BIG SCREEN: The Smurfs

When you think of Smurfs, what immediately comes to mind? 80s phenomenon? Annoying theme song? How ‘bout an international cosmetics company headed by a psychotic Latino woman? “No” on that last one? Yeah, me neither. Which is why this movie was sort of confusing to me. Perhaps I should explain.

Y’see, in this movie, Papa Smurf (Jonathan Winters) and several of his little blue children find themselves lost in Manhattan after being sucked through a vortex while being chase by their nemesis, the evil wizard, Gargamel (Hank Azaria), and his conniving kitty, Azrael. Desperate to get back to their Smurfalicious world, they seek the assistance of a cosmetics industry marketing executive (Neil Patrick Harris) and his pregnant wife (Jayma Mays, who’s apparently on Glee). His effort to please his ruthless boss (Sofia Vergara) by creating a brilliant ad campaign becomes central to the plot. And I’m not really sure why. Weird, but whatever.

Other than that odd choice, filmmakers definitely adhered to the original formula. The little blue creatures, each named after their defining traits (Brainy, Grouchy… Happy, Sneezy, Doc?), have good intentions, but of course, wind up wreaking havoc. And, yes, they sing that hideous song. I’ll be honest -- the whole Smurf thing didn’t really work for me the first time around in the 80s, so I pretty much assumed that this would not exactly be my cup of tea. And I was right.

But, let’s talk about what worked: Hank Azaria’s portrayal of Gargamel, for one. I mean, is there any wacky character or voice this guy can’t handle? (I’m psyched to see his new comedy series, Free Agents, on NBC this fall, by the way.) The script didn’t give him as many funny lines as I’d like, but “Son of a Smurf!” was a pretty good one. As was “Smurf me!” uttered by a frustrated Neil Patrick Harris, who was pretty adorable (and obviously a good sport) in this role. And might I compliment Katy Perry on her portrayal of Smurfette? The girl was born to do cartoon voiceovers.

All in all, it’s pretty faithful to the original TV series, so if it floated your boat back then – or if you’re under the age of 7 – you’ll probably have a Smurftastic time. Otherwise, this is one of those “take one for the team” experiences for mom and dad.

BIG SCREEN: Friends with Benefits Revieux (Rated-R)

To me, Justin Timberlake is like frozen lemonade from a can. Is it enjoyable? Yeah, if you only take a tiny spoonful at a time. But, in larger doses, it certainly needs a whole lotta diluting to make it palatable.

JT’s skits on SNL? Great. Performances as a supporting actor in movies? Not too shabby. But, a leading man in a 94-minute romantic comedy? My brain puckered at the thought. (And Mila Kunis – forever the cloying Jackie from That 70s Show in my mind – wasn’t much more appetizing.) But, I’m a good sport. I was willing to give Friends with Benefits a shot.

Here’s the story… Dylan (Timberlake) and Jamie (Kunis) become platonic pals when she, an executive headhunter, recruits him to become GQ magazine’s new art director in New York. Fresh out of rotten relationships and unwilling to get entangled in new ones, they decide to attempt the impossible. (Normally, I would let the seemingly obvious title speak for itself. But, I’m going to assume not everyone knows what the phrase means, considering a pair of geniuses brought their 10-ish-year-old kid to the screening I attended. Let’s give ‘em the benefit of the doubt and assume they didn’t know it means, “people who have sex without romantic commitment.” Oy.)

Anyway, in an ironic little wink-wink, nudge-nudge to the audience, the two bond over their shared disdain for Hollywood romantic comedies. Aren’t they clever? But, as one would imagine, they soon discover that their seemingly simple relationship is fraught with complications all its own.

Feel like you’ve seen/heard this concept half-a-billion times? I thought the issue of can you/can’t you was settled by Jerry Seinfeld and Elaine Benes about 15 years ago. Early in the movie, I was not feeling confident they could pull this thing off – and a corny flash mob scene didn’t help. I think I actually groaned aloud. Uuuuuuuuuugh.

But, then came the first sex scene, and it was hy-ster-i-cal. Not an easy task. After a just-okay start, this sucker actually got a little traction and things really started rolling. Both actors not only prove they have solid comedic chops, but their chemistry (in both a comedic and romantic sense) is pretty powerful, too. Color me impressed, youngsters!

