Hello.

Hello.

Does anyone actually read this? My real-life paper notebook sits so forlornly, unwritten in for weeks. I've forgotten how to write to and for myself. But if no one's reading, I guess that's the same thing. But if no one's reading, and I'm writing with a bit of a filter because I don't want to bore or shock, then I have reached a point where my desire to please and entertain has eclipsed my desire to know myself and explore my inner landscape.

OK, fine.

Oscar, The Grouch

No, this isn't about the mysterious Burt-n-Osama picture, although that's interesting, too.

No, this is about how I finally got around to watching Erin Brockovich the other day. It's not the first time the Academy and I have been at odds, but from what I kow, this picture was universally loved and lauded...and I really can't figure out why. It's got all the depth and complexity of a made-for-Lifetime-channel movie.

Julia Roberts is good at that flaring-nostril sassy speechifying thing that Dixie Carter used to do every Tuesday(?) on Designing Women, but is that good acting? Is that Oscar-winning acting?

The nominal heroine herself...geez what a publicity whore. She did a good thing, hallelujah, but couldn't this tale have been told without making the actual real-life heroine a media star? If the real life heroine weren't cute and long-legged, would anyone even give a shit?

And this is a small point, but that scene where Albert Finney says, "Some of the other women in the office feel a little uncomfortable about the way you dress...", and she basically tells him to fuck off...why are we supposed to find that endearing and heroic? That scene was irksome in a variety of ways. why is rudeness and contempt for coworkers considered brave?

But since I don't want to criticize a piece of art without praising something to balance it out, I will say this: Isolation Drills by Guided by Voices is beauty incarnate. I'll never get over this album.