My cinematic flick of the moment is Chicago. I fell out of the rush when it was hot -- almost determinedly -- but a Floridian friend's appreciation led to a second run. I hum now, everywhere, John C. Reilly's pathetic rendition of "Mister Cellophane." I was in fact planning to call this blog "Miss Cellophane", but it lost out to the more pretentious and punny "Gloriana." I suppose the former, with its sniffy, fearless "Miss", pushed the label of independent-yet-feminine woman just a tad too far for my reach.