wardrobe

Panama Jane today metamorphised into Diane Keaton in Annie Hall. It's all crocs and lobsters with that one. I wish I worked with her. She would surely be a treasure trove of bloggo (like info, only blogging material).

Her outfit reminded me that it's time I exposed myself as a cultural fraud. Not that I ever intentially passed myself off as some sort of hipster. But I think you all kind of figured that I was this cool, neo-beatnik that watched a lot of movies, smoked unfiltered cigarettes and attended as much performance art as possible. That picture is slightly skewed, I'm afraid. For is there a cool cat such as that who does not adore Annie Hall?

The little exposure I had had to Woody Allen left me wanting. Wanting for a protagonist who didn't annoy the fuck out of me. So, I decided, maybe I hadn't given him a proper chance. Maybe the fact that I consider him a questionable human being (of highly dubious morality) that I am biased against his work. That led me to Annie Hall. And upon second thought, I found my first thought pertinent. Honestly, we all have a Woody Allen friend. The second you see them they start bitching and moaning about some such mess they've gotten themselves into. It's cute and charming for a while, but then it gets kind of grating. After about an hour, you've had enough, and are looking for the skip button. Finally, you find the remote and kind of zone out, moving through a few chapters only to find that when you've stopped your friend is molesting his adopted daughter! WTF kind of movie is this anyway?!

Yes, yes, I know, separate the man from the art. Well, since Woody makes the man Woody, such a large (in a tiny kind of a way) part of his art, it is pretty hard to extricate one from the other. And, I don't know about you, but I have a feeling in real life, he's even more unbearable.