As far as grand entrances go, 2023 was rather underwhelming, slipping in under the radar a week ago while we were off at C's cousin's house outside Tampa. Unlike last year at the same location, no trip to the ER was necessary. In fact, the only sport played this year was a game of archery with rubber-tipped arrows that should, theoretically, have gone south (considering my luck with holidays) but didn't. 

Since then, I finally managed to finish up Jeannie Basinger's and Sam Wasson's massive new tome, Hollywood: The Oral History (739 pages, Harper) as a prelude to catching Damien Chazelle's Babylon (189 minutes, Paramount) at my local cineplex. Frankly, given its lackluster reviews and poor box office performance, I was surprised to see Babylon still playing. A word to those who haven't seen Babylon: it's not terrible but it's also not very good. If you simply must see it, wait until it pops up on a streaming service. Or just read Hollywood: The Oral History, which is lots longer, loads better (albeit significantly less sensationalized) and comes straight from the horses' mouths. 

Normally, this is the season I'd be publishing my list of the ten best books I read during the previous year but since I barely read ten books* in the last twelve months I'm moving on to the next thing. No, not politics, although I must confess to relishing that massive hit of schadenfreude provided by Congressional Republicans in last week's free-for-all that left a humiliated (but not humbled) Kevin McCarthy sweating bullets as he assumed leadership of the House of Representatives. Certain Democrats have attempted to shame those of us reveling in this moment of glee but it won't work. They say that we're better than this, that we shouldn't stoop to their level. Well, fuck that is what I say. Let the gloves come off. 

Last night I dreamed that I was in a hotel room and people I attended college with started showing up with their suitcases. And their families. People I hadn't seen in decades. I am not talking about 3 or 4 people, but probably closer to 50. All of them were expecting a place to sleep and I was frantically trying to accommodate everybody in this one hotel room but they just kept arriving, and I must say it was extremely stressful! Was this the only room left in the hotel? Why did I even care? Was I, perhaps, the owner of the hotel? Who knows? I woke up perspiring and with a knot in my stomach, and, thanks to the ceiling fan whirling above the bed, my nose was running like Niagara Falls. Ugh, what a mess. Consequently, today has been a bit of a slog and I look like Agnes Moorehead in that Twilight Zone episode where she's tormented by tiny invaders from outer space only it turns out that they're actually normal-size spacemen from earth and SHE'S a giant alien. Something of a hillbilly alien now that I think about it, so, no, this is not a good look for me. 

My friend, George, just called to say that he's leaving for New York tomorrow. He's 81 years old, recently recovered from major surgery, and told me that between the lockdown, his recent retirement, COVID and the surgery, he's ready to cut loose, hit some Broadway shows and paint the town. All by himself! You go, George! I have to give it to him, George knows how to have a good time: age and illness haven't done much to slow him down, and he's unafraid of going solo. C's best friend also texted and said he's back from a weeklong New Year's cruise with his lover but, to be honest, I'd about as soon have a colonoscopy as go on a cruise. I do want to go somewhere but somewhere not tropical and not on a ship. What tops my list this year is the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures in Los Angeles but that is just the tip of the iceberg. The Bucket List is vast and ever-changing, although anyplace with scenery and interesting museums gets my immediate attention. I can't wait to see where we end up. 

*I didn't read a lot of books due to the major eye facactas resulting from the spectacular tumble I took in Tampa at the end of 2021. And also because I spent way too much time online.