Downton Abbey Has to be the Most Intriguing Show I’ve Ever Seen

Okay, this post was supposed to originally be about how the show Pan Am is just wonderful and how y’all need to see it, but then today, I was told that I absolutely must watch the Emmy-award winning ITV series Downton Abbey that had been aired on PBS in four episodes, as opposed to the seven episodes that were shown in Britain.  I haven’t even seen all of season one, but I’ve never been more emotionally invested in a show before like I have with Downton Abbey.  Andrew doesn’t understand why everyone is talking about this show, and I didn’t either until I started watching this afternoon.  It’s not just Gossip Girl for more highly educated people with better things to do than watch the CW Network; the show provides the most interesting insight into the  social and political world of Britain in the early 20th Century before the Great War in Europe started.  Before knowing anything about these characters, let alone even knowing their names, I was screaming at my computer when something would happen.

As for the basic info on the show, let me make it as simple as possible: Downton Abbey is the estate of the Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) and his family, which includes his mother, the Dowager Countess of Grantham (Maggie Smith), his wealthy American wife, the Countess of Grantham (Elizabeth McGovern), and their three daughters: Lady Mary Crawley (Michelle Dockery), Lady Edith Crawley (Laura Carmichael) and Lady Sybil Crawley (Jessica Brown-Findlay).  The series begins right after the death of the Earl’s cousin, who has died aboard the RMS Titanic.  His death leaves Lady Mary without a fiancée and no heir to the estate.  Then it emerges that there is a cousin, Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens), who is a Middle Class solicitor who lives with his mother, Mrs. Isobel Crawley (Penelope Wilton) in Manchester.  His lack of pedigree and the fact that he has a job (the occupation of the Earl was to see that Downton Abbey maintained its perfection), worries everyone in Downton Abbey, including the staff of eight, whose lives depend on the Crawley family.

The eight staff members who live below the house have their own intrigue that is gripping and intriguing in their own right.  A new valet, John Bates (Brendan Coyle), joins the staff at the series’s start and his limp and use of a cane make the estate’s butler, Charles Carson (Jim Carter), the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes (Siobhan Finneran), and first footman, Thomas Barrow (Rob James-Collier) in particular, annoyed over the extra work they’ll have to do because of Bates’s handicap.  Thomas Barrow is most annoyed as he was hoping to move up to becoming Lord Grantham’s valet.  Thomas Barrow seems to cause the most drama, both upstairs and downstairs.  Kitchen/scullery maid Daisy (Sophis McShera) finds Thomas to be the most amazing man to have ever lived, even though second footman William Mason (Thomas Howes) is desperate for her affection, which cook Mrs. Patmore (Lesley Nicol) tries to point out to the young maid every second she’s not yelling at the girl.  Mrs. Patmore is also one of a few members of the staff who knows that Thomas has a very scandalous secret; a secret that almost comes out when a Duke comes to visit the estate.  Head housemaid Anna Smith (Joanne Froggatt) and maid Gwen Dawson (Rose Leslie) have their own intriguing stories which unfold as the series progresses.

Downton Abbey is quite possibly the most brilliantly made show I’ve ever seen.  It has the drama of The West Wing mixed with the juiciness of Gossip Girl and set in Great Britain starting in 1912.  It is stimulating, a bit educational (in the sociological sense… Christ, I’ve gone intellectual, for which blame Justin and the University of Virginia), juicy, and at times, even kinky.  Nominated for eleven Emmy awards, it took home four, including best miniseries or movie, writing and best supporting actress in a miniseries or movie for Maggie Smith.  I just can’t wait for season two to start on January 8th.  I’ve watched Downton Abbey online at pbs.org, and if I haven’t managed to convince y’all yet to watch the show, here’s a little preview:

Finally tonight, I’d like to wish Justin a belated Happy Birthday.  I tried to write this sooner, but I had two papers due Monday and I was at the peak of my cold.  Also, I’d like to wish my little bambino, Buddy, a Happy 10th Birthday.  In human years, Buddy is Sixty-Two; Justin, who is Twenty-Two, wishes it was still 1962, hence I bought him the «Vintage Cocktails» book by Assouline for his birthday.

