Last night I roasted garlic--a knob? head? bulb?--and ate it with bread. I have one of those terra cotta garlic cookers and I keep following the instructions on the box but haven't had success yet. The results are never squishy enough and are usually browner than they should be, giving the cloves a slightly bitter taste. I'm baffled.
As the smell of garlic permeated my apartment, I tried Pay Per View for the first time, relishing the laziness of it, couching it with a pillow and quilt, all snugged up and single womanly.
Saw "Ghost Ship." Lame but stylish. Most horrific death scene ever, I think, opening the movie. I'd been vaguely spoiled--the way I'm spoiling you now--so I was ready to cover my eyes. But gyahhhhhh.
A waste of good actors all in all, so mostly I just sucked up the eye candy. Desmond Harrington is interesting looking. Ron Eldard I remember from "Mystery, Alaska." Isaiah Washington was a hunk. Gabriel Byrne and Julianna Margulies just looked tired.
Whenever possible, I ogled Francesca Rettondini's satin-clad bod. Hello, Jessica Rabbit. Yowza.
The little British girl in the flick was also in "Darkness Falls," which I guess is why she seemed so familiar. I liked her. She gives off that vibe of nascent stardom, like someday she'll be big.
Also in the last twenty-four hours I've watched 15 minutes of "The Messenger," (could Milla be any more yummy?) three quarters of "Bongwater" minus the beginning and end because I was unable to tear my eyes away from the annoying cunt who dominates the film (but Jack Black singing the Jesus Ranch song made it totally worth it), and the last third of "House of Yes," which I clearly haven't seen in a while because Freddie Prinze, Jr? The hell? Also, that movie is not as old as I thought. It was made in 1997. Weird. My life is just one time warp after another.
And you know, Tori Spelling wasn't all that bad.