But Hannibal clearly cooks more than he can eat in one sitting so what I want to know is if there’s ever a point where he’s just reheating a slab of leg in the microwave.
I THINK ABOUT THIS ALL THE TIME.
The dude’s got a busy, profitable psychiatry practice, there’s no way he has time to cook 3 meals a day, he’s got to get home exhausted sometimes and just be like “eh I’ll just heat up some Sally.”
This is exactly what I was thinking during the osso buco scene. There were four servings there. Dude’s got a bunch of Tupperware full of people leftovers.
I just ordered an iPhone.
It’s the end of an era. I’m a little verklempt.
The reason it took me the whole week to put together is that I end up blathering about the massive Silence of the Lambs parallels/inversions (turns out this is going to be an intentional, season-long thing?), emotional fusion and family system theory, triangulated relationships, the power dynamic of using first names, Janice Poon serving Chilton a “baby Wendigo,” and also, AHAHAHAHA STANDARDS & PRACTICES FINALLY NOTICED THE LEDA AND THE SWAN PAINTING.
I just caught up on Eps 1 and 2 of the new season of Hannibal, and. Guys.
1. This show is so good.
2. THIS SHOW IS SO GROSS.
And the gore and violence are totally appropriate, both for the plot and the surreal, dreamlike tone; they don’t feel gratuitous (and, oddly, as horrific as all the murders are, they also don’t feel as exploitative as others on most crime dramas, probably because they’re almost never sexualized), so I’m not technically complaining about it, but oh my god, the opening of Episode 2 was maybe worst thing I’ve ever seen. I was cringing so hard I almost rolled off my bed. I feel weird recommending it to people because I basically have to say, “It’s amazing, but you may barf a lot and then never sleep again, so…”
Anyway, recommending Cleolinda’s recaps again because they’re very interesting whether or not you’re actually watching along. I know sometimes I like to know what happens in movies and shows I can’t actually bring myself to watch.
Apparently complaining about my hair makes it behave. I achieved bun nirvana today. I’ll never get it this perfect again.
I know I’d hate it and regret it immediately if I ever got a pixie cut, but during times like this when my hair is an awkward length that doesn’t do anything but hang limply, and I scrape it back into a bun every day, I start googling Jean Seberg and getting bad ideas.
This looks a scene in a spy thriller/comedy that I now want to see.
- Lupita is the tech geek who handles all the hacking, gadgets, and weaponry.
- Rihanna is a wealthy socialite, but that’s just her cover, and she has all the dirt on everyone and access to all sorts of top-secret sites.
- Margot is her mild-mannered assistant who is actually a stone cold assassin.
Somebody call Hollywood and have them make this for me.
"I wish I’d partied a little less. People always say ‘be true to yourself.’ But that’s misleading, because there are two selves. There’s your short term self, and there’s your long term self. And if you’re only true to your short term self, your long term self slowly decays."
There’s a chart to be made here
Has anyone noticed that the more chill a Winter Olympian is, the more dangerous their sport is, and vice versa? I mean:
Curling: Not dangerous. Curlers: Incredibly focused.
Cross-Country Skiing: Mildly dangerous. Cross-Country Skiers: Very focused. Eyes on the prize.
Figure Skating: Moderately dangerous; those falls look like they really hurt. Figure Skaters: Focused, but need to relax a little to express the emotion in their routine.
Snow Boarding: Dangerous! They launch themselves into the air like human sugar gliders! Snow Boarders: Sooo chilllll.
Downhill Skiing: HURLING YOURSELF DOWN A MOUNTAIN AT 70 MPH. Downhill Skiers: Bode Miller.
This is why I avoid physical activity
To continue with our sports theme, here’s a story my dad told me about a marathon he ran back in the 70s:
It started in Buffalo, NY, at the Albright Knox museum, went over the Peace Bridge, and ended in Canada, because the USA + Canada = BFFs. The problem?
1. No one arranged for transportation to bring the runners back from Canada
2. Aaaand no one bothered to tell them that before the race began.
So, these poor guys run over 26 miles, reach the finish line, and…nothing. Some had family members who’d come to see them finish, but a bunch, my dad included, didn’t, because crossing the Peace Bridge was a pain in the ass back then, too.
It was starting to get dark, no one knew what was going on, and no one had any identification on them other than their assigned number, or any money, since they were only wearing running shorts and tank tops.
They had to WALK ALL THE WAY BACK TO BUFFALO. Fortunately, the border patrol let them through when they saw their numbers.
And that, kids, is why it’s better to watch sports than do sports.