i've no idea if i liked mamma mia or not. on the one hand, the hesitation must mean i didn't, because if i did like it, i'd rave and curse and start throwing hyperboles. on the other hand, i've seen movies that really sucked and i knew i hated them right away.
why did i stop listening to norah jones? maybe it was the lure of the obscure. the rhyme is unintentional. it stays. i don't like writing about the music i love. you listen to music. you say shit about it but that's secondary. this is secondary, what i'm doing.
reading raymond carver's short cuts. a million directors couldn't make a decent adaptation even of a mediocre work. robert altman made a film based on nine carver short stories and one poem. if that wasn't genius, then what is.
i wish i could write about something else. like how my date with this person made me happy. or how i laughed today because someone i really like told a funny story. fiction's an option but that's just sad. and imagination has limits. i'm not that bad, i think. i should be happier.
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