Okay, I’m off to go write/finish my third paper for the week that is due in seventeen hours.  Until next time…

-JD

PS: Just a reminder, the Twenty-Second anniversary of my birth is fast approaching (October 15th), not that I’m hinting at anything…

Apparently, My Bathing Suits Are Too Short For Suburban Housewives With Small Children

First of all, I’m back in suburbia and was just about to learn how to tie a noose  because it’s so boring here, but then Monday happened.  So I went to the grocery store to buy everything needed to make Ina Garten’s Flag Cake, which has a cream cheese frosting with which I’m not thrilled, and in honor of the unofficial start of Summer, I wore a very standard Palm Beach outfit for me which is just a bathing suit and a polo shirt.  Well some beyond incompetent mother had the nerve to come up to me and tell me that my Vilebrequin bathing suit (which was not cheap, I might add) was too short to be worn in a place with children and that she and “other mothers” found my rudeness to be insulting.  Somewhat confused, I simply looked at her, smiled and said, “That’s nice, but I don’t really care” before walking away.  I’m sorry, suburbia, but my bathing suit is only 2.5 inches shorter than standard “American” bathing suits (I measured).  It’s not like I’m wearing a thong/speedo (the whole Simon Van Kempen thing isn’t for me) and I’d rather have a shark eat my legs before I put on a pair of those extra-long boardshorts.  To say the least, it made for an entertaining moment.

So I have to say that it’s a bit weird to be back home, but only because when you go from being busy every single day to suddenly having nothing to do, it makes trying to even get dressed every day seem like a difficult task because there’s nothing I have to do aside from attempt to unpack.

So after arriving in Milan, I expected mother to meet me at our hotel, the Hotel Principe Di Savoia, but no, instead I was told to meet her on the Via della Spiga.

The hotel, which isn’t exactly in the middle of the city, provided a complimentary car to all of the shopping areas, so as if mother was waiting for me to show up.  I ended up with one thing, a safari jacket I had been looking at from Allegri since December.  It’s not a true safari jacket, but rather a safari-style rain coat that I got in a slate-color in an attempt to shake things up a bit in my closet.  I have to thank Justin for not only encouraging me to buy it, but for also getting me completely obsessed with the safari jacket look before everyone started doing them.  Also, I justified buying it (like I need a reason) because it’s replacing this rain coat I’ve had since the 9th Grade that is Burberry, reversible (navy one one side and nova check on the other) and just not for me anymore.  I wore that thing to the movies and treated it as more of a jacket than a rain coat.  And no, I NEVER wore it nova check out.  I’m not crazy or from Hollywood.  The funniest memory I have of wearing that jacket was the night Grace and I went to dinner and then the grocery store and I wore that jacket and she had on her Burberry nova check boots and people stared at us like we were that couple that matches.  I’m giving it to Mother who will also use it for trips to the grocery store and to the hair dressers.

Dinner our first evening was at a lovely restaurant on Corso Como, Alla Cucina delle Langhe, which is courtesy of mother’s seatmate on the plane-ride over to Milan.  Sadly, it wasn’t Snooki, but instead she sat next to someone named Patrick who works for Loro Piana.  And this being my mother, instead of asking for discount, she asks for restaurants in Milan.  I love her, but their cashmere sweaters cost over $600 and I would LOVE this half-zip one they have in burgundy so badly.

So Friday was probably the most amazing day of my life and mother’s life because we first began with the most amazing breakfast we’ve ever had in the hotel’s restaurant.  Then, following more extreme shopping on both our parts, we headed to the restaurant Paper Moon, which is right in the heart of the shopping district and a great place to unwind; it’s also a great place to do some people-watching, which mother and I could get an Olympic Gold Medal for doing.  We thoroughly enjoyed watching the caspian sea of Russian blondes stream in and out following a lunch consisting of three pieces of lettuce and two bites of a 20€ pizza.

After lunch, we high-tailed it past mother’s close friend, Muccia (and by close, I mean we went to every Prada in Milan) and decided to see the Last Supper, which was actually worth the pain of getting those tickets.  Though, I have to be honest, I kind of liked the fresco on the other side of the refectory a little better than Leonardo’s great masterpiece.

So as it turns out, right next to the Last Supper is this store I read about in Departures last Spring named Bernardini and I’ve been dying to go ever since I read about it so of course I schlepped mother there.  Bernardini is this vintage, luxury travel store and while we didn’t buy anything, it was fun to see everything they had for sale and in case anyone truly loves me, there is this Rolex in the window second window from the door that I’d love!  From Bernardini, we strolled around this very residential and less-touristy part of Milan before realizing that it was almost time for what will forever be one of the all-time highlights of our lives, the opera.

