In which we take a break from shopping to gaze at pretty pictures and read about things that caught my fancy this week.
I went to see the Fantastic Mr. Fox last week and absolutely adored it. I haven't loved Wes Anderson's more recent films as much as his earlier work, but he definitely won me back with this one. As is the case with much of his oeuvre, the colors were breathtakingly beautiful and the soundtrack was mind-blowingly awesome, featuring the Stones, Jarvis Cocker, the Beach Boys, Burl Ives, and beautiful instrumentals composed by Alexandre Dusplat. I can't get the Bobby Fuller Four's "Let Her Dance" out of my head. It just sounds like my birthday when I listen to it. If I have a party for my next, it'll have to be my theme song. I want to walk into a roomful of all my friends with a cassette walkman strapped to my waist, hit play, and let the party begin. Here's a teaser featuring the song:
What to eat next: Southern-style comfort food at Tipsy Parson, the second venture from the pair behind Little Giant. While waiting to be seated in the repurposed church pew along the wall, we sidled up to the bar, where I enjoyed their famed frozen concord grape mint julep, which they churned out of a slushie machine. It was then and there that I decided I must have a slushie machine in my home. As my bf pointed out, it tasted a bit like frozen Welch's grape jelly, and from that keen observation, a new descriptive term was born: Welchy. And Welchy drinks are a very good thing. At table, we started with buttery, herbed house rolls and ordered the steak (him) and dayboat scallops (moi) as mains and the brussel sprouts and mac and cheese as sides. Waiting an hour for your food to show seems to be the norm here, judging from both my experience and other diners' reviews, but no matter because I had excellent company and when at long last our food arrived, it was so good that we immediately pardoned the Tipsy Parson. I'd really wanted to try the grasshopper for dessert, but alas, I had no room to spare. Next time, Mr. Grasshopper.
With the exception of Emmanuelle Beart, my girl crushes are usually brunettes, but I made an exception for Jennifer Aniston after seeing her at Tipsy Parson last night. Living in New York, star sightings are fairly commonplace, but for whatever reason, I was so taken with her that I wanted to write about it. I noticed a familiar head of highlights and remarked that the woman at the end of the bar bore a striking resemblance to her. I grew increasingly certain that it was her, but bf remained unconvinced, arguing that she would never be casually seated at a bar, in plain view -- they would surely have ushered her to a private table in the back. I decided he was probably right, and that an A-list celeb wouldn't dare venture outside of a blackened SUV on a Saturday night in Manhattan without handlers or at least a pair of dark sunglasses to shield her from onlookers. Most stars of her caliber go out on weeknights so they don't have to deal with the gawking hoi polloi. A few stolen glances later, however, I knew I was right. The shape of her face was undeniable. She looked great (chic yet natural), laughing and having a great time with her companions for over two hours (she was stilll there when we left), and I loved that she was eating at the bar. No one was bothering her, save one idiot who took cell phone pictures, which she handled in a very polite manner. The cell phone photographer then proceeded to excitedly look at the photos with a friend, right in front of her. Ugh. She seems like an unfussy, down-to-earth, nice lady, and I really hope she comes back to sitcoms, because I think that's where she really shines. She's adorable and funny (sadly, a rare combination), and has great timing. It's high time she was in our living rooms again.