I’m sitting on my chaise in the dark, Macbook Pro in lap, curtains open to the snow outside. Every now and then, the wind catches a loose patch of snow, and it sounds like sand dragging along the ground outside. If you close your eyes, it’s like you’re sitting on a beach at low-tide under a night sky.

I haven’t done this in a while.

The show is over. There’s supposed to be one more interview next week, but at least I can breathe now. I’ve finally had time to clean the house, which is probably why I feel comfortable enough to write.

There are icons for movies on my desktop, ones I’ve started watching but haven’t finished, because I haven’t been able to emotionally invest in them. I did, however, get a chance to watch Cidade de Deus which is the best movie I’ve seen in months, and Constantine, purely for the Tilda-Swinton-as-angel factor.

I realized that I like girls who look like boys. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m gay.

On a sticky, I seem to have written “a small pair of skis”. I don’t remember doing this, or what for. There’s also a phone number there with no name. I want to call the number to find out who it is, but I’d just hang up if someone answered and that’d be rude.

I should call Dan. I should reorganize my photos for appropriate backup. I should be practicing Tai Chi. I should be having more fun. I should be filling out my thought record worksheets.

But right now, I should really be in bed.

I usually have to be in a very specific mood to watch Ghost World, but something about it is striking a chord with me right now, and this time it’s not just SJs sullen voice. The humour is drier than Rushmore, which says something about the skills of Terry Zwigoff’s as a director. The risk of unsaturated humour is that it very easily goes unrecognized, especially without a laugh track. The last time I watched Ghost World was before I ever saw Mr. Show, so it’s only now that I can really appreciate David Cross’s cameo performance.

Seymour is my god, cause it’s obviously him and he doesn’t care.

I really don’t know what I was expecting from Pieces of April, but its documentary-style directing and well thought out script made it an effective movie nonetheless. In the end, Peter Hedges presents the last few scenes in still photographs, letting the audience come up with their own reactions and dialogue. All one is sure of is that everything is resolved, and everyone is having a good time. And for a movie like this, that becomes the most important thing.

Troy ended up being a mediocre movie, that didn’t have much plot, character development, or any good action scenes (save one, maybe two). I’m sure there was more in it for the girls than the guys. I mean, Diane Kruger is hot, but much better without all the makeup and frills. I was pleasantly reminded about Odysseus’s little part in the story, although they got Sean Bean to portray him, the actor who also tries to kill Frodo in Lord of the Rings, betrays his partner in Equilibrium, screws up a weapons deal then throws up in the gettaway car in Ronin, and tries to destroy England in GoldenEye.

After seeing Bean in these fuck-up, bad guy roles, it’s hard to imagine him as the great Greek hero, especially since Odysseus has always been my favourite Greek character. He’s the guy who’s totally balanced; a brain, an athlete, a host, a warrior, an artist, famous for his cleverness and cunning. He’s the guy who stayed faithful to Penelope while being pursued by Calypso and Circe, the guy who dared to listen to the sirens sing, the guy who came up with the idea of the Trojan horse, the guy who tried everything in his power to get his crew home safely through every obstacle imaginable, but the only one with the tenacity to make it. If Odysseus was alive today, I’d give him my props.

School of Rock was very well done and very enjoyable.

Lost in Translation was great. Everything about the film was successful, but I especially enjoyed the subtleness. The direction was perfect, in how underplayed and minimalistic it made everything seem. I wasn’t truly impressed though until I found out that Sophia Coppola wrote the script as well. Bill Murray was made for the part, but everyone else was satisfactory. The entire movie felt to me like a simple glimpse into the chance interaction of two people, and it began as gently as it ended. The audience is left as an observer, which made everything all the more believable to me. I interpreted the story as the interaction of two people, who are at two completely different points in their lives. As a result, their communication becomes jumbled. Lost in translation. They discuss the same things, but they’re not quite saying the same things. The resolution came from the end, when both people recognized the relationship they had, and it was as far as it should have gone. Anything else would have seemed ridiculous. I think it was an overrated movie, but definitely one that deserves a healthy, generous amount of praise.

As for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind…

I’m at a loss for words. The entire experience was almost completely ineffable. I laughed. I cried. I got goosebumps. I melted. A complete masterpiece, and the one of the most poignant films I’ve ever seen, although I’m partially biased due to my current circumstances. Where the Gondry/Kaufman duo failed in Human Nature due to an unsupportive script and resulting superfluous directing, this film has completely succeeded. A movie I will be buying. A movie I will be watching over and over again. A movie that would have changed my life had I not already come to the same conclusion a few months earlier.