A couple of veteran actors up the ante even further. Patricia Clarkson (New Orleans girl!) plays Jamie’s free-spirited, free-love-advocating mom. Woody Harrelson plays Dylan’s highly gregarious gay coworker (a character that serves no real purpose in the plot, but is entertaining, nonetheless). Both turn in effervescent, scene-stealing performances that make you wish someone would cast them in bigger roles, for heaven’s sake. (Jenna Elfman and Richard Jenkins play Dylan’s sister and dad, and while they’re perfectly fine, they’re far less dynamic than the aforementioned.)

Is this movie groundbreaking territory? No way. Is it Woody-Allen-late-70s brilliant? Nope. But the dialogue is tight, the banter witty, the performances energetic. Despite my initial reservations, I actually found it kind of delightful. Like a refreshing glass of lemonade. Fresh squeezed. Minus the pucker.

BIG SCREEN: Winnie the Pooh Revieux (Rated-G)

Why do these reviews so often start with a confession? Okay, here’s this week’s: I was fighting multiple layers of cynicism before this movie even started. I was close to $30 in the hole for snacks and admission to a 69-minute movie that was probably going to bore and/or annoy me out of my gourd. (I’ve been nominated for “Mother of the Year” for my selflessness on multiple occasions, doncha know?) Add to it that my son, the kindergarten grifter, admitted to me after the purchase of the aforementioned sugary snacks that he had, in fact, consumed a sno-ball and two packs of Starburst at camp before I picked him up. I was in a great mood at this point, lemme tell you.

With black cloud firmly in place over my head, I sat back and dared this movie to even remotely entertain me. It’s a good thing it’s dark in there, because man, was I rolling my eyes over the plot. First of all, that perpetually complaining downer, Eeyore (who I actually love and can relate to, for obvious reasons), has lost his tail and needs everyone’s help finding it. Secondly, Pooh is desperately in search of “hunny,” but no one cares. And, finally, Christopher Robin has left a note that the essentially illiterate animals misinterpret. Instead of reading that he’ll “be back soon,” that know-it-all Owl tells them he’s been kidnapped by the “Backson” monster. Genius, no? Ugh. I’ll never make it, I thought.

But a curious thing happened as the movie progressed. Little children, including my own, began giggling hysterically at this simple-minded, uninventive, two-dimensional little filmette. They’re laughing? They’re enjoying it? How can that be? There’s no burping, no fart jokes, no pies in the faces. No C.G.I. trickery, nor fancy car chases. And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say -- that the grumpy mom's small heart grew three sizes that day…

Yes, it was like I was sitting atop a giant sleigh full of Christmas, watching the Who’s celebrate the true meaning of Pooh Bear. Suddenly, even I found myself laughing with the kiddies over stuff, like the following exchange:

Rabbit: Can you tie a knot?
Piglet: Um, I can *not* knot.
Rabbit: Not knot?
Pooh: Who's there?

I finally chilled out and saw that the beauty of this movie lies in its simplicity and sense of tradition. Eeyore, Pooh, Piglet, Kanga, Roo, Rabbit, Owl, and of course, Tigger -- they all look and sort of sound the same as they did 30+ years ago. There’s a certain level of comfort in that kind of nostalgia. Especially when little kids, who are being raised on electronic devices and high-tech everything, still love it. And, I mean, when’s the last time you saw an actual G-Rated movie?

Somehow, I missed the fact that John Cleese narrates and Craig Ferguson voices Owl, or maybe I would’ve snapped out of my grouchy funk a little sooner. I did, however, recognize that coolness personified, Ms. Zooey Deschanel (Jovie from the movie Elf and singer from the duo She & Him), was singing some of the Pooh tunes. That probably helped propel me out of the crankiness a little, too.

Bottom line: it’s a beautiful thing. Straight out of an old A.A. Milne book with no bells and whistles. If your kid digs it, maybe there’s still hope for this next generation. If you still dig it, maybe you haven’t lost your soul to the Dark Lord of Parental Cynicism, afterall.

BIG SCREEN: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2 in 3D Revieux (Rated PG-13)

I ‘spose I should preface this by admitting that I’ve not read all the Harry Potter books. Just the first one. And, though I’ve seen all the movies, I do not possess intimate, detailed knowledge of every magical, Muggly, Hogwartsian term. Nor can I chart the relation of one obscure character to the next and back again. I do, however, really dig the movies.

