The Bridges of Madison County...

...is a pretty good movie. Meryl Streep and Clint Eastwood have good chemistry and, as always, Mr. Eastwood is a skilled and sensitive director. Just one comment: Clint is a sloppy, old-man kisser. He's mostly very sexy, but every time they go in for kiss I find myself pursing my lips, as if I can somehow instruct him to tighten up a little bit. It's just... I don't know... lippy? There's a lot of floppy lip just sort of out there, like he expects Meryl to chew on it a bit. It's weird... It's very AARP and, I don't know, it's like I can smell the halitosis and Depends coming my way.

Judge for yourselves. This is a nice scene otherwise, but the action starts at about 4 minutes into the scene. A bonus, this clip is dubbed in Spanish, for just a little Almodovar flair.

Side note: the actors that play Meryl's kids are awful and some of their scenes feel, um, incestuous? Yeah... incestuous fo' sho'.

I promise I'm going to try - in earnest - to write more

So, guys, here we are again. I'm back for a second night in a row. Shocking, I know. Let's make a go of it - really start dating again. I'll realize you're all crazy again soon enough and that you're sucking up all of my time, but for now, let's enjoy this stage of infatuation.

I realize I watch a lot of movies - more than any human being should - and so, this seems like a great place to at least share thoughts and maybe offer some advice on what's available to all you peeps who don't get a chance to watch so many movies. After all, when you do get a chance to see a movie, you want it to be a good one. So, let's start with an excellent recommendation that just happens to be a Christmas gift that I'm finally cracking open. When my mother and I went shopping at Costco, yes, Costco, friends, I didn't anticipate I'd be (unknowingly) walking out with one of my favorite Christmas gifts of the season.

See, I went to Costco, you see, under the impression that we were to buy groceries and so I picked up bulk cheese, an 8-pound bag of trail mix and four stalks of celery for the price of one (who doesn't want 4 stalks of celery on the eve of Christ's birth?!). I know we bought much more that day, but those were by far my most exciting purchases, for varying reasons. What I didn't realize was (foolish Dan), my mother also intended to do a little last-minute gift shopping. I should have known better; she's a terrible procrastinator and always drags me along on one of these pre-Christmas shopping trips for a bit of inspiration... if only she took my advice! What she was searching for was an ideal contribution (or two - one for Gary as well) to our annual Pollyanna/Yankee Swap/Rob-Your-Neighbor family gift exchange.

So now, in a West County Costco miles away from the comfort of Harry Connick Jr.'s Christmas Albums (1, 2 and 3, my friends) and a garage-full of Coke Zero Vanilla, I was given a list of groceries to gather while my mother searched for that elusive Pollyanna gift that would provide her with 365 days of gratification. 365 days of gloating that she had managed to find the best Pollyanna gift of all just 2 days before Christmas during a 30-minute (ahem, read 2-hour) tour of Costco by Highway 270. Wow. I've really digressed from the aim of this posting... but, now that we're down this path, I really must continue 'til we get back on track.

Though she may be a terrible shopper, she is unmatched in the ability to disappear within any store she patronizes and we all know there is no better store for hiding (save IKEA) than Costco.

Everything is so enormous there that Mom could easily place herself on a palette, crack open an industrial sized box of crackers and entertain herself for days among boxes of slankets, dickies and ink toner. Within seconds of handing me her grocery list she had disappeared into racks of discount coats and cartons of books (where else but Costco are books sold out of a cardboard carton as if it belongs next to breakfast cereal?) and I was left to look for puff pastry and half-and-half.

Costco is a fascinating place to shop. It's also a sad place to shop - a gallery of obesity in a place where the obese must feel extraordinarily comfortable among aisles so wide and boxes so big that even Andre the Giant would feel overwhelmed by the scale of the place. When I wasn't gaping at roly-poly clans circling sampling stations like vultures, I managed to knock off some high priority items, the celery and half-and-half included. Actually, don't ask about the half-and-half. It turns out some of us can't see the glass as half full (no pun intended) when their son manages to find a full gallon of heavy cream for $5 in lieu of half-and-half. I mean, who can really tell the difference? Am I right? It was during my visit to the dairy section that I found myself face-to-face with some extraordinary cheese options. There were the classics: cheddar, pepper jack, brie. There were the Riley-repulsives: blue cheese (I know, these people are fools), Parmesan and American. Finally, there was the truly majestic: Manchego. My favorite. Delicioso. It was while I was fondling a wedge of Manchego that I made a new friend, Carl.

Carl, a reserved, plaid-shirted sexagenarian, identified me as gateway to cheese heaven. He saw my appreciation for that cheese section and he saw my newly-grown beard as an invitation to join the cheese club. As my sister Betsy noted, this beard has given me unmistakable street cred (look for a followup post on that subject). I don't know how the friendship blossomed so fast, but soon after a few tentative comments followed by some polite laughter I was sending Carl home with a pat on the back and a handful of Spanish cheeses that I was describing as nutty and salty, but mild. He was a satisfied customer and I felt proud introducing a grisled Midwesterner to a taste of Catalonia.

