M. and I were counting on a nice quiet evening at home last night, but the thunderstorm (very dramatic! very Hollywood!) flooded our basement with raw sewage and water. We spent a few hours bailin' and heavin' and totin' and moppin' and singing chain gang songs. Well, I sang chain gang songs...silently.

Anyway, it wasn't so bad--we were both in good moods and a spot of hard work in our othewise candy-ass lives is always exhilarating!

After that, we watched Gosford Park, the most lucid and enjoyable Robert Altman film I've seen (I haven't seen Nashville). I think my favorite scene, among many, is the post-dinner gathering in the parlor. Ivor Novello sings his ditties, at turns snappy and romantic, at the piano, and the responses to this entertainment range from outright swooning to bored indifference to patronizing applause to contempt. That scene pretty much defines each character, and each relationship, and the class differences between just about everyone at the party. Brilliant.

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