In this, the eighth and final installment, Harry, Hermione, and Ron (Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint) continue their quest to find and destroy the final “Horcruxes,” objects containing fragments of evil Voldemort’s soul, which is supposed to result in the destruction of the Dark Lord (Ralph Fiennes). From the opening scene, there’s an eery, sinister sense of foreboding that never really lets up. Many characters from previous Potter films show up for this grand finale, and while it adds a sweet layer of nostalgia, the audience is well-aware that none of them are safe. Nerve. Wracking.

Just as we’ve watched the young stars mature over the years, so have the films themselves. Much of the levity and wonderment in the earlier films are cast aside in order to create this serious, ominous mood. I really don’t want to reveal much more (especially for my fellow clueless non-readers), other than to say a lot of loose ends are tied up, the battle between good and evil is truly epic, the special effects are mindboggling and often highly disturbing (not sure my 5-year-old could’ve handled it), and the emotional conclusion is deeply satisfying. (Even the 3D is done right! No hokey pandering to the camera, it just enhances the whole experience!)

I’m actually kind of glad I didn’t read the books first, especially the final one. There’s no way filmmakers can translate every detail from the written page onto the screen, and I’d hate for any missing elements or minor plot changes to distract me from this amazing movie.

While I’m not nearly as emotionally invested in the films and the characters as true, rabid Potter fans and kids who have grown up with both the book and movie series, I still found myself very choked up multiple times. I also found myself flinching, gripping the arms of my chair, and holding my breath. Really, what more can you ask of a movie?

So, yeah -- wow. Pure movie magic. Sad to see the series end, but what a way to go!

BIG SCREEN: Incendies Revieux

Have you ever tried to write with your opposite hand – just to see if you could do it? Turns out, it’s not only a challenging exercise, but it actually stimulates the growth of new brain cells. I have a theory that watching foreign films does the same thing. I bring this up because I recently saw my first foreign film in about eight years. Believe it or not, there was one year, back in my full-time movie reviewing days in the late 90s, when I saw every single Oscar-nominated film, including short form and foreign. Then I got married and had a baby, and I was lucky if I got to see anything that didn’t start off with a shot of Cinderella’s castle.

So, how fortuitous that my first foray back into the genre was with such a good and highly decorated film. Incendies is a French-Canadian film about two generations deeply affected by the Lebanese Civil War of the 1970s and 80s. Upon a Lebanese woman’s death in Quebec, her adult children find out the strange contents of their mother’s will, and the even more bizarre and cryptic letters of instruction she’s left behind. To understand it all, they have to return to their mother’s homeland and discover the brutal truth behind her true identity. It’s a rather epic odyssey that switches back and forth from the daughter’s modern-day search, to her mother’s horrific experience decades earlier.

In the first few minutes of the film, I was really wishing I’d done a little research on the political and religious backdrop. Who was who and why they were being persecuted, and by whom? It was a little confusing to my feeble brain. But as the story progressed, all the necessary pieces began to fall into place.

I hate that my twisted mind jumped ahead and figured out the disturbing twist to the story (I’m still undecided if this is my gift or curse), but I was still dying to see how it unfolded. And it didn’t disappoint. Just so we’re clear, I’m certainly no high-minded intellectual who frequents foreign films, then sits around chain smoking and sucking down espresso in coffeehouses while engaging in a heated discussion with other sophisticates. So, when a subtitled movie grabs my attention and keeps me riveted, I know they’ve done something right that transcends the language barrier. The story is both beautiful and horrifying, and the performances are really powerful.

I know, I know. Foreign films aren’t for everybody. But it is cool to see how the longer you watch the movie, the more your brain is able to simultaneously process the subtitles, images and even the nuances of the actors’ performances – and, voila! You’re a little smarter. Or so I’d like to think.

BIG EASY: The Running of the Bulls

Have I mentioned lately how much I love this city? I knew for sure I’d moved to the right place when last year, one month after our arrival, my husband and I discovered San Fermin in Nueva Orleans, aka, The Running of the Bulls. Yep. Right here in New Orleans.

Have you heard of this phenomenon? (I accidentally typed “herd,” but thought I'd spare you the unintentional bad pun. You’re welcome.) Every July since 2007, a bunch of wacky party people, dressed in all manner of Spanish-y, bullfighteresque, and/or Elvis-related attire, have been celebrating the historic Spanish festival by meeting at the crack of dawn to have some cocktails, then embark on an 8am run through the streets of New Orleans, while being chased by roller derby girls armed with foam or plastic bats. Yes, the Big Easy Roller Girls don horns and become… da bulls. And, yes, they taunt and smack the runners, who enjoy every second of it.

