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  Uh Oh, It's The Sad Music

22 November 1999

8:52 PM: Hey, Happy JFK Day, everybody!

My Gosh, my tastes really are right down there in the alley. I mean, I can tell that this Buffy soundtrack is mostly radio fluff, but I really like it anyway. There's a case to be made, anyway, for good fluff. Pop Songs Rule.

So, saw Fight Club Saturday, finally. Surprised me, but I think what surprises me more is that I was able to go this long without having some dumbass give away the plot twists. The movie itself, it was OK. It had funny parts. It was not as profound as some people think. I'm not sure how profound the director thought it was, though it's pretty clear that the writer of the base novel was pretty impressed with his bad self. Reminded me of The Dice Man for good and for bad. And I think it will end up confusing and/or draining the energy out of those impressionable young apes who I feared would go see it and come out all Rockyized, looking to start fights just like in da movies!

Did not go see Being John Malkovich this Sunday, however, as I left the house late - only 40 minutes before the movie started - and it was sold out. But then the only reason I wanted to go see that particular film was that Lauren said she wanted to go, and when I called her that afternoon she had forgotten about it and started making 15-bean-soup, which required like 3 or 4 hours attention, and her back was bothering her anyway, so sorry.

As it turned out, everyone else went and said it was great. Or came as close as they could to saying anything at all, when I wandered down to the bar around 11:30 Sunday night and found them in their 5th hour there. So they had a fine time.

Today, I had to fill out an evaluation form for my review at work. I hate those things. It's so context-free. I sort of don't do them very well. "Q. What are the employee's developmental needs in terms of promotion potential?" "A. To be more better at stuff."

All quite pointless anyway, as there's a definite smell of endgames and the auction block around here. Or, I might just be a wee bit black-spirited. D'ya think? Oh maybe yes. Discovering that one has to get a note from a doctor to be, er, fully functional, well it does put one in a bleak frame of mind. Not that it's actually of any immediate importance one way or another. And isn't that wonderful, too, yes yes.

OK, Rasputina isn't exactly NORMAL radio fluff...

The appropriate mystery of the day is that the last line from the new Kristin Hersh song, "A Cleaner Life" - the line that's been running through my head all weekend - doesn't appear on the lyric sheet:

They only talk to you
You're there

Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.

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