::crickets chirping::
Yes, okay, fine, I probably just imagined most of that.
Funny how listening to British guys bitch is far more charming than listening to Americans piss and moan. All the colorful slang and accents kept reminding me of Spike.
Spoon! Spoon was one of those great sideline characters. I thought for sure I must have seen his actor (Darren Morfitt) before in something, but IMDb convinced me otherwise. Then I realized what it was: he's the eerie love child of Andrew McCarthy and a young Peter Riegert.
I seriously thought about staying on the couch for Cyborg 2, starring a baby Angelina Jolie, but decided it looked like a yawn. Jury is still out on whether I drag my limp carcass one block to Starbucks to drink latte and reread noir.
On the way to the bedroom I noticed my last rental tapes sitting on the floor. I think they are, like, ten days overdue.
Commercials suck, on the whole. Individually they can be fascinating, and I do zone out and watch most of them, which worries me--subliminal advertising is not outside the realm of suspicion. But commercials with kittens in them make me meep sadly. The only time I think seriously even for a moment about giving up my apartment is for the chance to move somewhere that would let me have a tiny little muffiny handful of kitten. But I knock on wood because it's a great apartment, with the best landlords in the universe, no exaggeration--they leave cookies outside my door! they think of me like a daughter! someone else's daughter! but even so!--and so I must stiffen my wobbly lower lip and get over that.
You can always tell when I'm looking for any excuse to post in LJ.
