Been in the grip of a nasty sinus infection. At times it's manageable, almost to the point where I think the worst is over and then another wave of pain arrives and it's all I can do to maintain. Mostly, though, I feel weak and tired. I'm not new to this: I know I'll get better, but it's a hard road.
I attended my first Seder last night at Mara's place. Didn't really know what I was getting into, but that was half the fun. Bridget and I were the only goyim, or non-Jews, and were seated together like two foreign exchange students. I had eaten a little pasta beforehand in anticipation of having to wait a while before eating. That saved me. I was feverish as it was, and probably would have passed out otherwise.
Mara led the proceedings and, even though I didn't grasp some of what was going on, I found it quite interesting. Everyone at the table, at one point or another, helped explain what was happening to Bridget and me. We made it through in one piece. The only rough point was eating horse radish and some sweet nut concoction between two pieces of mozza. That was rough.
Overall, it was a good time. Plenty of interesting conversation. I found out Alister, his wife, Jane, and Bridget are Unitarians. I may attend a service in the future. Mara read a vignette from a book her uncle wrote about their family's Holocaust experience. Equally moving and terrifying.
Later, I drove Bridget home and we shared our impressions of the Seder. Unlike me, she hadn't eaten anything beforehand and, because she has gerd (severe and constant acid reflux), it was tough going for her drinking wine and eating horseradish on an empty stomach. She took it all in stride, though, and didn't suffer any ill effects. During the ride, she told me how she writes her dreams on her sheets when she wakes up. I was tempted to ask if she'd show me, but, for obvious reasons, I abstained.
Ok, I'm fading fast. Had more to cover, but will leave it for another day. Tomorrow looks to a great day weather-wise; maybe it'll be a great day for me health-wise. Let's hope so.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
If the rain comes, they run and hide their heads, they might as well be dead
Thoughts of death, rain, The Human Condition, feeling unwell, Kurosawa at the Brattle, a gentile's first Passover dinner, Seinfeld fest, more rain, 30 Rock, more rain -- all in my sphere. I'll be back in better, and more detailed, form, but tonight I'm wiped. Peace.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
And it turned into a ballroom blitz
Lately, I've been fatigued. I get about seven hours of untroubled sleep a night, yet I've been struggling to stay awake at work. I think it's because our office is so quiet and the heat is always up fairly high. For all intents and purposes, I may as well be nestled cozily before a fire with a warm mug of hot chocolate heating my hands. And when it's slow, like it's been the last couple of days, well, you're looking at a veritable perfect storm of sleep-inducing conditions. So when Marcy came by and asked if I'd be willing to do some work up in Nashua, I snapped to attention and had my coat on before I could finish saying yes, please. The trip provided the pep I needed.
Now, though, I'm tired again. I'm having some coffee, but not too much, because I'm meeting up with Foley later at True Grounds, where I expect we'll talk about a plethora of subjects, like the story arc of Lost, his latest crush, music, and books. Who knows, maybe we won't talk at all and just stare at each other in existential despair. (Update: we're rain-checking this bitch and will meet up some other time. He got out of work too late for anything meaningful to happen).
My dreams lately have been incongruent with the stresses of my waking life. For example, I'd been ruminating over troubled friendships and then I go and have a dream in which everyone I'd been thinking about contacted me in one form or another with joy and affection and everything was fine. And this week, when I've been stressed over matters I'll not mention here, I go and have a dream last night in which I'm at a sunny beach with my family, riding the waves in some phantom summer of youth. I wish I remember more of what happened. I do recall looking over at my sister, who was wearing a magnificent grin as she was about to jump in the water and thinking, "Wow, I forget sometimes that we grew up together, that I have a sister." The dream brought back the flavor of the time when the four of us were entirely more present in each others lives. I'm surprised I didn't awake feeling sad and wistful about how far away I am from those days.
So, good dreams: I'll take 'em. I should be dreaming about subterranean cannibals and laudanum delusions, considering how much I've been reading from Drood, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the beach every time.
On the horizon:
Watch Precious and The Human Condition (part two), the two Netflix films currently in my possession.
Decide on which direction I want to pursue as concerns recording gear and then take action. I used to record a lot more than I do now. I'd make up whole albums on the spot. Fun and fertile days, they were. Yeah, it's time to make some records and, knowing me, I'll overlook most of the welter of songs I've already written and fine tuned in favor of a create as I go approach.
