Meryl Streep would’ve done James Bond better and you know it, Brosnan.

Well, I’m baffled.  The weeks have passed, I’ve gone about my life, and every so often I’ve thought about that thing, that blog I keep.  I’ve considered updating it.  But nothing really struck me.  And the longer one goes without updating, the more pressure builds up to make the comeback post a doozy. 

So, here’s the deal:  This post is not a doozy. 

I’m baffled because of all the things (or, in this case “people”) to compel me to update, for whatever reason, Meryl Streep and Pierce Brosnan took the cake:

It’s genius.  I would seriously write a dissertation just about that scene.  And I’d relate it to Pierce Brosnan’s silly version of masculinity, as well as Meryl Streep’s reputation as the best thing ever.  (Why do we even have that expression about sliced bread?)  And all the while she’s singing an ABBA song and frolicking up rocks.  OH! OH!  And I could devote an entire section to that red shawl she wears.  It’s like Brosnan is her bull and she’s playing an age old game.  It says, I may be a mature woman, but I’m verile and fiery.  It says, I want to have sex with you, but I could just as easily burn you and rob you of your cojones.

Anyway.  It really is my intent to have less of these annoying posts that are prefaced with an allusion to the fact that I rarely post.  Sorry about that.

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