Now as many of y’all know, the Teatro alla Scala is without question the greatest theatre in the world when it comes to opera and when mother and I found two tickets available, we jumped on them before looking at the price.  We were in the front row, orchestra, therefore making me so close to the conductor that I kind of spent the majority of  Act One watching him sing than I did watch the stage.  We were at La Scala for the final night of the opera season and the closing night of Giacomo Puccini’s superb opera, Turandot.  Seeing “Nessun Dorma” be performed at La Scala actually brought tears to my eyes because my Italian teacher in prep school played Pavarotti’s rendition of it at least once a week for the two years I took Italian with her and it was just so breathtaking that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to properly describe the experience.

La Scala’s stage with the curtain being raised

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that evening for the rest of my life and I’m so grateful to my mother for not even looking at the price of those billets and just giving me her credit card number so we could buy them.  A side note to the folks at La Scala, it was so damn hot in that theatre that it made sitting in the Verona Amphitheater in the deathly heat of July so I could see the Barber of Seville tolerable!  Y’all need to get some air conditioning because I was beginning to schvitze by the end of the performance!

So meanwhile, Saturday arrived and we spent our final day in Northern Italy taking a “short” two-hour train-ride two stops from Venice to Vincenza.  Now the last time we spoke, I said that all there was to do in Vincenza was to visit the Bottega Veneta factory store but as it turns out, I was wrong.  Apparently, Vincenza is really known for the Palladian villas, and of course this would happen to me, but the most famous of the villas is the same one from which UVa founder Thomas Jefferson copied in order to design the Rotunda, so y’all know we went to see La Rotunda.

Let me say this, if anyone is dumb enough to let their mother convince them that Vincenza is a short train-ride away from Milan, don’t go.  And if you end up going, RENT A CAR!  It was so difficult to get to La Rotunda because mother just expects things to run very smoothly and effortlessly so clearly she hasn’t spent enough time in Italy to know that neither of those two things is possible.  We also visited the Teatro Olimpico, which was kind of a special place, but, and I feel bad saying this, it wasn’t La Scala.  It was my fault because I was still on a mental high from the night before so I didn’t really give it the attention it deserved.

Now don’t think for one second we came all this way and didn’t stop by to see the Bottega factory outlet.  Oh, we went and we didn’t even have an address to give the cab driver, but he knew exactly where we wanted to go.  The address, in case anyone wants to know, is Viale della Scienza, 9/11.  So here’s the thing, it’s nowhere near the city center and is really in the industrial part of the city, which makes sense since the Bottega factory is directly across the street.  Also, there wasn’t a whole lot that grabbed my attention, or mother’s for that matter.  At most, they had this one wallet, but considering all the damage I had done this semester, I figured I needed to start thinking about stopping.  Our dinner that night was courtesy of our hotel’s concierge and was so touristy that I won’t even bother mentioning it.

On Sunday, we took the train down to Siena so mother could see where I lived and spend some time exploring the city after we took photos of our hotel room in Milan because it was so stunning!  That bathroom had the most amazing shower of all time and I’ve told mother that I’m having that shower head installed in my bathroom at home.  Plus, I took this kind of neat photo in the bathroom of my watch:

In Siena, we ditched my dumpy apartment and headed instead for the Grand Hotel Continental, which was so much nicer than where I lived for the previous four months.  Our room was beautiful and had this amazing view of the Duomo:

I showed her all the sights and took her to a great little dinner not too far from our hotel that I frequented from time to time.  We went to Grom, where I had my final May flavor of the month.  On Monday, we visited the Duomo and strolled around the city before us and our seven bags (including mother’s purse) headed to the train station.

Now I love my mother, but the woman is useless at helping with the bags.  Normally, I’d accept this simply because she’s never helped before so why should she start now, but this time, it was a bit hard for me to manage them all by myself.  Once we arrived in Florence, I was ready to kill her because we only had a very short amount of time between our train from Siena arriving and our train to Rome leaving.  So when we went to board our train to Rome, I put her and her bags on board and then put my Ralph bag on the train before the big suitcases.  I asked her to just move the bag and she looks at it like it has some terminal illness and just taps the bag ever so slightly, but as if that thing moved.  In the meantime, a lovely line began to form as I struggled with my lovely seven bags.  At least someone took pity on me when we arrived in Rome.

