Suck

The fine people at my old job are getting slammed with weekend work again
which makes me feel good about no longer being there, but the whole unemployment novelty is wearing off, and I'm chomping at the bit to once again regain a little financial independence so I can actually go out and do stuff and buy stuff and live a little bit. It is impossible to have a fulfilling life. It is impossible. I just want a job I can fucking tolerate. Is that too much to ask? I guess it is.

Watched the Oscars last night. Surprised to find out Counting Crows are still together. Not surprised to find out they're still hyper-shitty. I liked Chris Rock's monologue, but the audience seemed afraid to laugh. Celebrities are pussies. If they actually said what they thought instead of sucking each other's dicks all the time, I don't know how to finish this sentence but I would like them all much better. Memo to the Academy: Can we have just one Oscar telecast without having to see the horse-faced diva Julia Roberts, neither as a nominee nor presenter? Could a more despicable human being exist in the annals of celebritydom? I say no. If I were forced to stare into her soul, I would pluck my eyes from their sockets. She is a terrible demon from hell, a horrific creature who befouls and besmirches everything she touches. She is evil, I say, pure, unmitigated EVIL. Also a terrible actress. In addition, I'm pleasantly surprised a movie I think is great, "Million Dollar Baby," won the Best Picture Oscar. That never happens. Or does it? I did a little research, checking past Best Picture Oscar winners. Oddly, the last time a movie I thought was great won, it was another Clint Eastwood-directed film, "Unforgiven," in 1992. But who cares? Why am I still talking about the Oscars?

I watched these movies last week:
Toute Une Vie (Claude Lelouch)
The Manchurian Candidate (John Frankenheimer)
The Lovers on the Bridge (Leos Carax)
SubUrbia (Richard Linklater)

Listening to: Oceanic by Isis

Currently reading: The Moviegoer by Walker Percy
I didn't realize it until after I bought this book, but the binding is badly broken. Every time I turn the page, the previous page falls out. Hardened pieces of glue fall into my lap when I jostle the book too much. It's hard to read on the toilet due to its delicate condition. Somehow, this makes me feel a weird little affection for it. It's almost like the book is wasting away before my eyes and has chosen me for its last days on earth. The edition I'm reading was printed in 1971. Where did it live before it came to my place to die? Oh, the adventures it must have had, the journeys it must have taken. The highs, the lows. The glories, the misfortunes. You may be falling apart, little book, but your legacy lives in my heart forever.
(Don't tell the book, but it's kind of a pain in the ass to read in its present condition. Oh god, please don't tell the book.)