Cody and I recently watched Paris, Je T'aime. This film is far from our typical rental norm, being (a) foreign, and (b) a conglomeration of short films.
I don't even remember how I stumbled upon it. I think I was looking up pictures of someone to prove to Cody how alike they looked. (I tend to think people look a lot alike, where other people don't. Take, for instance, Brat Pitt:
and Djimon Hounsou:
I think they could be brothers--skin color aside. Cody think's I'm crazy.)
Anyway, once we saw one of Cody's favorite actors (Steve Buscemi) was in one of the short films, and a few were directed by directors we knew (the Coen brothers, Wes Craven), we decided to Netflix it.
It was delightful, fun, and amazing how much story could be put into about five minutes. It made me want to travel. It made me want to learn French. It made me want to read short stories.
Given that the last was the only thing I can feasibly do at this moment, when I stumbled upon Heat Wave in a discount store the other day, and saw that Katie MacAlister (one of my all-time favorite authors) was one of the authors of a novella therein, I purchased the book. I've been laughing my way through MacAlister's story the last two days. I recommend it already, and I haven't even finished it.