I visited a college friend for New Year's and we got into a discussion about various people we knew who were absolute gems, witty and brilliant and sweet, but were hideous by conventional standards of physical attractiveness, and thus had issues with poor self image. And I admit that as gorgeous as some of them are on the inside, I couldn't imagine being attracted to them or fucking them. So perhaps my earlier post about character actors, or at least my claim that I could completely look past physical appearance with regards to attraction, was pure horseshit. *shrug* But that doesn't mean that I can't work towards becoming a better person someday, right?

By the way, speaking of character actors again, I love Bob Balaban. He was a treat in Ghost World, but I love him best in Waiting for Guffman, where he played the musical director who so clearly resented Corky for getting all the glory despite his ineptitude.

I went ice skating with my mother and my aunt today, and really loved it. I've skated twice before. The first time was a few years ago, with my friend Joe. We were probably both about 17. It was wintertime and we decided to skate on an open rink in the South Street Seaport in New York City. Neither of us had ever skated before, and there was much unintentional ass/ice contact. At times he grabbed me for support as he wobbled, which in turn made me lose my balance, and down onto the ice we went. After one of our more spectacular falls, the onlooker tourists crowded around our crumpled bodies, and then pointed and laughed and mocked in their native tongues. The second time was in North Carolina with a bunch of medical school friends. Today's third attempt was in New Jersey (best place in the world, second to Paris). I thought I was going to go insane when the public skate began with a Phil Collins medley (those horrible Disney Tarzan songs which make my ears bleed), but once the music switched to the Beach Boys, I was able to blissfully skate without trying to contain my irritation. (Although it seemed a bit incongruous since the Beach Boys' music always makes me think of summer, rather than winter, their name aside. I know once the summer heat returns, I'll be dusting off my Pet Sounds.) I whizzed along, with cold-bitten cheeks and flapping hair, trying not to crash into the lightning-fast four-year-olds who skillyfully weaved in and out of other more clumsy skaters, such as myself. There was an older guy, presumably a Dad, who chased a young boy, presumably his son, around the rink. Whenever Dad caught the kid, he lifted him up and carried him; as they flew together on the ice, the kid's face was alight with pure joy. While viewing this episode, I experienced one of those rare little aches in my chest, one of those pesky pangs of longing...for a kid, and for a husband or lover who fathered that kid with me, and for the opportunity to watch them do these sorts of sickeningly sweet things together. But then I remembered how glad I am to be able to wait a long time before dealing with any of the responsibilities which accompany cutesy family scenes such as that one.

I fell twice. The first fall probably provided much entertainment to the older moms who were seated on benches ouside the rink, watching their kids stumble on the ice, cameras in hand. There was much arm circling (r of circle = full length of arm) and body bending 45 degrees forward, then backward, then forward again, and leg wobbling, and then...splat. Well, if I'm going to fall, then I'm going to do it in style, dammit. I know the older moms got a laugh or two out of me. Although hopefully they kept their fingers off of their shutter buttons while I was doing my thing.

So, I must admit that after seeing the final Lord of the Rings movie on the big screen tonight (the first one of the trilogy that I've seen on the big screen), I finally understand why so many people are so taken with Legolas, the Orlando Bloom character. I grudgingly admit that yes, he is very pretty with his long blond hair and lithe figure and serene expression and occasional silver head jewelry. And his action sequences with all that arrow-shooting are indeed very cool (I loved the scene where he crawled up the elephant and arrowed all the baddies). However, his face bears such a strong resemblance to the face of the friend I mentioned earlier, Joe, that I can't see Legolas without also seeing Joe. It really is unnerving.

I have so much love for Rufus Wainwright's Want One album, and have been listening to it over and over again. I've heard that his earlier albums are better, but I haven't heard them so I can't compare. I've also heard that he's kind of an ass, but I loved his salon.com interview, and haven't read much else so I can't say for certain that he is guilty of assholism. In any case, anyone with a Romantic sensibility will get love from me, because of my insane fondness for those guys (Delacroix and Keats and Coleridge and the Shelleys...I still think that Percy Shelley's "Defense of Poetry" is one of the greatest influences in my life, and definitely one of the most beautiful things I've ever read). And, erm, he sure is pretty. I was actually worried that my love for the album would be marred by negative association, since I played it in the car to calm my nerves as I was driving to meet a guy who turned out to be a complete asshole; thankfully that has not been the case. Some of the lyrics of the songs are meh (what was up with that Britney Spears reference?), but the soaring operatic vocals and classical music influences are simultaneously spine-tingling and very calming. It's lush and gorgeous. *sigh* "Men reading fashion magazines...oh what a world it seems we live in...straight men..."