I'm back from a quick - much too quick - couple of days in Miami and Key West. I'm one of those who still enjoys flying, for the most part, and not just because I am sometimes up front. Not actually flying the plane, but fairly close to those who do.
Up front you get room for your bum and your legs and your elbows. I don't mind flying coach - if it was on my dime, you most certainly would never find me anywhere else, if on a plane at all - but not having to contend with Middle Seat issues is nice. Not to be confused with Middle East issues - which are just as complicated though date back much further - I don't like being in the middle seat. Unless I am traveling with blood relatives or still-loving mates who will let me slop over the edges of the seat, sit cross-legged and poke them with my slippers, or remember to say yes to the extra whatevers-are-on-offer even if they don't want them. Seat pouches on airplanes are to be treated like kangaroo pockets: they must contain things to eat and drink and wipe and blow with in the event of an emergency.
On long trips, you often get planes that have full on beds. This is beyond cool. I lie there and watch all the movies I haven't seen at home, and gleefully zap any I start watching that are lousy because I don't feel obligated to watch Jennifer Aniston to the bitter end of the same movie she has made over and over again for the last ten years just because it's due back tomorrow or there is nothing else on. There is always something else on.
I did quit on All The King's Men, sad to say. Just too big a movie for the little screen, and I knew I would regret it. I'm up to date on Modern Family, thanks for asking, though laughing out loud while wearing headphones makes you feel like an idiot. I will never call anyone an idiot ever again. Or at least for awhile.
I watched Black Swan because I could. I could no more bring that movie into this nest of testosterone than serve a fritata for dinner (even if I could make one, which I can't). It was uneven, actually. I like all involved, and that darling little girl from the TV show - Mila Kunis - well, I just loved her. Natalie Portman is excellent, but I feel like she is always excellent in that way of girls in school who get perfect marks and never have zits and then at 35 run away from their perfect husbands and homes and children to go live in a meth house. Like that.
So the movie is about ballet and crazy girls and crazier mothers, and having had a friend who very nearly went that route, I know there is much truth to many parts of it. And I like ballet, and crazy girls and crazy mothers, so I was underwhelmed by the movie in total. I'm sure there was a message about getting from here to there with bleeding toes and bad dreams, but I'm not sure I received it.
So I tugged out my earphones - the cheapies because one of the boys stole my good ones - and pulled out my Vanity Fair. If you read nothing else today - hell, this whole week - go read this. A.A. Gill has been featured here chez Lorraineonline before, but his review of a famous Parisian restaurant, L'Ami Louis is hysterical. Hysterical. When you're in there, go find Hitchen's latest as well. Brilliant as usual.
A friend texted me a picture of the next Vanity Fair cover, featuring a shirtless Rob Lowe. I thanked her. The man may not have a talent for much other than being pretty, but my, does he do it well.
In Key West, I stuck my head through the gates at Ernest Hemingway's house, trying to spot a 6-toed cat or 3. No luck. But I loved Key West, and actually stayed out late trolling from bar to bar. More later on South Beach and Key West.