oh I wish I had a suntan

Spent the weekend down the coast and oh, be careful what you wish for! The suntan is more of an embarrassing sunburn and I'm feeling far more Jane than Joan in the office at the moment. (so where's my silver fox in this scenario?)

Still I guess I don't regret it too much since there's not much more I'd rather do in the summertime than swim and lie on the beach reading classic California noir from Raymond Chandler. Sandy feet and daydreams of Elliott Gould as Marlowe, yeah, things could be worse. 

I forgot my mantra

Speaking of mantras, the Chauvel Cinema (which I love, loave, luff, two F's) has been doing a Woody Allen festival, with double features every Friday night into early January. I got ill-advisedly drunk post work and missed Annie Hall - heavy tragedy! - but was reminded today of one of my favourite bits of the whole thing, which for a film comprised almost entirely of favourite bits is no small feat. Namely, Jeff Goldblum in a little L.A. cameo.

and you thought it couldn't get any better than Diane Keaton in a linen suit.

getting seriously involved with someone just means ruining your nightlife

Have I mentioned how much I love Chris Eigeman? Specifically, Chris Eigeman as he appears as variations on the same guy in the films of Whit Stillman and Noah Baumbach's post-college masterpiece Kicking & Screaming. Because at the risk of turning this blog into nothing but a giant 90s nostalgia fest, I really really do.

He functions as something of the archetypal antihero of these pieces: over-privileged and manipulative and cynical and arrogant and self absorbed but also endlessly quotable, and a master of the hangdog expression which means he somehow succeeds in making his characters charming and redeemable. He gets all the best lines. ("I'm nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I've begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I'm reminiscing this right now" is basically my mantra) He wears dishevelled suits and always seems to have his hands in his pockets, and has theories on everything and probably too much money and somewhat suspect morals. He talks and talks and talks and doesn't seem to ever actually do anything, and, well, he's perfect at it.

So yeah, I miss those overly talkie nineties movies. And I'm incredibly happy to see that not only is Stillman coming out of hiding with a new movie (Last Days Of Disco was released in 1998!) but he might be taking Eigeman with him.

never been too good with names but I remember faces

Tonight I found myself unexpectedly at the Metro, reliving teen yearnings courtesy of the seemingly indestructible Evan Dando and The Lemonheads. In the 90s they were pretty much everything you want from your favourite highschool band: 3 minute pop songs, seriously cute slacker-type lead singer, swirling rumours of rock & roll debauchery. And their show was pretty much everything you want from a reformation of your fave highschool band: the record that got me into them 'It's A Shame About Ray' played in its entirety plus all the other hits and finishing with an encore of Outdoor Type with Tom Morgan & Alison Galloway of Smudge (who was the #1 indie pin up girl of choice amongst my male friends as teenagers and still looks enviably beautiful while playing drums).

And ya, he wore stripes.