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1. Shameless Secret # I Actually Stopped Counting in 1984: That Trent Reznor song that Clear Channel insists on playing on every station's hourly rotation (probs even HOT CLASSICS 100 or whatever it's called, but I haven't checked). Well, it's very danceable and has a good beat, Dick. (Hey remember how I have been bitching about my broken IPod? Well, the car's CD player is now fried, so I'm about to drive it into a lake and just forget the whole thing.) I need music HELP, chickens.
2. Friday night included a killer parking space and a sketch-off at the bar in JW's book/on cocktail napkins. And a girl in a patchwork apron-top and bad too-green back-of-the-neck tattoo kept elbowing me out of the way, screeching like an injured seal toward the bartender about "MEETING HER BFF IN FROM SAN DIEGO!!1!" LJG's boyfriend; dressed like Jarmusch. Highlight: overhearing JW turn to the D. and said "I have something to tell you, and you might not like it. I think I'm really getting back into metal."
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The deal with The Matador. It is an okay movie, nothing spectac, but a nice way to spend a Sunday afternoon with a sulky spouse who's touch football game was cancelled and therefore he is unconsolable. Inconsolable. Consolableless. Etc.
Brosnan does an fair job at playing seedy as opposed to 007-y, although the constant jokes about him being a quasi-pedophile grow old about 11 minutes in; and the Catholic schoolgirl scene will give anyone with a slight feminist leaning/an ounce of humanity the shivers. Luckily, you are able to say to yourself, "Yourself: Pierce Brosnan does not dabble in such things as 11 year old Mexicans. Because he is Pierce. Brosnan." Acting-chops-wise, Greg Kinnear never stops being Greg Kinnear; who looks like a software salesman from Ohio even when he's not playing a software salesman from Ohio (Denver, etc.)
But here is why you should see the movie: Hope Davis. Her part is unfortunately smallish, although they give her as decent screen time as they could, I guess; when she asks repeatedly to see PB's gun you can see in her eyes she really, really, really means it. She wants to see that gun, dammit. Also, she's an adorable drunk. Like what my aunt looks like when she gets drunk on whiskey at 2 AM; and probably what I'll resemble drunk on whiskey at 2 AM when I'm in my 40s; except I will have a soccer mom haircut instead.