Lindsay and I decided last night that we really should go see a movie that we'd heard almost nothing about, starring and directed by Helen Hunt. All we knew, is that it was a chick flick of sorts.
Lindsay: Danny you're welcome to come.
Danny: Hell no!
Mary: Helen HUNT no!
It wasn't really a chick flick. It was geared for women, of course, but it didn't have Mandy Moore or Kate Hudson or anything.
We were in a tiny little theater, with the only type of characters you'd expect to be going to see a Helen Hunt movie on a Wednesday night in Melboure. There were about 3 sets of women over the age of 47, who talked loudly through all the previews about the length of the tram ride to get a decent melon from the farmer's market and how service on airplanes isn't what it used to be, and how one time, after ordering a bloody mary, a cup of V8 was received, but who no one shushed because we all wanted to talk through the previews too.
There were two guys who sat directly next to Lindsay and I, who made me feel like we were watching the movie with Josh and Chris. Mainly because the one guy had shoes that look like Chris' white, flat toed shoes and because the other guy made the quip (after a preview for My Brother Was an Only Child) "Brought to you by the director of My Mother Was a Woman", which made me laugh unnecessarily loud. (Ellen, think Tartuffe.)
The movie was about a woman (Helen Hunt) who's life basically went to shit all at once but she made it turn out alright. Colin Firth was in it and was delightful and awkward as always. He smiled a bit too much though (mom, you understand the dangers of that).
In the end, Lindsay and I left missing our mother's a great deal and full of too much popcorn.
Today has been okay, mainly because I got a "Hache Dee" (aka HD aka A+) on my Timber Plantations paper.
If you have any questions about the dangers of even just using the undergrowth in native forests for commercial production, I have a "very thorough" essay you can read.
