Sam and I firmly believe that bathing should be elevated to an art form.

It’s after 11 p.m., and I can safely say that Memorial Day was a certifiable dud here at Howdygram headquarters. The high spots included such activities as: 1) watching Behind the Candelabra from last night on HBO; 2) ordering Chinese food; 3) assembling my new Cuisinart Speed Stick immersion blender; and 4) writing this post. I suppose I should also acknowledge my afternoon online shopping spree, during which I purchased two kinds of Dial body wash, vanilla extract, a big bottle of store-brand arthritis-strength imitation Tylenol and Fleischmann’s bread machine yeast from Wal-Mart, plus a really cool high-power Delta showerhead from Amazon because Sam and I firmly believe that bathing should be elevated to an art form. Please stay tuned for a showerhead review. (It arrives on Thursday.)

So by now everybody knows I finally watched that much-anticipated HBO biopic, Behind the Candelabra. Frankly, I agree with Rob Lowe’s early assessment that it’s the gayest movie ever made. I thought Michael Douglas was a little too old, a little too pruny and more than a little frightening as Liberace who, we find out, was a really creepy predator where teenage boys were concerned. Here are a few relevant photos for your possible interest. I loved Debbie Reynolds as Liberace’s mother (if I hadn’t seen her name in the  credits I never would have known it was her) and Rob Lowe was awesome as Liberace’s drunk plastic surgeon doing face lifts with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

I plan to watch Behind the Candelabra a second time because I was so busy laughing I’m pretty positive I missed something important. And it’s worth 90 minutes of my life to see Matt Damon again in a rhinestone Speedo. HOLY CRAP.

Thank you for reading this.