Frozen Hands

I just spent the afternoon watching "Buck" and "What's My Number" on Netflix. I blame this flagrant escapism on the fact it snowed today and my apartment is a drafty nightmare. I feel like a character in an old-timey consumption novel. I basically need gloves to type.

"Buck" is about a horse-whisperer. I heard it was good. What? Not good. Pretty boring. Maybe non-horse people would find it more interesting, but it was basically like every horse clinic I've ever seen in real life. I had a psycho horse one time, and I wondered if this dude could have fixed him. But when he gave up on the psycho horse in this movie, blaming "possible brain injury" on the horse (which is exactly what my overpriced cowboy trainer said my awful horse had when he also gave up on him, $17,000 in training later), I knew it was just reality. Not miraculous. I like my German coach better, who said such horses should just be shot (humanely put down!). A horse that could kill you is just that.

"What's My Number" was delightful. Anna Faris and Chris Evans are both in such good shape and it was the kind of romantic comedy of which Mindy Kaling would approve. Me too.

Oh and when I mentioned podcasts, I forgot to mention "The Champs" (Neal Brennan, Moshe Kasher, DJ Dougpound). Really good talk, if you're fascinated to hear men talk openly about their lady-games. You should give it a listen.