Untitled

And then I saw Mr. & Mrs. Smith. I can't get that out of my head. I mean, I really only went to see it because of Angelina Jolie, who is too delicious in the film—there is one screen capture of her I can't wait to take when I get the DVD—but something else is sticking with me, and I don't know how to explain it properly, so I won't try, but it's sitting in the back of my mind, nudging me in the shoulder every once in a while. Besides, explaining it too much would give away spoilers to those who haven't seen it yet, and we don't want to do that now, do we?

I've tried to watch Napoleon Dynamite twice already, and I can't do it. The kid is just too freaky to find funny, and while the humor elsewhere in the movie is there, I can feel it, I can't stand looking at him. That painfully-tight curly do and those thick, giant glasses make me wince in pain. Maybe if I just listen to the dialogue...

I'm starting to hate this job...again. I'm sure I've written about this before. But now I realize why I hate it: I'm doing the work of two people, a manager and a publisher, and I'm getting toxed out and tired of being dumped on. I can't complain too much because I'm still here and collecting a paycheck, and I promised myself that I would stay through the submissions this year. Drama, I know, but it's starting to hurt a little. I still want to drive a truck.

I was silly enough to write this at 9:10 AM