Good Day

What makes a good day, for me?

1. Going to your writers' group and getting your work critiqued by really smart writers who know what they are doing.

2. Going out with a few of them afterward, talking and laughing, and deciding to give a critique group a try.

3. At loose ends after that, discovering that you have both an unused gift card from Christmas and a really big bookstore nearby.

4. Spending nearly two hours in said bookstore, buying anything you want, without it costing you a dime.

That's pretty good.

I saw 300 last night - it was good, I think, though I had to watch it in a theatre packed to the rafters with teenage boys. ("Prepare for glory!" they shouted as the opening credits rolled. They also tittered all through the sex scene.) Now, I know these guys are actors and have personal trainers and all that, but really - how did they get their bodies to look like that? I don't think anyone ate a carb for six months. I mean, it was sexy, I guess, but really I was more awed than anything.

The plot isn't much of one, and I had to keep remembering it's an adaptation of a comic book. That means I had to turn my inner historian off. How come they don't have any food with them? Why don't they carry any medical supplies? Did they really fight with no pants on? No, no, stop - it's just a story.

And here is where I am scourged when I admit that I think The Phantom of the Opera is the cheez-doodliest story in the history of the world, and that the movie made so little impression on me that I don't actually know who Gerard Butler is. The many women who lust after him would be in shock.

Really. I'd like to like him. Let me try:




Hm. Nope. Pulse normal. Sorry.

Maybe someday,
Abby