'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,

a new level of complaint with Netflix

It's a movie I got from the library, and so nothing about my viewing experience is exactly Netflix's fault, but I have a new level of complaint with the Netflix rating system. I need to give this movie both a 5 ("love it") and a 1 ("hate it"). In fact I need to give it several 1s and several 5s. I'm sure it would add up to at least 18 or 19. But maybe 50. And, what, you gonna average it? That wouldn't do at all. The one thing it is NOT is a 3.

The movie, with (favorites) Danny DeVito and Queen Latifah, and now-I-know-I-really-dig Holly Hunter, is Living Out Loud (1998).

I'm following the Pistons game by text message. It was in double overtime last time I got a report.

I was happy to hear the Pistons aren't the Yankees of the NBA. To quote my source, "No way! They're so good because they don't believe in having a big star player. They took NBA players with bad reputations and became a true TEAM." (I replied that that's about my favorite thing in sports---esp if you toss in a little underdoggedness.)

Well, crap---just got the word: they lost. But that does make them the underdog in this series, in which they now trail 3-2.

And what kind of a nickname is "Cavaliers"? If it were the collective "Cavalier" I could maybe get behind it...

Yeah, hated that movie. Hated it in ways you only hate when you love. Loved it in ways you love when you hate and when you don't.


I'm sorta just about dyin' here. And it's also just another night. Ain't that how that goes sometimes.

Years ago, in early internet times, I took a 'celebrity love match' test. My male celeb love match was Danny D. I was cool w/that. My female love match, though, was Judge Judy. I shuddered and re-took the test. And I got Martha Stewart. I could live with that at the time, as my p had some Martha Stewart in her, and if somebody wants to bring me lovely little canapés on a plate, please, do. But now I have reason to shudder at that one too, and wish I had the test to pick apart and debunk, in a way that'd satisfy my own low bar of satisfaction there, in the realm of debunking.

It's getting late.

This week Rob B said I should---oh, it was some version of go crazy. Fall full-on into the pit of something or something. I'm starting to think he has only 4 things to say & just says them in different ways each week. And of course he's a Cancer himself, so he's just saying what he wants to hear for himself, right?

I don't know if he's gay, but I presume he is. Cuz he's a freak, and queer that way. And how gay is it, telling me this stuff every week.

(It's gay.) (That's how gay.)

Absorbing reading this a.m. And John Ashbery in prose poetry, getting to me. Bigger boost for him than the one Holly Hunter got.

But I can hardly wait until Holly Hunter's 60 or so. And up. Hope (a) I'm still alive and (b) she's still making movies.

You know, she's not but maybe an inch taller'n Danny D. In case you were wondering.

Oh---and, word is, today (now yesterday) we had a blue moon. A blue moon's a moon, in case you didn't know, that saw you standing alone, without a dream in your heart, and stuff like that there.

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