you know

i think even the belly of a whale could be more sanity-inducing than the editing process.

fuck. even there the computer screen would glow until the batteries ran down. maybe not then.

at least the major contributor to my mounting need for a straitjacket decided they'd watched me squirm for long enough and bowed out of the bidding last night. i am relieved to say that Watershed has finally decided to grasp at a straw and has acquired the direction and intent it's been so desperately needing. i feel like i should be going out and getting smashed with the way all the little tension coils and echoes in my head subsiding, unwinding and letting the fuck go of me already.

i'd settle for a bit of Tao-dipping, though.

apparently, the preteen inside will never die

wow.

i haven't been rendered quite that incoherent by a guy in terms of sheer handsomeness in a while.

captivating stage presence? surely. great voice? Miranda and i have jelly knees for a week.

but the sight of Ewan McGregor in that black sleeveless shirt and *perfectly* fit jeans accepting Best Musical Number on the MTV Movie Awards? oh.my.gaawd. there was jumping. there was squealing. there was almost spewing of water all over the living room and complete arrest of all mental functions until he walked offstage. it was all rather embarrassing in retrospect. i got a taste of what elicits crying at Beatles concerts and manic rushing of celebrities trying to enter restaurants. intense, man.

ahem. just thought i'd give a heads up.

mwah! every time.

mere words cannot express my deep and abiding love for Moulin Rouge. but especially this:

Christian: The magical sitar player falls from the roof and says, 'The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.'

Nini: This ending's silly. Why would the courtesan go for the penniless writer? Whoops! I mean sitar player...

Duke: I don't like this ending.

Zidler: Don't like the ending, my dear Duke?

Duke: Why would the courtesan choose a penniless sitar player over the Maharaja, who is offering a lifetime of security? *That's* real love. Once the sitar player has satisfied his lust he will leave the courtesan with nothing. I suggest that in the end the courtesan choose the Maharaja.

Toulouse: But, but, but surely that ending does not uphold the Bohemian ideals of Truth, Beauty, Freedom and--

Duke: I don't care about your ridiculous dogma! Why shouldn't the courtesan choose the Maharaja?!

Christian: Because she doesn't love you!


wham! gut punch every time. hands fly to my face as if i had said the words myself and i wait for lighting to strike us all down where we stand, it's that powerful. nothing like the naked truth by way of the good old-fashioned Freudian slip. and there was way too much sexual content in that sentence. reader's discretion advised.

"...come what may..."