I still don't feel motivated to do any full reviews, but here are pseudo-haiku about my in-the-theater film experiences since last update:

thank for for smoking

exceeded high hopes
aaron eckhart, what a dilf!
p.r. looks like fun

the da vinci code

nice adaptation
a bit artsy but stunning
critics quit hatin'

(especially one triad area columnist who wasn't too hard on this one but historically pisses me off and should be banned from publishing and forced to shave off his gaudy child molester facial hair. sorry, not part of the haiku, but it should be said.)

one thing in thank you for smoking did rankle me a bit, and here's the rant to go with it. people of the world: everyone living south of the mason-dixon line does not, I repeat, NOT sound like they're from savannah. for some reason filmmakers (and most non-southerners) seem to believe that there's only one southern accent, the Deep Southern one. you have to go at least to the georgia state line to hear that, and even then you don't hear it much these days. and heaven forbid an actor try to portray someone from west virginia! russell crowe should be ashamed of himself for his intonation in a beautiful mind. however, jodi foster is forever on my a-list for sounding fairly authentic in silence of the lambs. I don't think I've heard any other actor do such a nice job.

I have a really addictive personality. so why can't I become addicted to something of use, like carrots? or savings bonds?

I finally ordered the new dvd recorder/dvr I've been drooling over for months. it comes with a FREE updating program guide and a nice interface. eat that, tivo. I just can't justify paying monthly for the privilege of digital recording.

twice now I've gone into great clips attempting to get a haircut. both times there's been one stylist working, multiple people waiting, and an estimated hour wait. what the fuck? all I know is if I don't get it trimmed soon I'm going to look totally strokes-core. and I know that look's still kinda in, but it should have been out five years ago. call me a freak, but I like my men with hair that stops short of their shoulders.