There seems to be this tendency toward denigrating romantic comedies as of late because it becomes something sort of cheesy or whatever. Whereas this embraced what it was. As a fan of When Harry Met Sally or Annie Hall, as a demonstration of what romantic comedy could be and should be, I immediately phoned Nira back and said, "Yeah, I'd like to do this. It'll be fun."
Dappled sunlight and looked at the silver vapor swirling inside. "Mist gathered at first light on the first day of the new moon on the Isle of Avalon," he said. "Yep. Good for one hour of great talent," said Annie. Jack smiled, remembering their hour as horse trainers and their hour as stage magicians. "I wonder what we'll be great at this time," he said. "Maybe great nurses?" said Annie. "We'll see," said Jack. He put the tiny bottle in his backpack; then he picked up the piece of paper from the floor. On the paper he had written the... Read more »
The first real concert, other than going with my dad to see Three Dog Night, was Smashing Pumpkins and Garbage. I was fourteen or fifteen. I liked Shirley Manson because she reminded me of Annie Lennox. They both have these deep, sexy, powerful alto voices.
Did you ever see so many pee-wee hats, Carl?" "They're beanies." "They call them pee-wees in Brooklyn." "But I'm not in Brooklyn." "But you're still a Brooklynite." "I wouldn't want that to get around, Annie." "You don't mean that, Carl." "Ah, we might as well call them beanies, Annie." "Why?" "When in Rome do as the Romans do." "Do they call them beanies in Rome?" she asked artlessly. "This is the silliest conversation...
Put your hand on your heart to keep it from flying off to the lovely magical literary island Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows have created in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. This novel is a delightful mix of fine writing, powerful emotions, glorious settings and amazing characters who deal with life in a way that will have readers falling in love on every single page.
Annie turned away, her eyes glittering. 'Here's what no one tells you,' she said. 'When you deliver a fetus, you get a death certificate, but not a birth certificate. And afterward, your milk comes in, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.' She looked up at me. 'You can't win. Either you have the baby and wear your pain on the outside, or you don't have the baby, and you keep that ache in you forever. I know I didn't do the wrong thing. But I don't feel like I did the right thing, either.
I remember going onstage on Broadway in this Leigh Bowery thing for a track like "Ich Bin Kunst." I've got breasts, this latex dripping down on my head, and I come out in a box. I just remember the audience looking really horrified because Rosie [O'Donnell] was trying to sell the show as sort of Pippin and Annie. She was saying it's a family show.