When we arrived in Rome, we headed first to our hotel, the Hotel Slpendide Royal, which looked onto the Borghese Gardens, but was still just a block from the Via Veneto and only five minutes from the Via Condotti.  The view from where we had breakfast was so amazing as it looked out on this sea of green with the Vatican off in the distance.  Fortunately, both mother and I have done the major tourist sites in Rome so we had more time to do things we would have otherwise had to miss.

So I made the executive decision (because someone had to) that we would make Tuesday our shopping day and Wednesday our “cultural” day, even though members of my family believe that the Via Condotti is an historical site since both Bulgari and Buccellati were founded on that street!  In addition to shopping, I also took mother just three blocks away from the Via Condotti so we could visit my all time favorite gelateria, Giolitti.  I went four times over two days:

Tuesday night, mother wasn’t feeling too great so we headed to the nearby Via Veneto for a simple dinner and ended up at Ristorante Tuna, which was a lovely seafood restaurant.  I think we sat next to three members of the mafia however.  The restaurant had a very Upper East Side feel to it with a very Upper East Side kind of clientele, which was fine because let’s be honest, I’m a little Upper East Side boy and my mother doesn’t like to leave the Upper East Side when she’s in New York.

Wednesday, our last day in Italy, was spent doing a tiny bit of shopping for my aunt, but then we went first to see the Richard Meier-designed Ara Pacis museum, which was… interesting.  Ara Pacis was a peace alter built for Emperor Augustus  and located in his Campus Martius.  Unfortunately, I feel as though we were ripped off by the Italians because we paid about 15€ a person to just see the alter and nothing else because the other exhibit wasn’t opening until later in the week, but the space itself was simply breathtaking and the way Meier designed it to really focus all of the attention on the alter was just brilliant.  There was a great deal of natural light throughout the space the just made it this very calm and serene space that just happens to be in the middle of bustling Rome.  I mean, there’s a major road that’s right next to the museum, but you almost seem to forget it’s there because the space is just so peaceful.

From Ara Pacis, we then walked a very long way toward the Forum to get lunch at Tricolore, which was a really neat place with delicious sandwiches.  Despite being right next to the busiest tourist parts of all of Rome, the restaurant is in this neighborhood that is in a world unto itself.  There were very few tourists, simple shops, hairdressers; it had a very locals only feel to it, which is what I enjoy the most about any city because there are times when you need to escape the tour groups.   The place is so brilliantly designed because they have little sinks around the walls so you can come in, wash your hands and then sit at this counter that has ovens all around the base and order your sandwich or panino.  Raised in a vertical position around the marble counter are about eight, maybe nine ranges and you just sit there and order your lunch and Pellegrino and it’s prepared in the back, which you can see from where you’re sitting.  It’s very small and really designed as a take-out place, complete with take-out window, but they love having people stay for lunch, which we did.  I honestly believe it was one of the best meals I had in all of Italy and it was a sandwich covered in warm prosciutto on the most amazing bread ever!

After lunch, a very grumpy and gradually annoying mother and I took a taxi (because someone wore the wrong shoes) over to see the Borghese Gallery, which had been closed for the past fifteen years for a renovation/restoration project (which doesn’t surprise me because the Italians are well… slow) and had just reopened.  Well, a word of advice, book early and ladies, don’t bring a purse because they make you check them before you can enter; they give you a little bag which I had to carry that can hold your wallet, but that’s it.  It was a little strange.  Now, the galleries were lovely and all, but at the end of the day, 15th-18th century art isn’t really my thing because I’m more of a 19th-20th century art fan, plus Jeff Koons because I love those poodles and want one in my front yard.  That said, there were some lovely pieces and the building itself was an amazing space nonetheless.

After our visit ended, we strolled in the Borghese gardens for a while before getting ready for dinner, which proved my mother is insane.  So we had made reservations at this place that was kind of on the other side of the city so we take a taxi over there and she won’t get out of the taxi because “it looks creepy.”  This was because she didn’t see anyone in her age group there and there were only 20-somethings walking around.  So instead, we went to this other restaurant we had heard about called Cucina Roscioli, which was out of this world amazing!  It’s really a salumeria that happens to have a restaurant and so we sat next to a wall of wine and across from refrigerator cases filled with cheeses and meats.  As an added bonus, this guy who looked like an Italian version of Stanley Tucci was seated across from us and was staring at mother the entire time!  It was a great way to end our time in Italy and a phenomenal final meal in Italy.

