I don't usually create a posting about movies or media or books, but the movie I saw last night warrants such a response. I have never seen such a riveting film, such a commentary on our society, something so thought provoking, that forced me to consider the issues of trust and risk and joy and sorrow and lust. You may have heard of the film? It's called Basic Instict 2. Ha! Fooled you! What a piece of trash. It really is, to quote Ty Burr of Boston Globe, the breakout comedy of the season. I don't think I have ever laughed so hysterically at a film meant to portray itself as a drama in my life. Oh yeah. The girls and I watched Skeleton Key a couple weeks ago. There was another gem.

Seriously though, you might all wonder why I would shell out the cash for such a travesty. It's all in good fun. 8 bucks in the name of entertainment and laughter and campiness is 8 bucks well spent. The screenplay is completely over the top, the dramatic, smoldering, seething glances last for far beyond what is necessary to make the point, it's basicallly soft core porn, and it endeavors to be a cross between the Matrix and Spellbound. What's more, it has managed to cast the heaviest hitters in all of British drama. David Thewlis, Charlotte Rampling, the guy who plays Q in the 007 movies, Hugh Dancy, all of whom look like they are ashamed, but simultaneously titillated by the dialogue they are portraying.

It is fabulous. First of all, the outfits that Sharon Stone wears to her therapy sessions are hotter than the hottest outfit I've worn to go dancing with gay men. Her face is frozen into china from all of the botox injections. Yes, her body is hot, but it's fake. What is hot and beautiful about a hot and beautiful and skinny woman who is only hot and skinny and beautiful at age 46 because of plastic surgery and botulism injections? I'd like to know. So, I suppose the film is also a commentary on beauty.

Bottom line. Go see it to be informed. It's going to be the cult classic of the new millienium...if not just the breakout comedy of the season. If it makes you laugh, what does it matter how it's marketed?

I've been on hiatus and apparently a couple of you have noticed. Interesting. The move is moving along. 21 days from today...that's three weeks for those of you who are mathematlically challenged, I will be moving to the Upper West Side of New York City. I will be living out a dream that I've had since I was young. When I was a senior in high school, I wrote a short story in which the protagonist was an interior designer, living and working in New York City, zipping from client to client in a VW Beetle. At that point, I dreampt of going to NYU and pursuing and education and eventual career in journalism. I was accepted, but, alas, I ended up a creative writing major at Emerson College. Things happen the way they are meant to, I'm confident of that, but I often wonder where and what I would be if I'd been able to pursue this dream 16 years ago. I'm sure I wouldn't be the woman who I am today. Is that a good thing? I have to believe that it is.

Time is a funny thing. Four months ago, I decided that it was time for me to move to NYC. I would move no matter what. I would freelance; I would live in a one room studio; I would do what I had to to finally make a change for me, of my choosing. Shortly after that I had my first meeting with serendipity. This meeting was in the form of an announcement on the snowy Monday morning of January 16, a morning I'd taken as a personal day. I took the news that my entire department is being relocated via a conference call. I immediately knew that I would take advantage of this offer the moment the announcement was made. It's been almost three months from that day. At times it feels like six years; at others it feels like six months have passed. Now it's three weeks until I move. That means that in four weeks I will be rounding out my first weekend as an official NYC resident. When I think about a month from now, I think about where I was a month ago, what has happened, if anything, what I've accomplished, how my emotions have waxed and waned, upon what I've obsessed on any given day. Timing is a funny thing.