I was so tired getting ready for work this morning that I accidentally poured contact lens solution on my toothbrush instead of toothpaste. Could’ve been nasty, seeing as the solution I used contained bleach. Man, my teeth would’ve gleamed.
The tiredness came from me getting home late last night after attending an advance press screening of Brokeback Mountain, Ang Lee’s latest flick and recent overall winner at the Venice Film Festival. I was really looking forward to seeing it: Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger as two nekkid gay cowboys – what’s not to love? But I feel quite ashamed now because I was totally wrong about the tone of the film. Rather than being the rampant, homoerotic shag-fest the press will no doubt lead us to believe when it opens in the UK, Brokeback is a beautiful, haunting, tender love story that’s a real heartbreaker. I’m chuffed to bits that it won at Venice; it deserved it. Heath Ledger has got to be nominated for Best Actor at the Oscars (though I’ll be buggered if he wins, mainly because he does some buggering himself in the film and the Academy ain’t gonna look kindly on that kind of behaviour). Jake Gyllenhaal should get a Best Supporting Actor nod and Ang Lee deserves a nomination for Director, too. It’s a truly lovely movie.
I want to move to somewhere mountainous and misty now. Half-naked, sheep-herding cowboys optional.
In other news, I was on the phone to my friend Paul tonight and he suddenly started laughing halfway through our conversation. Turns out that I’d been yakking away about Brokeback Mountain and, mid-sentence, exclaimed: “Hey! Tumble! Stop eating the carpet.” Then I carried on as though nothing had happened.
Oh, the joy of having pet rats. They’re like children. Except cheaper.