for anyone involved. This is a rewatchable indie masterpiece and you’ll have that theme music tinkling in you head long after the lights are up.
Gone Girl – the book that launched a thousand imitations with the word Gone or Girl in the title, is as good as its hype. Set in nowhere Missouri, a drag ass husband Nick is suspected of foul play when his wife Amy disappears. David Fincher got the tone right with the film, but Chris Pine should have played Nick.
One of the few positive sides to all the lunacy is that I’m spending very little money. April halved Marches expenditure and that spending was mostly in stocking up the fridge with meat and the bathroom with black market toilet paper. I order in every night when we eat in Manhattan. I cook every meal here. I drank three Blue Bottle cappuccinos daily in NYC and picked up for whoever felt like one, now I make my own coffee. Dollars saved. I do miss those caps and the leek and rosemary scones though.