"Hey! Long time no shit!" she said. Had she known the depths of my food poisoning the week before, she would've understood why I bit my tongue before saying, "You don't know the half of it!" Then again, she isn't psychic.
- - - - - - - - - -
I love the Batman movies. I don't love all of them unapologetically like some rampant comic dork that can somehow justify Uma Thurman's sexy librarian plant lady shtick or George Clooney's amplified nipples; I hate the bad ones just like everyone else. But the thing that I always loved the most about them was the way they depict Batman's drive home. Once he got to that magic point in Westchester/Princeton/
Brooklyn(?!), public roads would give way to a gauntlet of trees and leaves as it is always Autumn in Gotham, literally and figuratively.
Something about that drive home must really define who Batman and/or Bruce Wayne is, since almost every big-screen iteration of Batman has made a point of spending a few minutes depicting what would otherwise be a benign event for any other person: the commute home.
I always enjoy the last bit of my ride home late at night, when I roll up the last hill while the trees are still and the traffic is nil. It's my return-to-Wayne-Manor moment.
- - - - - - - - - -
DEAF JAM/GRAIN:
Cut Copy tonight was great. That is all. I was going to go on some rant about how I don't really understand cocaine usage, but sleep is more interesting at this point.
Currently falling asleep to: Loose Fur.
