I know the site is in a state of flux. I am working on it. Actually, James is, because I am tired.

Regardless, I felt the need to state: I am watching Smallville. And this show is terrible. It’s horribly cheesy, and retarded, with small time actors, and yet, I can not stop renting this shit from Netflix.

I do not care about how Clark Kent become Superman. I am indifferent to Chloe. The best actor, Pete, left. I fucking despise Lana. The overall American Jingoism deeply disturbs me.

And yet…

And yet… I am in love with Lex Luthor.

I watch every episode, waiting for his appearance. Be it evil-woman-killer or sly lover-to-Clark-even-though-we-are-not-explicitly-showing-it, I love him. I watch every episode for Lex.

I want to marry Lex Luthor.

This is the same reason I do not find Superman comics interesting. I do not care how Superman saves the world this week. I care about how Lex is trying to fuck him over.

Best thing about the Superman movies? Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor.

Give me an evil mastermind over a Kansas Farmboy anyday.

Which reminds me: I am now taking applications for Evil Masterminds.

Today, I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed, and promptly fell ill. Allergies or food poisioning or a mental condition, I don’t know. I went back to bed.

I decided to rent movies. I watched Crash.

Having now seen four out of the five films up for Best Picture this last year (exception: Munich) I have to say, Crash deserved the win. I almost never think the winner deserved it, but this film, more so than Brokeback Mountain, was important, was powerful. Which is not to denegrate, in any way, Brokeback Mountain, which was beautiful and excellent. But I can easily believe that a film about current race relations was deemed “bigger” than film about homosexuality set 40 years ago.

And Crash actually made me cry, though Brokeback I think had more stand out performances. Which is easily accessible with a smaller cast.

Also, my favorite film, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, arrived via Amazon today. It’s been a few years, so I think I wll go watch it again. I am an idealist at heart, and if you’ve ever seen Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, you can understand the deep disenfranchinsment I feel about modern politics.

That’s a thread for tomorrow.

I did not write today, because I spent some time spiffing this place up.  What do you think?  I couldn’t find a text color that worked any better than this; suggestions are welcome.  I was thinking it might be nice to include posts in a shaded box, to dull the color in the image a bit, but I have no idea how to do that.  Do you?

I have no life.

I can not write, because I have no life.

I am the most boring person I know.

See that chick sitting there in front of the TV? That’s me. I am playing Bejewled2. On the Xbox 360.

This tells you two things. A} I am a chick. B} I have the disposable income to purchase an Xbox 360 before they are prevalant on the market. It was a Christmas gift for my boyfriend. Is he playing the Xbox 360 I judiciously saved for, that I purchased off a black market, back alley dealer? No. Where is he? the assiduous observer might ask. Upstairs, on the laptop he bought himself just after Christmas, playing Eve with a bunch of goons.

So I am sitting inf ront of our wide screen television, purchased to compliment the toy he is not playing with, taking in a game made popular and free on the Internet.

Yes, you have to purchase it on the 360.

This is my life. My boring, miniscule life.

Today, I spent 7 hours trying to recreate a desktop blown away by an upgrade. No one will understand that. When you upgrade Windows or a Mac, you have the same interface. On Unix, my entire interface broke, unredeemably. Six years of comfort and navigation down the toilet.

Today, I called the cable company because my digital cable was not working.

Today, I watched a David Lynch film.

I watched Fire Walk With Me. I recall seeing this film in the Uptown Theater when I was 14. I do not recall anything about the film except the dead chick who IS NOT Laura Palmer on the table. I recall thinking her beautiful. I did not recall David Bowie not really being there or the one armed man or the midget from Carnivale. Seriously, David Lynch: The fuck? I mean, I figured it was her Dad from the moment he appeared on screen, but I don’t get the horse or the kid with the mask and I mean, seriously, I am still pissed at you that I couldn’t hear any goddamned internal monologues in Dune, which, if you hadn’t noticed, IS ALL INTERNAL MONOLOGUES. Yes, Mulholland Drive was beautiful but no one aside from me and Kevin Smith’s wife got it. Could you try, maybe, making something coherent?

Josh and I would like to move to Napa. We can not afford it right now.

I wake up every day, dreading work. A deep down, painful ache. I don’t know why, or how to stop it.

So yeah, I am sitting here at 2:30AM playing Bejewled on a system that, all told, cost probably over $7000. And not enjoying it one bit.

What the Hell is wrong with me?