Lazy hazy.

The combination of an inevitable post-travel bout with Rhinovirus + Riding the Remote created an many-houred experimental theater of the mind yesterday and today, cooking instructors floating in and out of my dreams, waiting for Kelly Bishop to be mean (GGirls) instead of nice (DDancing), even making The Thrill of It All, a classicly Doris Doris Day flick, a kind of cinematic descant to feminist "performance art" piece a friend was creating in my mind that I wish I could recreate. But what I really need to note is:

* I am *not* used to seeing Martin Bashir in American TV. I'm afraid I still expect when I see his face to immediately have them next cut away to Diana, somewhat squashed down in her chair and with a lot of eyeliner on.

* Within the True Hollywood Story caste system, there is a major line to be drawn between those subjects who participate (onscreen, I mean--talk about their lives for the show) and those who don't. It's obviously a much more A-list decision to not participate in it, even if being on it does create a spurious kind of honesty that once again will have to be unpacked somewhere else.

That is to say, OH TORI SPELLING. Oh....Tori. One does sort of wonder what will be left of her in the end, after it's all over: all these semi-redemptive, highly autobiographical shows that get B-listers out of slumps these days just seem to be gobbling up what's left of their lives before their first face lift. That is...her THS sure was hypnotic. And it's very hard not to wonder if the man that she fell for after 12 months of marriage (her "true love," not her poor safetynet what is THAT guy ever gonna do after this) is not the tip of the iceberg, the beginning of a whole life's-worth of marriages. I can't help seeing the spectre of religion in here somewhere too, and I don't know why, I guess because Charlie-goodguy was so clearly the Nice Jewish Guy and this new guy *looks* like a shagetz troublemaker. I always did like TS for at one point during the run of 90210 actually saying she was Jewish to the press, I forget which duh hello Ian Ziering.

* Seen a lot of American Test Kitchen...Christopher and his Subdeb Kitchen Bitches. I should like this show more, I suppose, but I am a little contrary about their "best" stance and also about his Big Daddy role. He's totally comfortable, it's not like that horrid How to Boil Water show with Tyler Florence and the Clueless Chick, but somehow it cuts down my interest. Actually, I have no problem with him, even is quavering hairline, but the show just doesnt grip me.

* Whatever very limited appeal My Best Friend's Wedding has, it is obviated by that BIG-ASS CELL PHONE Julia Roberts uses, esp. in the last, stupid, no-we're-not-*really*-making-Rupert Everett-her-love-interest-it-just-looks-that-way scene: an effect I think they really almost could have anticipated, the way technology changes. She looks like she's trying to cover up a colony of zits. And OH, the fast-and-loose Chicago geography in that film...my. As confusing as seeing Charlie Trotter in New York in the beginning.

* Deep Anglophilia fed by showing of fairly rare Noel Coward film (This Happy Breed) last night. Straightforward history of a very middle-class English family (Celia Johnson the mum!) from exactly 1919 to 1939. David Lean, the fab old Stanley Holloway...lots of wallpaper, lots of tea, lots of sentiment. Interestin.

Brief Encounter was also on last night, before This Happy Breed...don't always know what to do when one of my all-time favorite films is on TV but I'm not quite in the mood to watch it. There's no reason I *have* to--I now have the great Criterion reissue--but it feels a little superstitious not to...ridiculous. I went for so many years snatching at any mention of that thing, though... Anyhow, tuned in in time to bawl helplessly at the very end--with Fred, the husband, not Trevor Howard, natch. Killer-diller.