Thursday Morning had us up and in the taxi by 6h0, so we missed breakfast.  Then, five minutes into the taxi ride, I realized I had left my iPod in our room so we had to race right back and retrieve it.  This was a first for me because usually I’m always on top of where everything I have is located.  From there, it was off to Fiumicino for the flight back to America.  Thursday also happened to be Andrew’s 21st birthday so as if I was going to pass up being in New York for that!  So, when the plane landed in fabulous New Jersey!, I put mother on the train to Baltimore and headed straight for Manhattan to celebrate his birthday with Maggie, Nathaniel, Caroline, and of course, Andrew at Café Gitane in the Jane Hotel.  It was so much fun and we had such a good time celebrating Andrew’s big day, even though he was on the tail-end of a cold and by the time dinner arrived, my body thought that it was 1h0 Friday morning!  I went to bed at what my body thought was 6h0 Friday morning and was up by 8h0, so I think that it actually helped my body re-adjust to EST.

Friday morning, following a little food shopping for mother and me, I hoped on the Acela with three enormous bags (I condensed since I knew it would just be me) and headed down to Baltimore for the Preakness.  Friday night was the traditional Chinese food dinner we always have and then Saturday, it was off to the Baltimore ghetto to go to the races.  I was in a so-so mood that day because my cousin and I got into a bit of a tiff and I just didn’t really have the usual excitement about being there that I’ve had in years past.  However, I ended up having a great day at the races because I broke with my usual “methodical” selection of the horses on which I want to bet and picked the winner, Shackleford, simply because I liked his racing colors.  I won $60 on one $5 bet, which was amazing and I ended the day making quite a bit of money, which was good for me.  As an added bonus, mother and I did something I’ve waited years to do and that was buy two Black-Eyed Susans, the official drink of the Preakness:

Since returning home, I’ve been struggling to dig myself out of the obscene amount stuff I have between the mail, the clothes and the stuff I bought, but I’m down to just one or two last things.  I’ve been baking, grilling and getting ready to head to Charlottesville for a month so I can take a fun-filled science course.  However, there was one event that occurred last weekend that I still can’t believe I attended.  So Grace has decided that since she can’t show horses anymore, she’s now going to compete in dog shows with the not-so-little Henry Flagler.  Y’all, I’ve never been to a dog show before so I had no idea what to expect when we arrived and so to say that it was a spectacle is like saying that the Real Housewives of New Jersey are completely normal people and that there’s nothing wrong with their trailer-park-trash lives.  This was just insanity at its finest.  We met a woman who has TWELVE Corgis and travels the country with her husband and daughter selling dog grooming supplies and showing her dogs; we saw just a whole bunch of crazies and I have to say, I almost stole four dogs.  Though at one point, Grace asks this lady with four King Charles Cavaliers where she got her crate for her dogs and I mentioned that the dogs were so well-behaved and she tried to sell me one.  At that point, I mentioned that my parents would kill me if I brought a dog home because we already have one and when I told her that Buddy was a (very expensive) mixed-breed, she turned around and walked away without saying another word!  I still love my cockapoo, even if he is a mixed-breed.  I just have to say this to Walter: Get Grace another horse because those dog show people are crazy and I miss the fact that I could look for a girlfriend at the horse shows; you can’t do that at a dog show because a lot of the people there lacked teeth!  Anyway, it was an experience that I will never partake in again.

Finally today, I guess the time has come for me to really look back on my semester and express my overall opinion on it.  In short, I loved Italy and being there and being able to explore it was just something I’ll never forget.  However, I picked the wrong program.  It was too small and there wasn’t really anyone with whom I really clicked.  Some of those girls were flat out rude to me, while others were nice to me, but not necessarily people with whom I plan on being life-long friends.  I tried my best to be friendly and go along with the group, but in the end, it was made very clear that I wasn’t really welcome so I did my own thing and had a great time.  No, I don’t regret going at al, however, Siena was always back-up since I couldn’t study in Paris due to having too many transfer credits from Rollins, so I didn’t really have the same enthusiasm I might have had if I had spent the semester in Paris, but oh well.  As I said, in the end, I had a great time in Italy, but just not with the people in my program.