When we happened upon it last year, we wondered why the heck more people don’t attend this awesome, crazy fest! Well, apparently, the word is out. Last year’s ragtag group of hundreds (my estimate) who gathered in a remote section of the Quarter, exploded into a mob of 10,000 (their estimate) this year in the CBD! Holy smokes!

We arrived in the vicinity of the starting/finish line outside Ernst Café on S. Peters Street a little before 7am on Saturday. As expected, the joint was already hopping. Sangria, wine, and beer were flowing, a stage was set up, music was cranking, and crazily costumed revelers were milling about as far as the eye could see.

There were drummers drumming, buglers bugling, ladies dancing, lords a-leaping. You name it. Finally, a Grand Poobah of sorts, decked out in a papalish, feathered ensemble, called the crowd to order and led some irreverent pre-run prayers in a wonderfully booming, Renaissance Fair delivery. The crowd ate it up! An effigy of Saint Fermin was paraded through the crowd, then it was time for the main event.

When the announcement came for the bulls and the “drunken monkeys,” aka, runners, came over the PA, we found ourselves caught in the crush of the teeming masses, and unable to see any of the actual run! (We’ve already formulated a better plan for next year.) So, we people-watched/shuffled our way toward the last stretch of the course to witness the final gauntlet. Oh, the gauntlet. See, they send the runners and bulls out in chunks, so when each group of bulls returns, they begin forming a gauntlet through which the runners must pass.

Amazingly enough, there were kids there, too. (Can you see the tiny mustache on the baby in this picture?!) Some were actually running, some in strollers… we, however, shipped ours off to Grandma. When they’re too big to ride on shoulders, yet small enough to get trampled, it just ain’t worth it to me to fight this kind of crowd. Plus, y’know, I wanted to suck down some sangria. But to each his own.

Obviously, the bulls took it easy on the munchkins, but it was open season on adults. We were most impressed by one “Mary Choppins,” a lovely bull whose butt-smacking technique was both elegant and brutal (that's her, pictured below). There were many clever roller girl nicknames, and I’ve been kicking around ideas for my own. I can’t decide between “Yosemite Slam” and “Buster Chops.” Get it? “Bust her” – oh, nevermind.

The run is actually only one element in the entire, four-day San Fermin Festival. There were parties and wine dinners and Ernest Hemingway look-alikes. But we really only had the energy (and babysitting) for the run on Saturday. Such is the life of the middle-aged parents.

If I ever were to go to Pamplona for the “official” Running of the Bulls, I image I’d still watch from the sidelines, as I do for the local one. I’d probably still drink plenty of sangria, too. But, while I’d probably get a serious adrenaline rush in anticipation of seeing someone get gored to death before my very eyes, I doubt it would be as silly, fun, and irreverent as the New Orleans edition! But, ain't that always the case?! We are so spoiled living in this fun-lovin' town!

Olé!

PS -- I'm happy to report that no one in my group has experienced any sort of blindness or death as a result of that last cup of sangria we purchased from strangers selling it out of a cooler on the sidewalk. *Shudder*

For more information on the San Fermin in Nueva Orleans/The Running of the Bulls, visit http://www.nolabulls.com/.

BIG SCREEN: Horrible Bosses Revieux (Rated R)

After two great, girl-powered comedies in a row (Bridesmaids and Bad Teacher), I guess it’s time to let the boys have their fun with Horrible Bosses. It stars Jason Bateman, Jason Sudeikis, and Charlie Day as three working stiffs whose lives are being made miserable by, you guessed it, their horrible bosses. When they all simultaneously reach their breaking point, the trio makes a pact to kill those bosses. With the help of a menacing thug (Jamie Foxx), they come up with a foolproof plan that’s just bound to go smoothly. Right? Just as you’d expect, it disintegrates into chaotic, madcapped hijinks, as all buddy comedies do.

Great as they are with the quips and seemingly off-the-cuff little remarks, Bateman and Sudeikis could easily have been replaced with, say, Vince Vaughn and Paul Rudd. But Charlie Day is another story. If you watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia (as my husband does), you’re quite familiar with this guy. For the rest of us, he’s a total unknown, which is actually refreshing. Next to his co-stars’ much more understated, sarcastic performances, his high-pitched, neurotic, borderline hysteria makes him the standout. Sort of like Steve Carell without the baggage of recognition from previous high profile characters. It's fun to discover great new comedic talent, isn't it?

