Three sentence movie reviews: Spy

Yet another excellent collaboration by Paul Feig and Melissa McCarthy, this had me laughing uproariously alone in my living room.  I think Feig is perhaps the only man in Hollywood who can tap into the many slights and frustrations of the female experience, a lot of which were on display in this movie.*  All actors were hilarious, making for a perfect movie experience.

Cost: free from library
Where watched: at home.

poster from: http://www.impawards.com/2015/spy.html

*He’s also really good at writing women characters into his movies.  This film included McCarthy and Rose Byrne, but also Allison Janney as the CIA boss and Miranda Hart as McCarthy’s friend.  Plus a bit part by Morena Baccarin.

New Cap

In the 80s, when I swam on a summer swim team, the only caps available were made out of latex.  They were hard to get on by yourself because the latex would pull your hair. Putting them on involved two people.  I would hold the edge of the cap to my forehead and someone else would stretch the cap backward over my head.  They would hold it while I shoved my hair into the cap.  Then they could let the cap go.

The caps were prone to ripping, which meant you never bought just one, because you had to always have one on hand.  The best part about them was that they would stretch a lot in the water.  Sometimes at the end of a swim meet we would jump in the pool and carefully stretch the cap out in the water until we could put one of the younger swim team members inside.

Now they have invited silicone swim caps.  Which are much better in every way but stretching to small-child size.  They don’t stick to your hair and they last forever.  My cap that just broke lasted for years.  (Granted, not all of those were swimming years, but it didn’t even break down like the latex ones would.)

So welcome to the new cap.  And thank you, new cap, for showing me how to properly treat you through graphics and Engrish.

View from Floor 21, American Plaza Towers

Librarian Book Group tonight was held at the American Plaza Towers.  I was quite excited to get to see the inside of these condominium towers.  In general, I love seeing the inside of any structure, but I’ve wondered about these since I moved to Portland.

I liked that the elevator exited to the open air.  It gave a feeling of openness, plus the view was great.

The condo had a great interior. It was two levels with a living/dining area, plus a kitchen that had a cozy hang-out space.  There was also a den/bedroom on the main level.  Stairs led to the two bedrooms upstairs.

This was the view from their deck.

I’ve been frustrated with the yard situation at my house and very much longed to move to the American Plaza Towers.  Currently the lowest-price condominium is advertised for $435,000 which is nowhere near my budget.  So downtown condominium living will have to be a dream deferred.

Essay: Piano

I wrote this in response to Carrie Mesrobian’s Tiny Letter about her piano experiences. Which I cannot find online.  It came to my mailbox, it doesn’t seem to be in her archive.

I played piano starting in second grade, and quit by fourth. I also hated to practice.  That hatred of practice followed me to other instruments: flute, oboe, saxophone, guitar.

My mother sold our piano when I was in seventh grade.  I hadn’t touched it in years.  My grandmother objected.  “Every house should have a piano,” she said “just in case someone might want to play it.” I was relieved it was gone, then wanted that piano back a few years later, even while avoiding practicing my concert band music.
I started playing again two years ago.  I play about five minutes a day and have made minuscule progress. I play on a keyboard my friend bought for her daughter, before her daughter aged up to a real piano.  It doesn’t have all 88 keys, and the keys it has aren’t weighted.  I want a decent electronic piano (my boyfriend doesn’t think our house is big enough for a real piano) but haven’t saved the money, and am partially worried once I invested any sum of cash I would lose all interest and there the piano would sit, with the guilt rolling off of me when I dusted it.
When I play, I feel connected to that theoretical musician I once was.  I think of an ex-boyfriend, who makes his living as a musician.  I imagine futures when I will find people to blues jam with, or have people over to play and sing.  The piano seems to transport me to the past or the future, with very little progress made in the present.