Anyway, this officially concludes the travel guide only part of the blog and next week, I’ll be returning to writing about life and the crazies I call friends who are in it.  Until next time…

-JD

My Coco Has Returned to Me

That’s right folks, as I begin to write this, Conan O’Brien’s new show, CONAN, is about ten minutes from premiering after nine months, sixteen days, and let’s go with 23 hours (math is not a strong suit) of being off the air.  In response to Coco’s sacking from The Tonight Show, I have since boycotted the jealous crybaby Jay Leno and have had to fill the void for my nightly comedy fix with something else, Chelsea Lately, which is okay, because that is where I found my love, Loni Love!  However, Coco’s hair color seems to have changed from his reddish/orange to nearly a dirty blonde.  As Grace would probably ask, does this mean he had his downstairs dyed as well?

Moving on, it was parents’s weekend this past weekend here at UVa and people who know me know that weekends like this are the weekends that give me more stress than anyone can imagine.  I say this because they just like to ask too many questions and you can’t hang up on them when they start to annoy you.  Fortunately, Friday was Annie’s birthday so on Saturday, Grace had a party at her apartment for Annie’s friends.  I lent Grace my juicer (which she has agreed to never again refer to as a sex toy) for who knows what and as my gift to Annie, I sabered a bottle of champagne for her.  Sadly, no one bothered to capture it on film, but it was fun regardless.  Grace is now using the bottle to try and hide the hideous paper towels she bought that have animal prints on them.  It was a lot of fun, expect for seeing this guy from one of my discussion groups relieving himself on the side of Grace’s apartment building.  Apparently, he can’t use a lavatory.  He also said the same thing to me every time he saw me that night, which was, «DUUUUUUDE! YOU’RE IN MY DISCUSSION GROUP!  DISCUSSION GROUP DUDE!» in his very fratty voice.  After the fifth time, I finally just told him that he had to come up with something better to talk to me about because the last thing I want to think about on a Saturday night at 23h30 is homework.  It was a really fun night and I hope Annie had a good birthday in general and that she gets over her strep throat by Wednesday so that I can buy the Munchkins I told her I’d get her to eat in class (with me).

Before mother and Yuri Andropov arrived on Saturday, Andrew helped me buy the website domain www.theyapper.com.  I haven’t had time to get it set up yet, but it will be the new domain for this blog soon.  Thank you, Andrew for all your help!  Andrew has been prepping for his Thanksgiving that will be once again in Boca!  Honestly, I have no recollection of what we talked about this past week.  Usually I keep my notes from the week on my BlackBerry, but this week, I just have nothing because it was a busy week school-wise.  Plus, I didn’t finally post last week’s post until Thursday, so most of week was already finished.  Additionally, I haven’t forgotten about last week’s Saturday Night Out With…, I just haven’t written it in a way that pleases me.  Hopefully, I’ll write it in a way that please me by Thursday.

Justin and I have spent much of the week arguing about politics and discussing politicians and their sex lives (basically a continuation of last week).  Someone gave Justin a computer game recently, so he’s been occupied with that as well.  My cousin, Kevin, sold my old iPod Touch recently for $125 on eBay, so thank you to Kevin for that.  Because I’ve got a few papers and projects coming up, I’m going to call it a night, so until next time…

-JD

PS: In Basil Watch, they’re really growing now and I’m hoping that I’ll be able to cook with the basil I’m growing before I leave for Italy.  Also, while I didn’t get to meet her parents, I was able to meet Sarah’s sister, who is basically an identical twin who just happens to be shorter and older.

Justin Turned Twenty-One, I Went to a Bull Riding Competition and Andrew Admitted to Enjoying Boston Market… At Least We Get a Fresh Start with Fall

So this week has been very busy.  To begin, I saw Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, and while it’s not the same as the original, I personally enjoyed it.  Yes, Uncle Gordie isn’t as fantastic as he was in the original (I do see him as role model), but the story of Jacob Moore, played by Shia «le Bœuf Bourguignon,» actually showed that there is still loyalty left on Wall Street.  This «let’s root for the optimist who wants to save the world with some new energy solution» idea ended though as soon as Uncle Gordie came back into action.  Oh this man is good!  Anyone who steals $100 million that was left to their daughter in order to get back to the top of the financial ladder is a winner in my book.  I would use this opportunity now to post Grace’s reaction to the movie, but someone got out of going.  It was her loss because the theatre was all conservative white guys who were well-dressed.  In other words, Grace missed meeting husbands two, three, four, five, and six.  Husband number one wasn’t there because well, it was past his bedtime since he’s got to be at least 80 and on oxygen to even be considered.  Interestingly, when alcoholic, drug-addict Charlie Sheen reprised his role of Bud Fox during a cameo appearance at a charity event at the Met, my fellow theatre goers booed Sheen’s character for sending a truly great man to prison for eight years.

