Yesterday, the Nicknameless Friend and I went to MOMA for Free Friday. There, we saw an exhibition by the German artist Ernst Kirchner. I suggest you hie on over to the Alpha Dog’s blog for thoughts on that, since the extent of my art criticism is:

Hey, that’s neat.

And if I’m really feeling like getting in-depth, I’ll say:

I like those colors.

And then we met said AD for dinner and beer. Fun!

Today, the NF and I are watching North and South–her first time–and later watching Diane Lane’s first movie, Ladies and Gentlemen The Fabulous Stains. The Spouse had an early obsession with the movie (Hello? A young Diane Lane?!?), and is psyched to watch it with us tonight.

A good Saturday.

The Alpha Dog and I have made a standing weekly writing date, so yesterday, I managed 1,000 words! And since I’m writing a novella, I’m only about 8 thousand words away from finishing. Where I’ll submit it, I have no idea, but I need to get this story out of my head. Two of my readers–the Delightful Phone Friend and the P-I-C–have both read what I had a few weeks ago, and said it was fantastic. The DPF did say it’s not erotica, so it can’t sell there, and it’s too short and sex-driven to survive as anything other than a novella in a like-minded group of stories, so we’ll see what happens.

And my agent said she’d be open to reading–and if she likes it, representing–my revised Mothering Heights. I want to revisit it and deepen the emotional depth to make it less fluffy (but no less funny, I hope). Not quite sure how to do that, but I bet if I can up the stakes for my heroine and make it less of a straight romance it will have a chance of selling.

This weekend my friend from high school–WHO HAS NO NICKNAME!–is coming to visit. We plan on drinking beer, eating steaks, and making fun of people’s outfits. Maybe see some art, too. And perhaps I will unearth her nickname.

I’ve known her since before I was a compulsive nicknamer; she sat in front of me in French class, and like me, she had long hair. Unlike me, she did something new to it every day (French braid, appropriately enough, side ponytails, twists, barrettes, etc.), so I hated her. Rational, not so much. But when I got to know her, she became one of my best friends, and remains so, even now.

I survived. I cannot go into details–I might feel nauseated again–except to say that apparently I do not enjoy amusement park rides. But I am a very good mom. A very good mom, indeed.

And I loved both Wall-E and Hellboy II: The Golden Army.

And right now VH-1 is showing the MOVIE I HAVE SEEN MORE THAN ANY OTHER MOVIE IN THE WORLD–EVER–WHICH IS THE LAST WALTZ starring The Band. One of my first major crushes was on guitarist Robbie Robertson. Like, major, wrote a fan letter, played all the records all the time, got into so many other groups because of the Band, which remains one of my favorite groups. And the best scene, the one with the Staples Singers, is on now. Sigh. Love that Mavis.

So I am chilling. Yay.

Only another 364 days until Birthday #10. Double yay.

So my mom is visiting (going really well, actually, a total surprise for anyone who has ever met her, met me, heard of her, or ventured here. So yay), and I know she likes suspense drama. A ha! I thought, we can watch MI-5!

BBC America no longer has them on demand. WAAAAHHHHH!

So what do I do now?!? I am SO not watching Robin Hood. My mom would add to the excruciating pain by being a mom, and asking, “Who’s that? Why is that person there? What did he say?” I can’t wait until I reach that level of baffled cluelessness.

And the Synopsis Of Doom is haunting me.
And I have a great Che Guevara t-shirt story, only it’s too hard and complicated for me to write down. So you can’t stand in awe of my quick wit.
But I got a huge weight-on-shoulders project mostly done today, so that is good.

All in all, I guess things are okay.

Okay, so one unconvinced (some would say misguided) friend calls him “Ratface,” but ohmigod is Richard Armitage hotness defined.

BBC America On Demand has a six-minute feature about RA’s character on Robin Hood called “Good Guy or Bad Guy,” and at the end of the segment, it shows him shirtless. Putting armor on. Wearing BLACK LEATHER PANTS. That don’t look stupid.

Swallow.

Anyway, so I watched Robin Hood, the actual show, and about 15 minutes into it, it hit me: It’s a lot like Power Rangers. The violence is PG, the acting (with very few exceptions) is wooden, the production values are low, the dialogue and events are totally predictable, it’s all about Good vs. Evil, except where Guy of Gisborne (RA’s character) is concerned. That no-one knows that the Night Watchman, who has clearly obvious breasts, is Marion is ludicrous.

A long time ago, Amanda McCabe told me she’d heard that Armitage had joined the cast of MI-5, another BBC show. Thank goodness. THAT show is well-done, plus it already stars Matthew Macfadyen and Rupert Penry-Jones. Hopefully I won’t have to suffer through too many more episodes of RH. You’ll notice, of course, that I haven’t eschewed the show entirely; I have my core beliefs, and one of them is that I should be able to view hotness in black leather and black eyeliner even if the context is lame.

Not to get all Barbie Dreamhouse here, but if I had a different bathroom, and a different husband, wouldn’t this be neat on my toilet?

Toilet Tattoos has some cool designs.

Meanwhile, still packing . . .

If you like:

then you’ll like:

I’m over at the Riskies today, talking word of mouth and good books and stuff.

We’ve had a respite here in terms of frantic frothing about North And South, but that is about to change: My girlfriend, the Super-Smart Lawyer, is coming over on Saturday and we will be watching it.

She has more passion for Ewan McGregor than I do, but we agree on Clive, Heywood Wakefield furniture, the color green, coffee, Mission Of Burma, Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings (although only one of us kissed a Dap-King a gazillion years ago, and it wasn’t me), red wine and the joy of living in Brooklyn.

Woo. And hoo.

Every time I make oatmeal, I think of Viggo Mortensen.

I make oatmeal a lot.

Click on over to Kwana’s place and help her get her breathing back on track. Le pant, le heave.