I am no movie critic, so despite some of the less than glowing Amazon reviews (why do I read them anyway?), I rather enjoyed the first three episodes of The Buccaneers. I read the book by Edith Wharton, which was left unfinished at her death (and later finished by Marion Mainwaring) years ago. It has been so long as a matter of fact that I have forgotten most of the details, and I guess it is time for a reread. The story concerns four nouveau riche American girls who are not accepted by the upper echelons of American high society, so they go to London for the Season in the hope that this will give them more cachet, and they end up marrying (in some cases poor--but what does that matter when you have a title) British aristocrats. It appears (from what I have read) that the film adaptation has taken certain liberties with the original story (which I have forgotten anyway, so it is all lost on me), but I still managed to watch every last minute of. Had I just read the book, I might have felt different--weird how that happens. I plan on getting the second disc from Netflix next. I also watched Gaudy Night, which I wasn't thrilled with for some reason. Maybe I need to stop getting movies that are adapted from novels?
My niece tried to talk me into putting up the Christmas tree today and decorating the house. But it is so much work. It requires moving furniture and getting boxes from high shelves in closets and dark corners in the basement. I am having a hard time getting into the Christmas spirit (it isn't even December yet). Yesterday I had to listen to Christmas music in the car and it grated on me to no end. Why do they play those Chipmunky versions of carols? Do people really like them? Being in the bah humbug mood that I am in, they iritated me to no great end. I will try and work on finding some Christmas spirit this week, so next weekend we can decorate. Maybe, anyway. I can't do anything until Rob Crusoe gets off that darned island anyway....