By the way, in case anyone is looking for birthday presents for me, the grey check tie that «le Bœuf Bourguignon» wore in one scene; I have to have that tie.  I’m assuming (I may be wrong, but I hope I’m not) that it’s from Hermès, but it’s just so nice.  Also, I know that while no one actually has pocket squares these days, I feel that it’s time to bring them back (hence, I bought one this summer at Century 21) .  In my final summary of Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps, I’d like to reiterate what A.O. Scott wrote in his review of the movie for the Times with regard to how Stone portrays Manhattan.  Scott writes that «Manhattan has rarely looked so persuasively gorgeous. Mr. Stone and the director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto, turn the city into a dazzling jewel box — sometimes literally, as when the camera, gliding through a gala soiree, surveys the sparkly, dangly earrings of the women in attendance, alighting finally on the plain and tasteful pearl studs Ms. Mulligan is wearing.»  Personally, I have to agree; the city was shown so beautifully (they even showed a great shot of my favorite building on the park, The St. Urban on 89th and CPW) and did anyone else find it interesting that the office where Jake Moore works is across the street from the infamous Lipstick building; you know, the same building where Bernie had his offices?

Moving along, so as y’all know, Grace, Annie and I saw Easy A on Thursday.  It was strange.  Personally, I thought it was too over-the-top fictional.  I mean, let’s be honest, no one is going to pick a girl up for a date in a John Deer.  Everyone else with whom I’ve spoken regarding this film had nothing but praise for it, and while it was funny, I just got bored pretty quickly.  Interesting note, this was the first movie in a while in which Stanley Tucci did not sport the turquoise ring he usually does in his movies.  I actually found the scenes with Tucci and Patricia Clarkson were the most entertaining people in the movie because of their great chemistry and hysterical lines.

On Saturday, Grace, Annie, Sarah, and I tailgated before and during the UVa-VMI game, which we won, with fried chicken, ham biscuits, and a wedge of brie, because that’s Grace’s new cheese apparently.  It was so hot hat I had to keep my linen blazer on simply to hide the sweat on my back (lovely mental image, I know).  Meanwhile, Grace and I are standing there watching the game and two rednecks ask what is with the formal dress.  Now, having been brought up/self-taught to NEVER acknowledge crazy people simply because there’s a good chance they will either kill you, rape you, hold you for ransom, or ask you twenty questions in hick.  We got stuck with the hick questions.  Grace, who was raised the opposite way and ALWAYS opens up to anyone within earshot, begins explaining the traditions of UVa to which hick one responds «so it’s the corperations takin’ over the sckool.»  Well Grace then continues when this clearly 35 and ready to get with a college girl moron asks where the action is going to be later in the evening before eventually offering him a sip of whiskey from her flask.  THEN and ONLY THEN does she realize that hick one and hick two are psychopaths and that we need to get the hell out of there.  I meanwhile, am just trying to not get shot.  Worse, they had chewing tobacco, which is probably the lowest one can get.  After we bid adieu to hicks from Texas, by way of Virginia Beach, Grace then claims she talked to the hillbillies and offered them some of her Jack Daniels because she thought it would make them a bit more normal.  Yeah, I’m never taking her on a subway.  Grace, the lesson I hope you learned from this experience is that if someone looks a bit awkward, avoid eye contact, feign deafness, give a one-word response and then burry your head in your iPhone/BlackBerry, or simply walk away.

That evening, the four of us then headed to the Professional Bull Riders Charlottesville Invitational.  This is not a joke, and I have photos and a video to prove that I was there.  But, before we get inside, the cheap seats are gone so while deciding if it’s worth paying $40 a ticket to see some morons ride a bull, this soldier just walks up to us and gives us three tickets and won’t even let us pay him for them.  It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done.  We don’t know who you were, but thank you.  This place was such a freakshow that I took quite a few photos, and two videos, which I’ll post later this week (as soon as I figure out how iMovie on my iPod Touch works).

So following the bull riding competition, the girls decided that we should go to a bar.  It was unlike any bar I’ve ever been to before.  Instead of civilized behavior, it was a sea of alcoholics, which is always nice until some idiot decides to knock over a pitcher of beer (which I don’t drink because I find the taste revolting) and have it land close to you so that it spills all over you.  It was a lovely end to the day.

