leave the gun. take the cannolis.

So I've finally seen The Godfather now. It actually took me three tries, but I watched it all today, in my mucus-headed fog. I enjoyed it, and moreover I can appreciate it, which is what we're supposed to say about such things, right, but I certainly can't say that I loved it. I just don't find organized crime all that fascinating. And the core story, the whole idea of the tragic inescapability of family, has been explored in myriad ways, some of which engage me more. I like that Al Pacino has to change his hairstyle and stop wearing brown once he starts working for the family.

I also saw Snakes on a Muthafucking Plane. And perhaps my only complaint is that while it did "go there" and by "there" I mean "gratuitous places," it could in fact have gone a little farther. I don't think any babies got eaten. But it was like a classic joke: you set up the stereotypes, you knock them right down, you add some 13-letter expletives, and if all else fails, you can throw some rubber snakes around the audience to get the cheap prop gag.

I didn't comment at all on my recent trip to NYC, but it was fantastic. Living so far from so many of my dearest friends is torture indeed. I'm seriously cheesily treasuring all the moments, from the intense morning shower races that have become ritual, to drinking beer at the Gowanus Yacht Club, to my visit to my old building, where the doormen argued over my name, settling on Maria (close enough?) and where Maggie put me to work framing a collage of her hat-designing career that was surprisingly more prestigious (Bergdorf Goodman windows!?) than I had realized. I love San Francisco, but New York still feels like home.