Movie of the Week: Batman Begins

I really must stand and applaud Christopher Nolan.
Who is Christopher Nolan, you might ask? Why, the director of Batman Begins! Batman Begins?!! Isn't that just a terrible attempt to erase moviegoers' minds of anything resembling George Clooney in latex? you say. Well, yes. And no. I actually came out of this movie last night very impressed. And not just meh, that was pretty good - as far as adapted DC Comics go... impressed. This is actually a spectacular film.

Ok, now I'm not going to go all IMDB movie reviewer on you.
[Example: "I got a chance to see 'Batman Begins' just this past Friday evening. I must say that before seeing the film, I felt in my heart this is the 'Batman' film we've been waiting for. Within ten minutes into the movie, I turned to my date and said to her, "This is it! This is the movie!" ]
Firstly, I wouldn't be so foolish as to turn to my date and utter something so transparently nerdy. And secondly, I took two dates to the film last night. But yes, I'll admit, I did get 'utterly transported' in the way Hollywood used to move me as a child, and I'll also admit to grinning girlishly at both of my dates in turn at certain Christian Bale moments.

For those wondering, like I did as I left the cinema, yes, but who IS this Christopher Nolan? He was the director of Memento. An all-star cast certainly helped: Christian Bale, Gary Oldman, Michael Caine, Morgan Freeman, Christian Bale, Rutger Hauer, Katie Holmes, Liam Neeson, Christian Bale, Tom Wilkinson, Cillian Murphy (28 Days Later), Christian Bale, Ken Watanabe (The Last Samurai), Christian Bale and Christian Bale.

Verdict: The action is actiony, the plot is filled with plot (unlike some other actiony films) and Katie Holmes does a really good job of making you forget about Tom Cruise for a couple of hours. Katie Holmes also has extremely perky nipples throughout, which may also have aided as a distraction tool. (Strangely enough, it was only the female date and I who noticed this glaringly obvious wardrobe detail.)

Four stars.

Don't Miss: the party scene where Bale fleetingly turns back into Patrick Bateman (minus the chainsaw).

HTML sux

It's true I once learned the art of HTML coding in Online Journalism - just one of the many enthralling subjects I studied at university.

But I can't quite recall the class covering the basics of How to Fix Code in a Blog You May Have Started but Fucked Up Spectacularly by Adding Something as Simple as a Few Links.

I just spent the best part of an hour trying to recover everything I've blogged so far. Finally, thankfully, it's back (I know you're all breathing a massive sigh of relief. I mean, where would the world be...) and I'm also sporting links. So those of you who have made it thus far, consider this a greater privilege than normal.

I must send a huge thankyou to Fluffy. Not because I tracked her mobile number down in a frenzy in my time of blogging panic. No. She just has a similar looking site to mine, so viewing and copying her "source" came in handy. (The one thing I learned from html class....)

(P.S. - If I could be bothered finding a random picture of the nerdiest nerd on Google, saving it, then uploading it to Flickr and downloading it to my blog, all the while biting my thumb at copyright laws, just to best illustrate what a nerd I've become tonight, I would. But I can't, so I won't.)

The peep show that comes to you!

So I've successfully done three parts of stuff all again on another fine Monday in Melbourne-town. Well, that's not true. I managed to get up early to start my new regime of solo yoga practise (and no, that's not a euphemism...), made porridge for breakfast (like I'd promised myself) and then suddenly, inexplicably, there were boobies in my face.

(Bet that got your attention, huh?!)

It all happened when a friend called to ask if we could catch up for a coffee and, being the easily distracted at-home worker, I said "I don't know... I'm kind of working... sure, why not?!". Of course, I tried to cover up my tendency to procrastinate and surf blogs all day by insisting we meet "somewhere close to my place", which meant, pretty much anywhere in the city. Now, I was thrilled to catch up with this friend, because she's one of my best mates and I haven't seen her in ages. For efficiency, let's call her... Samantha. Anyway, Samantha was ecstatic because she'd just spent the better part of her morning throwing money at lingerie saleswomen. And what girl wouldn't be ecstatic after spending a morning like that? But Samantha was particularly ecstatic because, as a brilliant - but struggling - artist, she had just completed a particular job (and no, that's not a euphemism either...) which afforded her an expendable amount of cash for the first time in a long time. So we did the girlie thing and started dragging out the purchases one by one. Cute jumper... nice shirt... ooh! hot jeans! and then... lots - and I mean lots - of lingerie. Now the lunching suits were starting to miss their mouths, so I quickly suggested she come up to my place and do a trade. She could check out my new coat (mmm... aahhhhh... coat...) and I would see all of her purchases in detail.

So she did.

And wouldn't you know it, boys and girls... I got a full-on catwalk parade and change-session of a whole new lingerie collection! There were french knickers, padded bras (not that she needed it, if you know what I mean, fellow surfboards?!), full-body strapless lounging numbers and even a suspender set. I tell you, it was any bloke's (or that-way-inclined girl's) fantasy. I mean, it's the middle of the day and I've got this sexy, voluptuous woman trying on a series of next-to-nothings for me and - here's the kicker - telling me how she just wants to meet 'the one'. She says she's not settling any more. He's gotta be a keeper. So anyway, I'm not about to tell you this Monday lunchtime turned into any kind of B-grade porn starring Samantha and friends... I just wanted to assure any of you good-natured, creative, sexy, inquiring fellas out there... these fantasies really can come true!!!
You've just got to be at my place at 1pm on a Monday.

The first weekend to follow a long weekend is always much too short

It might've been short, but it sure packed a punch. Add these ingredients, stir - and you might come close to what my weekend was like:
~ Friday night dinner party with friends, where my beloved and I effortlessly looked like Iron Chefs (as per last post)
~ a kickass Saturday morning yoga session (I love my yoga instructor. She rocks my world!)
~ multi-denominational Saturday arvo women's meeeting/lunch to welcome new Islamic women to Melbourne. Some topical conversation, HEAPS of food and the destruction of plenty of ignorance barriers...
~ coffees at Lygon Food Store followed by 'The Assassination of Richard Nixon' at the Nova with a darling friend
~ shopping in Brunswick Street today where I bought my dream coat*
~ dinner at the Napier (Meals as big as your head. Oh yes...)
~ several text messages back and forth with one of my beloved lasses in London

And now, post-prandial bliss. Ah yes. But how could it possibly be Monday tomorrow? Went much too quickly. I think it's true that the first weekend after a long weekend always seems much shorter than any other. But it's also almost winter solstice, so the days always seem short until you're over 'the hump'.

(* This is not just any dream coat. I would die for this coat. It's a long, military green, thick, woollen beefcake of a thing, with structured seams, pockets with zips (oh yes. I said zips on the pockets, even!) and buckle detailing that would make you want to bend me over and take me right there in the cell block like the sexy dominatrix Russian prison guard I am. Well it had better have that effect, because it cost a freakin' fortune. But when you've been dreaming about a coat since you saw it in passing three whole weeks ago, it's time to suck it up and pull out the plastic. It hurt, but not so much that the post-purchase bliss didn't take over within seconds of walking out the door. And as my beloved says - "it's an investment". I'll have it forever. God I love him. Couldn't stand having to hide shopping bags. Hey, it's my money anyway, right? Fo sheezy.)