You know how they say in real estate, it’s all about location location location? Well, this movie is all about casting casting casting. The writing is silly enough, but without the actors they chose to play the bosses, I don’t think it would’ve worked so well. The role of the psycho, man-eating, nymphomaniac boss could’ve been played well by a multitude of sultry actresses, but seeing girl-next-door, romantic-comedy-princess Jennifer Aniston in the role just elevates it to another level. Shock value, maybe? Kevin Spacey’s character is especially evil, which isn’t really a stretch for him, but when he laughs so hysterically and convincingly in Jason Bateman’s face for referring to his dead grandmother as “Gam-Gam,” he shows his true genius. But, best of all… Colin The-hottest-badboy-Irishman-on-the-planet Ferrell as a disgusting, fat, sloppy, heartless cokehead with a horrific comb-over? Pure. Comedy. Gold.

Will it be ranked among the funniest films ever? Nah. But I’m a sucker for a movie with a strong cast whose sole mission is to crack you up. No message, no moral, no attempt to win any awards. Everybody looked like they had an absolute blast making this, and that energy certainly carries over into the audience.

Just fun!

BIG SCREEN: Zookeeper Revieux (Rated PG)

Of all the movies coming out this summer, for some odd reason, my 5-year-old has been most excited about Zookeeper. Moreso than Cars or even Kung Fu Panda. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times he’s reenacted a scene from the trailer between Kevin James and a monkey. “How long have you been able to talk?” “Let’s see, today is Tuesday, so… forever!” Cracks him up everytime. I managed to stop myself from warning him about how some movies put all their funny stuff in the commercials. I figure he’s got plenty of time to become as cynical and jaded as dear old mom.

So, the premise. Kevin James plays a dedicated zookeeper named Griffin who lavishes the animals with all kinds of individual attention and works alongside a lovely girl named Kate (Rosario Dawson), in whom he inexplicably shows absolutely no interest. When his beautiful but shallow ex-girlfriend, Stephanie (Leslie Bibb), who brutally declined his elaborate marriage proposal five years earlier, reenters his life, all the zoo animals love Griffin so much that they decide to let him in on their being-able-to-speak secret in order to give him romantic advice. This advice includes peeing on stuff and cutting her off from the herd. When she gives him another chance, he has to decide if it’s worth it to leave the zoo to become the man Stephanie wants him to be, or stay true to himself. (I’m sure you’re just dying to know which one he chooses…)

Okay, may I be blunt? This movie stunk like the stuff the monkey suggested Griffin throw at Stephanie’s other suitor. I hate to say it, because I actually had hopes for this movie. I used to love Kevin James’ standup routines, and it just seemed like a slam-dunk to pair his priceless, subtle expressions and physical comedy with outrageous animal antics. But it wasn’t. What happened? For one thing, even the most basic sight-gags fell flat. How can watching a wolf teach a dude how to mark his territory not elicit a huge guffaw from the audience? Because it was so terribly executed, that's how. Another reason for the overall failure? A bunch of TV writers, Adam Sandler (one of the producers), and the director from The Wedding Singer decided to take the same basic premise from The Wedding Singer and broaden the audience to include middle-schoolers by slapping on a little Dr. Doolittle action, and as you can imagine from that description, it didn't work. My son hardly laughed, I hardly laughed. Who were they aiming for? Were they even trying? Because they managed to miss both demograhics completely.

And the animal antics this movie seemed to promise? Lame and decidedly not hilarious. Even when an animated or talking-animal movie’s not so great, usually I love playing “Guess who’s doing the voice overs?” I got Cher and Sly Stallone as the lions pretty easily (though, they were given no awesome lines nor opportunities to parody themselves. Really?!). Nick Nolte as the gorilla and Jon Favreau as one of the bears weren’t too tough to guess, either. As for the rest of them, well, to tell you the truth – they were so annoying, I just didn’t care. It actually sounded like they grabbed people off the street and told them to simply tighten up their throats and read through the script. I never would have guessed that Adam Sandler was the monkey, as it sounded like a really bad Gilbert Gottfried impression. And Maya Rudolph as the giraffe? A really lethargic Wanda Sykes-ish knockoff.

Wow. Disappointing.

On the bright side, the closing credits and outtakes are sort of funny. So, if you stick it out through the whole movie, at least there’s that.