Put some lyrics to the two new songs I've working on.
Go to Kendall Square and see the Secret of Kells.
--
I received Impossible Visits today. Read the preface already, and if it's any indication of the rest of the book, I'm in for a well written, thoughtful experience.
It's getting late and I want to practice before I incur the wrath of the intemperate beast that dwells below me. Wish me luck, dear readers.
Now, though, I'm tired again. I'm having some coffee, but not too much, because I'm meeting up with Foley later at True Grounds, where I expect we'll talk about a plethora of subjects, like the story arc of Lost, his latest crush, music, and books. Who knows, maybe we won't talk at all and just stare at each other in existential despair. (Update: we're rain-checking this bitch and will meet up some other time. He got out of work too late for anything meaningful to happen).
My dreams lately have been incongruent with the stresses of my waking life. For example, I'd been ruminating over troubled friendships and then I go and have a dream in which everyone I'd been thinking about contacted me in one form or another with joy and affection and everything was fine. And this week, when I've been stressed over matters I'll not mention here, I go and have a dream last night in which I'm at a sunny beach with my family, riding the waves in some phantom summer of youth. I wish I remember more of what happened. I do recall looking over at my sister, who was wearing a magnificent grin as she was about to jump in the water and thinking, "Wow, I forget sometimes that we grew up together, that I have a sister." The dream brought back the flavor of the time when the four of us were entirely more present in each others lives. I'm surprised I didn't awake feeling sad and wistful about how far away I am from those days.
So, good dreams: I'll take 'em. I should be dreaming about subterranean cannibals and laudanum delusions, considering how much I've been reading from Drood, but I'm not complaining. I'll take the beach every time.
On the horizon:
Watch Precious and The Human Condition (part two), the two Netflix films currently in my possession.
Decide on which direction I want to pursue as concerns recording gear and then take action. I used to record a lot more than I do now. I'd make up whole albums on the spot. Fun and fertile days, they were. Yeah, it's time to make some records and, knowing me, I'll overlook most of the welter of songs I've already written and fine tuned in favor of a create as I go approach.
Put some lyrics to the two new songs I've working on.
Go to Kendall Square and see the Secret of Kells.
--
I received Impossible Visits today. Read the preface already, and if it's any indication of the rest of the book, I'm in for a well written, thoughtful experience.
It's getting late and I want to practice before I incur the wrath of the intemperate beast that dwells below me. Wish me luck, dear readers.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Hello Amsterdam, my name is Fernando
An active day. I would have preferred, in my over-tired moments before rising this morning, a day of inactivity, the Sabbath, Part Deux, if you will, but it wasn't to be. I made out alright, however, and this day was favorable enough for it not to be labeled shitty. Could have been better, though.
For starters, it was raw, windy, and rainy. Guess who was out walking around in the midst of this foul weather, traversing the streets of Boston and Cambridge in his efforts to record documents at the Registry of Deeds of each city? I wasn't whistling merry and I certainly didn't have a spring in my step, but my umbrella helped and I wasn't outdoors long enough to be wholly immersed in misery.
On the T to Boston, I determined that I needed to have my car's brakes looked at. They'd reached the point -- and this had been going on for a while -- where, if I didn't take care of the problem, I'd have a potentially much larger problem on my hands. No brakes, no stopping; no stopping, no fun. If for no other reason, I needed to be proactive because I was getting tired of hearing my brakes squeal like a stuck boar every time I applied pressure to them.
After my business at the registries, I dropped my car off at the mechanic and walked home. I hand washed some clothes, which will be the last time -- way more work than I anticipated. The reason for the old school approach was because our washer went kaput. Probably due to the flood, but I suspect Rich; he was the last person to use it. Hey, he's been blaming me for everything from manipulating his soap to the health care debacle; I'm entitled to a little paranoia of my own.
While bent over the tub, squeeze-drying my clothes, I heard the front door open and the jingling of Baby Boy Z's collar. He was being dropped off from his first day at daycare, a/k/a Wags To Riches. I came out of the bathroom, excited to see him, and was met with a dazed and most likely sleepy pooch. He surveyed his surroundings for a minute or two and then lay down and fell asleep. I let him be and went upstairs for a while. When I saw BBZ next, his physiology had undergone a sea change. He was running circles around me all bouncy like as I made my way to the kitchen. I figured I should let him outside -- you know, just in case. Well, good thing I did: within ten seconds of being outside, he took a dump.