So Andrew finally wore his Hunter boots for the first time, despite buying them months ago.  I wore mine as well today because of the rain.  Even more interesting than that is that Andrew, who has eaten some of the finest food in the world, actually loves the fine cuisine of Boston Market.  Personally, I like my rotisserie chickens to come from Costco.  Andrew and I also realized something today as we walked the grounds of our respective schools: people wear sandals, particularly Rainbows (which I own a pair) during the rain.  Why would someone in their right mind wear a pair of sandals in the rain?  He can’t answer this, I can’t answer this; we’re completely at a loss for an explanation.  Here’s my real question: who wants to have brown feet?

Going back to the Hunter boots for a second, I have to just say that whenever I wear them, people look at me as though I’m diseased; what, it’s okay for women to wear boots in the rain but if a guy does it, I’m being looked at as if I committed some sort of crime?  Here’s the deal, I payed more than I probably should have for my shoes and since they have no insulation whatsoever and are made of leather, there is no way in hell that I’m going to wear them in the rain because not only do I want them to get one step closer to being ruined partly because they don’t currently produce the style of shoe I have, but because I don’t want my foot to get soaking wet and turn brown.  So if anyone throws me one of those damn   looks again for wearing boots, let’s just say that bad things might happen.

So Justin finally turned twenty-one on Sunday.  Since I can’t legally buy him alcohol, I instead sent him  a check so that he could buy himself the bottle of Hendrick’s Gin that he wanted for himself.  Justin also mentioned to me that he has peppermint soap.  Don’t ask how this was brought up, but he added that it has a numbing effect on certain areas (I wasn’t supposed to write that, but I couldn’t help myself).

Interestingly, did anyone know that in France, the two animals that are considered to be emotional support animals are a dog and a monkey.  That’s right, a monkey is an emotional support animal.  Jean told me this because Lily, her emotional support animal, is to travel to France with her in November, however she must first obtain approval because a cat has been replaced by a monkey on the list of what is an approved animal by the French government.  Honestly, this is absurd even for the French.  In  a semi-related story, I was informed this weekend that Annie’s new favorite obsession, Sasquatch porn, has been added to Urbandictionary.com by Annie herself.  If you too fear that your computer will attract this fetish by simply clicking the above link, here is the definition she posted:

Kinky pornographic material that involves a girl (or boy) venturing into the forest in search of the mysterious hair covered mongoloid, and they do it in the forest.

Isn’t that just lovely?

In addition to everything else bizarre that happened this past week, I had to venture into uncharted territory in my grocery store as well when I had to purchase a Swiffer.  I should have taken a photo to explain why I had such an issue with buying this thing because they give you so many choices and accessories that you simply don’t know what it is you need to buy.  Even better, I’m standing there with about four other guys I’ve never met, but in the same predicament as I was, just staring at this section of the cleaning aisle with no clue in hell.  No one knew what to do and for about twenty minutes, we just stood in silence staring until one guy cracked and called his girlfriend for help; she was no help to us because she told her boyfriend to forget about it and that she’d do it for him.  Thanks a lot!  Finally, I gave in and called my mother to see what I needed to buy.  In my defense, I’ve never purchased one of these before and I almost never go down the cleaning aisle in a grocery store.

On Monday evening, I went to see my friend, Sydney, at her dorm, which is the Italian House on grounds to make pasta, hence I didn’t get to post last night.  It was fun and I cooked the pasta last night as well and while it didn’t taste as good as the stuff in the box does, it wasn’t half bad.  Then the building’s fire alarm went off and I was stuck outside in a drizzle for twenty minutes while the fire department took forever to get here and then search the building.  On a positive note, I met my neighbors and they seem nice!  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to meet the sex maniac who lives above me.  Last week, Cialis, as I call him/her, got it own four times in less than six hours.  I know this because the bed makes noises every time.  I’ve decided that the next time Cialis decides to «get it on» with four different people (you can hear the door open and close), I’m going to knock on Cialis’s door with a borrowed copy of the Bible and a rosary and just say that Jesus is watching.  I’m also going to suggest that Cialis take his/her anger out in a way that doesn’t involve him/her banging on the floor when walking, because it’s getting beyond annoying.

Well, as y’all can see, it’s been a busy week and while this one is going to be busy as well, it’s going to be mostly academics, so until next time…

-JD