Canada, the Beautiful

Until last night, I thought there must be no place on earth less intimidating than the grocery store on a Saturday night in America. My sister and I went to pick up a few staples in preparation for a family birthday party. I was feeling a little sluggish and looking a little disheveled, but who cares, right? It's Saturday night at the supermarket. It's not like you have to worry about a flock of beautiful hipsters lounging about the chip aisle, right? Wrong! I have never seen a higher concentration of such aesthetically pleasing and physically perfect human beings in my entire life as I did last night, and I'm not even kind-of kidding. Navigating our way through each aisle became a difficult task, like going through an obstacle course of supermodels. They all had the perfect hair, the perfect body, the perfect ensemble, the perfect handbag...perfect, perfect, perfect! Honestly, is nothing sacred? Can't a gal count on being able to buy some pop and napkins in peace on a Saturday night without feeling bad about herself for not having a posh-bob and designer duds? Apparently not. I was so intrigued by where all of these gorgeous creatures must have come from. Were they angels sent from Heaven? Was it a supermodel night-school field trip? Were they from Canada? Ok, Canada was not the first thing that crossed my mind, but it became clear when I heard the adorable way they were up-talking...and when I heard them tell the cashiers that they were from Canada. "We're here from Winnipeg. In Canada. We're here for a track-meet. It's all day tomorrow." Seriously, the last word of each sentence was like an octave higher than every other word in the sentence. What's that all aboot, eh? Anyway, it's official...I'm never going to Canada.

My usual Sunday sulk session was cut a little short by said birthday party. I suppose it's for the best. Although I am still reeling over this week's troubling Swayze news, I'm trying my darndest to remain optimistic. I am sad to report, though, that my will to eat is almost completely intact. I was hoping to shed somewhere around 50 sympathy pounds, but the way things are going it'll probably end up being about .50 pounds. I'm just joking; you've got to find something to laugh about in the midst of such heart-ache.

So I had been planning on devoting Sundays to watching my favorite bad movies and giving little mini-reviews, with the hopes that you would watch these movies and hate to love them as much as I do. This week's selection was going to be Mannequin, which is one of my all-time faves. I've decided to put Bad Movie Sunday on hold for the time being; instead, my Sundays will be spent revisiting my favorite Swayze classics. Don't you worry, Mannequin will get the props it deserves; it'll just have to wait until Swayze is back in action. That's how long I intend to continue this Swayze Sunday tradition.

This evening's selection is One Last Dance, a tale of three aging dancers who reunite to perform the piece that drove them apart years ago. This is the film which I have the strongest emotional attachment to, even more so than Dirty Dancing. Any fan of Swayze the Man and not just Swayze the Movie Star would probably tell you the same. I'll spare you the long history, but the short version of the story is that Patrick and his wife/costar Lisa Niemi spent many years trying to make this into a film. It was born out of a play they conceived and performed in the 80's entitled Without a Word, which won several theatre critic awards. There were many starts and stops in getting this film made before Lisa decided to write/direct it herself. Although it never made it to the big screen (except for a few festivals and industry viewings) I'm happy to say it is available to rent or own on dvd. In honor of him, or to appease me, you should give it a peep. The dancing is beautiful; and even if you're not a huge fan, hopefully you can appreciate the love that was put into the creation of this project. I especially enjoy watching it while listening to Patrick and Lisa's commentary; it's fun to hear their banter and the familiar way they interrupt eachother and finish eachother's thoughts. OK, I'm stopping myself there. You should really see it, though.

Can I just say that my love for blogging defies description. I'm serious. I don't understand why, but carrying-on about the insignificant details of my life and talking about movies that you'll probably hate is satisfying in a way that is completely unexpected. So, mucho thanks to the one who suggested I do this in the first place. I'm so glad you decided to blog it forward.