Archive for December 2013
Happy birthday, Anthony Hopkins. I’d probably have to be restrained, too, if I found out that I missed being born during The Week of Incomprehensible Gorgeousness by just one day . . .
I might be sort of a windbag, but I like to believe that I choose my words wisely. If I use a big word where I could have used a small word, it’s generally because I’m trying to add some variety to my prose. That’s what good writers do. They don’t intentionally try to confuse their readers.
Anyway, I’d like good diction to come back into style. And I’d also like to ask for permission to slug anyone who uses a big word when a smaller word defines what they’re trying to say more accurately. Has that ever been in style?
Happy birthday, Jay Kay. Now that I’ve said that, there’s nothing left for me to but dance . . .
In an earlier post, I mentioned that I’d like clothes with no holes in them to come back into style. I guess that makes me a snob, huh? It’s lucky for me that I’m not ashamed to wear that label. I’m also not ashamed to look down my nose at people who wear dirty clothes when they can afford to wear clean clothes. Really, how gross are you?
Anyway, over the past few years some denim designers have produced jeans they claim should not be washed. That’s sort of snowballed into a phenomenon where filthy people use the “integrity of the garment” as an excuse to wallow in their own filth. It’s a trend that I’d like to go away. In fact, I’d like clean clothes to always be in style. I already have to live in a world where you use the public washroom without washing your hands (yes, I noticed!). Don’t make me question the cleanliness of the bus seat I have to sit on, too.
Happy birthday, Sarah Colonna. I’m a big fan of your makeup . . .
I’ve always been into classic murder mysteries, especially when they’re dressed-up for cocktails and star actors like Maggie Smith and David Niven. Last night I watched a great parody of the genre: Neil Simon’s “Murder by Death.” The best part of the movie is when Truman Capote delivers a speech about how ridiculously complex murder mysteries have become, with plot twists that no one attempting to solve the case could ever anticipate.
That speech still rings true even though the film is close to forty years old. Lazy writers don’t want the audience to play along, but rather want to prove how much more clever they are than the audience. Unfortunately, you don’t beat anyone but yourself when you’re playing solitaire. It’s a terrible way to write and a terrible way to alienate your audience.
I mentioned in an earlier post that I would be thrilled if movies like this came back into style, but I’d probably be even happier if any of these “whodunnits” gave me a chance to solve the crime myself. Or maybe I should just give up on blogging altogether and become a private eye. Hmmm . . .