I was on a Costco high and knowing Mom was undoubtedly having no luck finding Pollyanna gifts, I decided to take my jumbo cart over to the media section and check out what entertainments the Cc had to offer. Costco, I discovered carries a vast array of films on DVD, both old and new. The Help, Midnight in Paris, The Hangover II, Bridesmaids, Harry Potter - all the hits of 2011 were on display.

Wisely, I knew aiming for one of these obvious hits would lead to some duplication at the old gift exchange. No, we needed to think a step above these crowd pleasers, but I was on the right track. The DVD gift basket is a Pollyanna classic and when done right, it's an elegant gift appreciated by all ages and with "Tracy and Hepburn: The Definitive Collection," how could Mary go wrong?! Yes, friends, I found a boxed set of Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy films - 9 in total - for the grand price of $24.99. Major score. Add in the HBO Miniseries "John Adams" for the gents and you have two very excellent (OK, the second one was a bit lazy) Pollyanna gifts that any two people would be thrilled to take home.

Delirious from aisle hypnosis, Mary returned to me by following instructions via cell phone (turn right at the cobbler sampler. No, don't bother with the blueberry, it's gross. If they're sampling lemon, though, get two.) and when she saw my brilliant plan she fell on her knees and wept at my feet. As her tears fell on my suede topsiders (still trying to get those stains out, thanks, Mare), they transformed from water into wine and a Christmas miracle was observed by all fortunate enough to be parked next to the sweatshirt bins on Aisle 921. What I didn't realize was that I had unknowingly chosen not only Gary's contribution to the Pollyanna (John Adams), but also my very own Christmas present, namely the Tracy and Hepburn DVD set. If anyone had told me in that moment that I would be opening up said collection two days later on the floor of our living room in my Christmas pajamas, I would have probably told them: oh man, you're totally right. Hindsight is like totally 20/20, you guys.

OK, I really don't have time to review the films inside this incredible DVD collection tonight, so that will just have to wait until tomorrow... and, hello, we still haven't even talked about the OSCAR nominations! Ugh. So much to talk about. So many digressions! I'm out.

You guys, I never blog...

Whoa, you guys, I haven't blogged since June 2010! Do you know how much has happened since June 2010?! Maybe that's why I haven't blogged since June 2010... on second thought, you guys should probably be really happy for me for NOT blogging since June 2010. That means, instead of writing to all you miserable people, I was out partying in N-Y-C, yo! I was clubbin' it up to the latest Kesha song.

Staying out late hittin' the latest nightspots - the one with the live ponies, that one with seesaws, that other one that serves sugarless cotton candy (uh, huh, totally

disgusting). Doing lines of Cocaine off Penn Badgley's abs (he's a really sweet kid, but a little bit of a pushover). Having pancakes after hours at Per Se (their cherry-infused syrup is amah-zing). I mean, I was totally doing that through the rest of 2010, all of 2011 and the first 24 days of 2012. And then, Oprah called me.

Yes, friends. Today, Oprah called me and I said: Oprah? Is that you?

And she said: Hey girl, we need to talk.

Me: For real? Oprah? What's up?

O: We have a problem.

Me: What's wrong, O? Is Gail "missing" again? I

can totally go back to Bolivia again if need be.

O: No Daniel, this is about you. I want you to tell me one thing.

(long pause)

Me: Yes?

O: Are you living your best life?

(longer pause)

O: Mm - hmm. I know. I know. See, Dan, when I met you in June of 2010 and invited to you to join me on a journey of self-reflection and self-affirmation, I didn't invite you to join the dregs of society. I invited you to explore parts of yourself you could never know. Spending your days in

slumber and your nights in sin does not a centered young man make. Daniel, when I made a promise to bring you to your best life, I invited you to climb aboard a magic carpet of self-discovery. But today, we are far from that destination and I fear it's too late to turn around.

D: But, O -

O: No. Don't speak. Words cannot bring you to your best life alone. It takes action and it takes willpower. You must blog again, Daniel. You must find express yourself in words and in words you will find your true self. Refine those words and your best life will ascend like a phoenix... from the fire... into your soul... and into the eyes of the world.

D: Wha?

O: Hush. Hush and think about the mission I have given to you. I know you will heed my words, because I am Oprah and I know you can find yourself, again, on the path to your best life.

D: I'm humbled, Oprah. I don't know -

O: I know. I know. Well, next I'm speaking to Gabourey Sidibe, so I'll leave you now, but know

this: You is kind, you is smart, you is important.

D: Ok, now you're just quoting The Help.

O: I loved that movie.

D: Eh, it was OK. I mean, I put it above Fried Green Tomatoes, but below Steel Magnolias.

O: That's fair.

D: Thanks.

O: Ok, Daniel, two words I leave you with: Best. Life.

D: I love you, Oprah.

O: Thank you.

And that's how I decided to blog again. Like all great decisions, it began with Oprah. She reminded me that I needed to stop thinking about myself so much and start thinking about how I could start telling people about myself instead. What better medium? Don't say

Twitter. That's f-ing obnoxious. Best life, people! Oprah will make me her next Gabourey Sidibe. It's coming in 2012!