I love a dance movie. Give me two crazy kids from opposite sides of the tracks who have to win some sort of dance competition by discovering their own distinct style--which, obviously, will require hours of sweaty practice and rubbing against each other--and I'm a happy girl. Step Up is a classic of the genre, and it is the movie where I fell hard for Channing Tatum. Sure, he's got an incredible body, super-sexy dance moves, a pouty lower lip that begs to be kissed, and soulful eyes that seem like they can see into your heart. But what really shot him to the top of my Hall Pass list is the fact that underneath the body and the lip and the dance moves is a goofball doofus. Goofball doofus is my type, and Channing Tatum is a goofball doofus who can dance. I really enjoyed him in last year's The Lost City, but it only gave us a tiny taste of dancing. When I saw that a third installment in the Magic Mike franchise was hitting theaters, I knew it was time to revisit the whole series.
For Valentine's Day this year, Hubs and I did what we do best: we went to the movies. ICYMI, Titanic is back in theaters in 3D 4k and it looks incredible. If your idea of romance is watching 1500 people die horribly, I definitely recommend checking it out.
We're both big into Super Bowl Sunday, but for different reasons: he gets the chance to hang out with men and talk about sports, and I get a chance to watch the Puppy Bowl and a rom-com. Everybody wins! This year, the obvious choice was the new Reese Witherspoon-Ashton Kutcher comeback vehicle Your Place or Mine.
I don't have much of a sweet tooth. What I do have is a loud, demanding savory tooth that screams for fried potatoes 24/7. We recently got an air fryer, which has dangerously increased my ability to make French fries whenever the siren song of salty crispy goodness begins. But it's been several years since I've been able to celebrate Hanukkah with my Jewish friends and family, and I had somehow forgotten about the glorious magic of latkes. Some sour cream, some applesauce, and a golden mound of fried potato biscuits: that's the real reason for the season. This week I watched two Hanukkah movies that featured latkes heavily, and my google search history now includes "latke recipes," "latkes near me," and "can I eat latkes year-round."
I don't think I ever believed in Santa Claus. I think I was four when I figured out that Santa and my mom had the same very distinctive handwriting. It didn't ruin Christmas for me. Honestly, it was a relief. I've always found the idea of Santa a little creepy. There's an old man at the North Pole who is watching me all year and then one night he breaks into my house and leaves me gifts that cryptically represent how good I've been all year? No thank you. I've been very happy celebrating Christmas without him.
As you might have guessed, I watch a lot of movies. I also listen to a lot of podcasts about movies, and I really enjoy behind-the-scenes stories about the way artistic inspiration and financial constraints bash against each other in order to get movies made. So I was really looking forward to A Hollywood Christmas, a holiday rom-com about the making of a holiday rom-com.
Most of the plotlines in Love, Actually have aged poorly, but there is one that still rings true to me: when Colin, the doofy hornball, flies to Wisconsin in order to seduce American girls with his British accent and succeeds beyond his wildest dreams. In England, he's just a guy, but in America, he's a guy with a British accent. Whenever I meet someone with a British accent, I'm instantly charmed and inclined to think they are smart and funny. It's like a cheat code to my good graces. Which may have something to do with how much I enjoyed the new Amazon rom-com Your Christmas or Mine.
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