Butterfield 8 and eggnog latte

Rather than ramble on pathetically about Cincinnati*, as I've back-burned him for the time being, I thought I would look at other things going on. I'm back in Texas now as I'm picking up more stuff, but headed back to Tennessee in a few days.

Last night I watched the 1960 movie BUtterfield 8 on Netflix. While I thought the ending was as hackneyed as they come - have you noticed how bad women always get killed in movies, even now? - I thought some of the scenes between Elizabeth Taylor and Laurence Harvey were pretty hot, and she did win an Oscar for the role she always claimed to hate. And although her figure might not pass muster with millennials now, I'd be overjoyed if I could wear a slip the way Liz did in the movie. If nothing else, you'll be amused how difficult it was to track down your romantic interests in 1960 without the help of the internet.

The movie's ethical double standard was to be expected. Elizabeth/Gloria is pegged a slut as she acts like a man where sex is concerned, while her lovers - married or not - never get any bad press from their own sleeping around. (I'm not sure this has really changed much since 1960.)

I couldn't decide what I thought about Laurence Harvey in this role. I liked him so much in Room at the Top and The Manchurian Candidate that I cut him way too much slack in other films. He was flat-out awful in A Walk On The Wild Side, although the only redeeming value of that movie were the Saul Bass opening credits.

The best news of the day? Eggnog latte is back at Starbucks, although since Tennessee has Peets Coffee - which is twice as good - I don't frequent Starbucks that much any more.

* See The Usual Suspects.