Not to pigeonhole their appeal to me, but Kristen Stewart is the once and future face of Hollywood androgyny and Jon Favreau has carved out a niche of unironic, defiantly uncynical fantasy-based projects as a director. But enough of my nocturnal woes and on to more filmic matters. And then, she’s kept up, I am exiled to the far left eighth of the bed and nobody wins. Henry twist ending is that the later I stay up and more tired I get, the worse my snoring gets.
The droll irony in this is that my girlfriend actually doesn’t mind me staying up late.
The rest of the time, I will be plopped under the covers at a respectable hour, chortling my way through the latest installments in the five-volume annotated collection of every single Bloom County comic strip from 1980-1989 (all time favorite line: “This is like a bad made-for-TV movie starring Bert Convy and Mr. Close scientific observation by myself of myself suggests that two consecutive nights and/or no more than four in any weeklong period is the most my psyche will allow at this juncture. Armed with rentals from the Multnomah County Library System and the Redbox in front of the 7-11 a half-mile down the road - my two most frequent weapons of choice in attempts to hold down this column’s auxiliary costs as low as possible - I have been keeping myself up late these past few months (“late” for me qualifies as sloughing off to bed somewhere between midnight and 1 am.)Īlas, my 35th birthday a few weeks ago brought me to fully accept a crushing realization I had been loath to admit to myself: I can’t continue such viewing habits on the near-nightly basis I have sustained since my childhood. Chapter Two: Jon Favreau & Kristen StewartĪs I trudge towards the dreary days of mid-winter (which this year in Portland is marked by a rainy season more so than a snowy or cold one), it seems as a good a time as any to blow out several Chapter Twos from the last half-decade in one column.
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