Here's a tip for you: If you are conversing with someone and they mention a glut of news about someone famous, the person in question has probably just died. So over a plate of hot Thai curry I found out that Liz Taylor was dead. This information was part of the sexy versus beautiful discussion that crops up with some regularity between film freaks.
Audrey Hepburn, Catherine Denueve, Ingrid Bergman, these are my classic modern film beauties. Hell, Ingrid Bergman, whose film career ended decades ago still influences people. Billy Bragg and Wilco recorded a song about her in 2007-ish, showing that the Grrl's still got it.
On the other side of the discussion there are the sexy stars. The parade of sex kittens includes Brigitte Bardot, Ursulla Andress, our American throw-down Raquel Welch and modern day actors like Penelope Cruz.
Anyway, it was a lovely way to pass the dinner.
In a few hours I am climbing on a plane to Tucson. I would love to say that my main motivation is to spend time with the genetic envelope but that would only be partially true. I need sun and heat. I need it bad. Even the most manly-men I know are muttering and cursing the inescapable rain and wind and cold that have vanquished spring here in the GreyNorWet, apparently forever. Not being a first rank Manly-Man, I am quailing under the incessant rain like Gollum from a winged Nazgul.
Later.
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