So, Casino Royale is better than any James Bond movie since, like, Octopussy. The theme music was crap, the credit sequence was crap, the bit where Daniel Craig was naked was crap because I couldn't bear to look because his testicles were getting whipped, the product placement was obtrusive and the lovey-dovey scenes were crap. But it really doesn't matter because the all the action sequences were good, especially for someone like me who usually thinks action scenes are retarded.
As for Daniel Craig, well . . . If our Lord held a gun to my head and commanded me to have a two-man threesome with the partners of my choice, they would be Daniel Craig and Benjamin Biolay. Which is really the point of good Bond, isn't it? Except if I walked into a bedroom where Benjamin Biolay and Daniel Craig were waiting, I think my knees would give out. Not that it would matter; I don't think the point of a two-man threesome would be me doing a lot of stuff.
No other news. No other news in particular from Belgium; perhaps that ship has sailed. I wonder how much that bothers me. Some. Some not. This weekend will be nice. I need to decompress because work has really been making me want to shoot myself lately. Maybe if I didn't have a job like the one I do now, I wouldn't notice product placements in Bond films. Maybe Dr. No was actually full of product placements in equal measure, and I never noticed because Ursula Andress was so pretty.
Oh god, I hate the advertising so. Yesterday I editted an article about a television advertising campaign in the States for stomach stapling or banding or something, that's going to go on air post-holidays when everyone is feeling extra fat. Merciful fuck. I can't take this shit anymore.