Daniel Craig, Colm Meaney and some other people in Layer Cake

Another little vacation from the blog, unintended, but perhaps necessary. After the last Jerry-Hall-Ovation Channel entry, I think I needed a break. I suspect my readers would prefer a continued series of short, pithy posts rather than my more longwinded er, flights of fancy.

So, let's experiment with brevity. Nice hot weekend spent wandering around the city, running into a craft fair or street fair every few blocks. Resisted the urge to invest in more socks, sheet sets or sunglasses--or to finally get a hand-knit ethnic sweater, a small-to-medium sized stone buddha or 10 minute neck massage. Drank with investment bankers at a effort-intensive Hawaii-themed party--(every body got lei'd at the door). Got dolled up and went to see Layer Cake with Julie at the old Sunshine theater. (I tried to convince Miss Julie to try the Gourmet Popcorn toppings--jalepeno in particular--but no dice).

Layer Cake, incidentally, is a fine movie. I admit that I have a weakness for the British gangster genre. (In particular, I was a Guy Ritchie fan in particular until Swept Away, which...well, it sadly exposed his deficiencies as a director away from South London). I like the whole British gangster genre (long live The Italian Job!) because it brings a much needed humor and irony to the gangster genre--which was shriveling up a few years ago--and I like it because I like British settings, humor and men. Daniel Craig in particular--they're calling him the next James Bond, but that would sort of be like calling Steve McQueen the next James Bond. (Then again, the James Bond series needs all the help it can get).

The Steve McQueen comparison is one of the highest I can make for a guy. The other top one is the Connery-as-Bond comparison (which I only really make for Clive Owen) and the Cary Grant comparison (which I only really make for George Clooney). If you could smoosh everyone into one guy, I'd be in love for a couple lifetimes, at least. But Steve McQueen is the most real--he has dirty mechanic's hands, that indestructible aura of cool, the ability to drive a car, shoot straight and woo a woman. And, in particular, the ability to wear tight jeans without looking like a particularly fussy gay model. (And, apparently, we share a love of cheese: not kidding)Daniel Craig has that same thing too, even when he's getting the shit kicked out of him.

Let's see, what now fixated on the idea of going either on an archaeological dig, or a volunteer vacation. The volunteer vacation is particularly interesting as it's tax deductible. The archaeological dig may be because I came drunk last night and stayed up blearily watching The Mummy again. But I really do have an Egyptology fetish. Then again, I have a dinosaur fetish too, so the idea of going to China and working two weeks as volunteer on some prehistoric digging site sounds pretty good too. But I'm not sure how rustic I want to get. The real problem, of course, is that my altruistic motives don't count for much, and they both cost a ridiculous amount of money. Perhaps I can convince some foundation that my Indian chick-lit novel necessitates traveling to India to work on restoring some temple for two weeks. Any takers?

The volunteer vacations in America are pretty cool too and much less pricy. The best ones are in New Mexico, working on an Indian reservation, or rebuilding some Arizona community center. The problem is the idea of spending a couple weeks in the sweltering desert, in the middle of summer. I mean, I loved that it was hot and sunny this weekend, but I'm not sure that I want to be camping and working in it. And I like the idea of volunteering; I'm not into suffering.

If anyone knows of an Egyptian archaeological dig that needs a volunteer for one-to-two weeks at a reasonable price, write me. It would help if the dig came complete with some semblance of indoor plumbing and absolutely no snakes. It would also help if the other members of the dig are two older lesbian women who travel together, an overbearing dragon of a woman with mousy secretary, an unscrupulous, yet rouguishly handsome man, a tart flapper, a retired Army colonel, and a small Belgian detective.


(Okay, screw brevity. Next time.)