2002-01-21 | 7:41 p.m.

corduroy licorice was known for coining phrases. he'd often throw nickels at billboard advertisements, aiming for the slogan.

***

last night i had a weird dream.

i dreamt that marie osmond gave me a gynecological exam.

i have no idea what that means.

i'm afraid to know what that means, actually.

it wasn't erotic or anything. quite the opposite. she was all-business, all-american, and kept a smile on her face through the whole procedure.

maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me that it's time for me to exam my role as a "good girl"�whether in the bedroom or in life.

ooooh...i'm good.

***

my sister and i saw gosford park this weekend. it was OK, but it's just another example to me of how the word "masterpiece" is thrown about with a bit too much random abandon.

i think robert altman got a bit too carried away with the magic of ensembles. the beginning of the film was all rapid-fire, confusing dialogue supposedly establishing who was who. my sister who accidently napped through the first 15 minutes was no farther behind than i when she came to.

once the plot started gelling, i felt like the mysteries swirling about were no mysteries at all. i figured out the "secret" backstory of one suspect way too soon and was hoping that the movie was going to surprise me and prove me delightfully wrong, but no. the script laid so much pipe, it must have kept the plumbers union working overtime for weeks. (and could you show a few more poison bottles, while you're at it? give the audience some credit, dude.)

to the film's credit, i did enjoy seeing how the "downstairs" help lived and worked in those days. i had no idea that there was as complex a social strata in that segment of society as in the one it served "upstairs." the actress who played the maid mary, kelly macdonald, was quite sweet with her wide-eye innocence. it's good to know we have a spare kate winslet in case the original decides to retire young. i also enjoyed clive owen's quietly sardonic performance. not too hard on the eyes, him.

i also got a kick out of seeing the ever-charming jeremy northam sing...and quite well did he croon. he was wasted in the film otherwise, but the scene where his singing overlaps some funny maggie smith action and the staff's stolen moments of musical enjoyment were quite satisfying. otherwise, i'd rather sweep the rest of the film under the persian rug, make a nice pot of tea and watch the player again.

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