BIG EASY: Degas in New Orleans

A few months ago, I came across this really cool kids’ art book at the library called, “The Usborne Art Treasury: Pictures, Paintings, and Projects,” by Rosie Dickins. It includes brief stories about some well-known artists’ lives and techniques, vibrant images of their work, and corresponding projects with step-by-step instruction. I was so excited when I found it! Which is why it sat around my house for months while I renewed it 20 times before I could figure out exactly how I wanted to use it. Finally, my son and I found ourselves in a camp/activity lull last week, and there’s nothing like a bored five-year-old to motivate a mom.

We randomly dove into the Vincent Van Gogh project first. Thick, swirly paint, the story of a dude who goes crazy and cuts his ear off? I was correct in assuming this would be a big hit with my son. But as I skimmed through the book, I came across a section on Edgar Degas and the light bulb popped up over my head. Degas lived in New Orleans for a while – field trip possibilities! Yes!

First we headed on over to the New Orleans Museum of Art (on a Wednesday afternoon, of course, because it’s free!), to visit a few real-live Degas pieces. Our project was going to involve pastels, so checking out the smudgy technique was of particular interest.

The next day we swung by the Degas House at 2306 Esplanade Avenue in Mid-City. The half-hour film they show before the tours is quite interesting for adults – not so much for squirmy kids (thank goodness for Bakugan and pen and paper). It tells of a French artist in a midlife/identity crisis who seeks a temporary change of scenery at his mother’s Creole family home in New Orleans. Problem was, it was 1872 and New Orleans was in the middle of the miserable Reconstruction, so it wasn’t exactly a party town. Yet, Degas found inspiration in our fair city, creating several classic paintings here, then returning to France and launching a revolutionary new art movement with his fellow impressionists.

Oh, and after he left, his stupid brother ran off with some ol' hussy neighbor, leaving behind his blind wife, Estelle, the subject in many of Degas’ works (pictured below, on the balcony of the Degas House), and his children. An uncle adopted the kids and changed their names to Musson, forever severing that branch of the Degas family in New Orleans. Years later, they wound up dividing the house in half, much like the family! Today, it’s two separate buildings that serve as a bed and breakfast, museum, and event facility. Each guest room is dedicated to a member of the family who lived there, and you can see the actual backdrops for some of Degas’ paintings around the property.

We did a DIY tour, out of squirmy-little-boy necessity, and I was able to summarize the film as we explored the house. He actually retained some of the information from the film on his own, but was disappointed that Degas didn’t engage in any self-mutilation, a la Van Gogh, but what are ya gonna do?

Our abridged tour was fun and all, but I’m totally planning to schedule a breakfast/tour with my mother-in-law and grandmother-in-law, which includes a Creole breakfast, bloody mary or mimosa, AND a tour conducted by Degas’ real-live grandnieces! How cool is that?! They also have Tuesday “Bottles and Brushes with Degas” events, which include a social hour followed by painting instruction.

Our next stop was, of course, Café Degas, which is just a few blocks north at 3127 Esplanade, in the Bayou St. John district. What a quaint little joint! It feels like a cross between a treehouse and a Parisian café. Most of it is “outside” on a covered deck, thankfully enclosed with plastic and air-conditioned in the summertime. There’s a tree growing right through the middle and each table is covered by a white table cloth, adorned with sparkly Chambord-bottle flower vases, and surrounded by charmingly shabby white wrought iron chairs. My son’s not much on fromage or La Salade Niçoise, so we just split the Dark Chocolate Decadence dessert – ooh la la! Unfortunately, the boy wolfed down much of it while I perused the amazing menu. The brunch and cocktail/wine selections were especially appealing to me. Just saying, “Châteauneuf-du-Pape” makes me want to brush up on my French and renew my passport! Or, y'know, at least plan a foofy girlie lunch or romantic date night.

Finally, we headed home to start on our project: “Pastel Dancers.” I had the soft pastels covered, but wouldn’t you know we were out of dark construction paper? (It's wise to review the supply list before getting started.) Oh, well – we made due with some sort of rough watercolor paper from our craft bin and dove into the chalky, messy, smudgy goodness. I wondered if my son would fight me on the ballerina subject matter, but I think after learning so much about the male artist who created the masterpieces, gender issues never came up. YES! Once again, I think it’s about hitting that window early!

For more information on the places we visited, please go to:
http://www.noma.org/
http://www.degashouse.com/
http://www.cafedegas.com/