Because this was supposed to be the time in the 2020 calendar when My Beautiful, Perspicacious Wife and I jumped across the pond for some r&r, this was also supposed to be the time when the blog took one of its periodic vacations from posting. We did not jump across the pond, of course, because that would have required us to quarantine for 14 days before being released into an England that is mostly closed up anyway and, hey, to paraphrase the old cranky Midwesterner truism, why pay good money to quarantine when we are already quarantining for free at home?
Still. Everything’s fucked, as our being quarantined since, uh, christ, when was it, the start of The Spanish-American War, implies. The blog needs a freaking nap. And so even if that means you will have to wait even longer to read our thoughts on “The Last Dance”, The Content Mill churns relentlessly on and so, in Internet years, “The Last Dance” was yesterday’s news a few days ago. My un-published take is even now past its sell-by date. So we’ll see you, ah hell, I don’t know. Next week? Two weeks? Whenever, man. Until the next blog...
This is the traditional time in the blogging calendar when I come before you, loyal frustrated followers, to cite exhaustion. And so I am once again: (clears throat) I’m exhausted. And while typically I specify the reasons for my exhaustion, this year my exhaustion is so great I lack the energy for a quasi-deep dive. “I am,” to quote J. Peterman at his most beleagured moment, “burnt out, fried. My mind is as barren as the surface of the moon.” So I’m off to the north shore of Minnesota to disengage and recharge, closing down the blog next week and then keeping the blog closed for one more week after, returning Monday October 14th (My Favorite College Football Games coverage that none of you are reading will continue as scheduled, each Saturday morning, sorry in advance) to gear up for end of the year coverage, a little end of the decade coverage, and, of course, best of all, comprehensive commentary on Hallmark Channel’s Countdown to Christmas.
Besides, these two weeks off will allow me to miss the release of “Joker”, glory hallelujah, and its accompanying infernal Internet racket so I can watch it later (maybe next July when the Eternal Argument has moved on to, like, Lana del Rey being cast as Poison Ivy, or something) and form my opinion in peace.
America’s founding principles remain on the ropes, life has left me running on empty, an imperative vacation across the Atlantic beckons, and it’s to time for some more spiritual r&r. So pardon the blog while it powers down for a couple weeks and just floats away with the garbage.
Here Detective Sonny Crockett enjoys a mojito with the apple of his eye, Isabella (Gong Li), re-proving the ancient cocktail adage that dates at least back to the dawn of the Republic of Cuba – two mojitos are better than one.
Here Detective Sonny Crocket revels in the sonic pleasures of Afro-Cuban jazz and his preferred Cuban highball at the Bodeguita del Medio in Havana, birthplace of the mojito, bringing the whole thing full circle.
Here Detective Sonny Crocket drinks a Bacardi Mojito in the midst of a stakeout at a Miami club because even if it is said you cannot mix business and pleasure, well, while that old bromide might be true in Georgia, or Nebraska, or even Rhode Island, in Miami business mixes with pleasure, like, say, white rum with sugar cane juice with soda with lime with mint.
The Oscar nominations were today. I probably heard them and I probably have thoughts. But Chicago is currently in a deep freeze and I am jetting off to Miami with My Beautiful, Perspicacious Wife.
I have never been to Miami. But one of my favorite movies is Michael Mann’s “Miami Vice.” I adored it in 2006 and my affection for it has only grown. It is an art film posing as action movie, as its other devotees can attest, though it is, to those of us who love it so, as meme-able as any longform sketch comedy fronting as a film. Indeed, few line readings in the new century are as pleasingly righteous as Colin Farrell as Detective Sonny Crockett explaining he is not merely a fan of mojitos but a fiend for them.
I have mentioned this before, but any time – and I do mean any time – mojitos are referenced in our everyday lives, I pitifully try to mimic this line reading to the weary chagrin of My Beautiful, Perspicacious Wife. Imagine how many times I’ll say it in Miami! (My Beautiful, Perspicacious Wife would rather not.) And that got me to thinking. Because though I plan on taking the rest of the week off, as I do these days when I go away, I do not plan to shutter Cinema Romantico. No, on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday the blog will briefly re-visit the three mojitos that mojito fiend Sonny Crockett imbibes in “Miami Vice.”
Join us, won’t you? I mean, would you rather read ANOTHER tome about what the Academy got wrong? Or would you rather go down the mojito rabbit hole? I thought so.
Cinema Romantico is set to sally forth on a vacation of reverie, recharge and time spent mostly away from the overwhelming exhaust fumes of the Interwebs. This year, however, our vacation will be more days than usual, taking us off the mainland and out of the country, meaning our absence from blogging will be longer. And because it will be longer, we have decided to forgo our traditional in-absence posts and shutter Cinema Romantico for a siesta. And because it has been a rough year in America for a blogger of a certain disposition, and because everything improbably, unfailingly seems to get rougher every single day, meaning we are even wearier than usual, we are going to tack a few extra days on to that siesta, extending it through the end of October.
We will be back, faithful frustrated readers, on November 1st, refreshed and raring to go for the avalanche of year-end screeners and awards bait, plus God knows what else, but until then, pardon us while we get some sorely needed rest...
Posts
