Soon I will be a dynamo of activity.

Tell me, does cat food really have to fucking smell like that? Galaxy eats hairball control food; maybe that smells worse than most. It just worries me so to hear her make that awful pukey cough. Also, as much as I love her, I can’t get used to the idea of her producing excrement from her mouth. Probably because I love her. It just poses such a challenge to my world-view, to love something that does that. Remember Witches of Eastwick? The book was much clearer in terms of that chick being cursed with the oddments coming out of her mouth and her baffled husband killing her. Also, in the book the Witches were kind of hos (not ‘hoes’, Emlyn, those are garden tools) and smoked lots of reefer, which was cool. Of course, the movie had Cher. Poor Cher. She had her moments. Moonstruck offended me to the very bottom of my genetic structure, though.

I saw the Constant Gardener last night chez Monsieur C. He fell deeply asleep about 15 minutes in. I have a feeling a lot of people would. Me, I like looking at Ralph Fiennes. He could fucking chip the ice out of his freezer for two hours, and as long as he was letting that uncertain delicate smile play across his face while he did it I’d be absolutely fascinated. Man, he could wear his Voldemort makeup and that smile would still make me want to sing Blossom Dearie standards and rock him gently to sleep. Fuck, if Maid in Manhattan was playing on an aeroplane, I wouldn’t avoid looking at the screen; that’s how much I like looking at Ralph Fiennes. I’m pretty sure it was also a good movie. The story was interesting and topical, and the visuals were just lovely. But on reflection I think to really like this movie, you’d need to really like looking at beautiful images of Africa while seeing how it gets fucked over like a $5 rent boy in a frat house during a city-wide stripper strike, or else really like looking at Ralph Fiennes. There was something a little messy about it - one has the sense that things were being left out, and that the book is probably good. Don't know.

Ah, someday I'll read novels again. Mr. D asked if I like spy novels, and I realized I've never read a single one. Someday . . . like Tuesday. I have to hand in my thesis Monday before the election results are announced, because I’m too lazy to do the half-hour of revisions it would take to incorporate whatever new government we’re blessed with into it. We are talking down to the motherfucking wire here. But now it’s opera lesson time. Yay!