My brake issues were costly, but only half as costly as I figured, which was a nice consolation. When I picked up my car, I marveled at how great it was being able to stop the car without worrying about running over a pedestrian, most likely a young mother pushing a baby carriage, because my brakes stopped working.
My Ipod died on me today. It was only a few months old. It's predecessor had only lasted a year. Thanks, Apple. Thanks for nothing!
Another great Lost episode. We're in the final stretch and every episode has been stellar. Been especially impressed with the acting. Everyone's bringing their A game.
Off to read some Drood. Maybe, if time allows, I'll watch Amadeus, which I haven't seen in years. If memory serves, I really enjoyed this film. It's story parallels Drood in one key aspect (average artist's burning envy of genius artist), so watching it may be redundant, but whatever. I live by my own code, and if you don't like it, you can go straight to hell!
Just found out that Turner Classic Movies has been showing Kurosawa films all day. Seven Samurai's on right now. I'm tempted to watch it, but I'd rather watch it another time on DVD, when I can give it my full and undivided attention.
While waiting for my car to be fixed, I watched an episode of Monster Quest, this one centering around Sasquatch sightings in Vancouver. I've seen a ton of episodes of this show and I'm always a little surprised at the end of each episode that they never get closer to solving any of these Cryptid mysteries. If they had, I would have heard about it well before the episode aired. I don't know, but something tells me that if, while filming an episode, they capture the Loch Ness Monster, the news will break immediately. I still like the show, despite knowing that the most I'm likely to get in the way of new evidence will be a hair follicle, a murky photo, or old evidence repackaged as new evidence. Tomorrow's episode concerns the Michigan Dogman, and will not only be the last episode of the season, but also the last episode, period. I'm surprised it lasted this long; there are only so many Cryptid mysteries out there. Anyway, cheers to Monster Quest.
Ok, really this time, off to Drood.
For starters, it was raw, windy, and rainy. Guess who was out walking around in the midst of this foul weather, traversing the streets of Boston and Cambridge in his efforts to record documents at the Registry of Deeds of each city? I wasn't whistling merry and I certainly didn't have a spring in my step, but my umbrella helped and I wasn't outdoors long enough to be wholly immersed in misery.
On the T to Boston, I determined that I needed to have my car's brakes looked at. They'd reached the point -- and this had been going on for a while -- where, if I didn't take care of the problem, I'd have a potentially much larger problem on my hands. No brakes, no stopping; no stopping, no fun. If for no other reason, I needed to be proactive because I was getting tired of hearing my brakes squeal like a stuck boar every time I applied pressure to them.
After my business at the registries, I dropped my car off at the mechanic and walked home. I hand washed some clothes, which will be the last time -- way more work than I anticipated. The reason for the old school approach was because our washer went kaput. Probably due to the flood, but I suspect Rich; he was the last person to use it. Hey, he's been blaming me for everything from manipulating his soap to the health care debacle; I'm entitled to a little paranoia of my own.
While bent over the tub, squeeze-drying my clothes, I heard the front door open and the jingling of Baby Boy Z's collar. He was being dropped off from his first day at daycare, a/k/a Wags To Riches. I came out of the bathroom, excited to see him, and was met with a dazed and most likely sleepy pooch. He surveyed his surroundings for a minute or two and then lay down and fell asleep. I let him be and went upstairs for a while. When I saw BBZ next, his physiology had undergone a sea change. He was running circles around me all bouncy like as I made my way to the kitchen. I figured I should let him outside -- you know, just in case. Well, good thing I did: within ten seconds of being outside, he took a dump.
My brake issues were costly, but only half as costly as I figured, which was a nice consolation. When I picked up my car, I marveled at how great it was being able to stop the car without worrying about running over a pedestrian, most likely a young mother pushing a baby carriage, because my brakes stopped working.
My Ipod died on me today. It was only a few months old. It's predecessor had only lasted a year. Thanks, Apple. Thanks for nothing!
Another great Lost episode. We're in the final stretch and every episode has been stellar. Been especially impressed with the acting. Everyone's bringing their A game.
Off to read some Drood. Maybe, if time allows, I'll watch Amadeus, which I haven't seen in years. If memory serves, I really enjoyed this film. It's story parallels Drood in one key aspect (average artist's burning envy of genius artist), so watching it may be redundant, but whatever. I live by my own code, and if you don't like it, you can go straight to hell!
Just found out that Turner Classic Movies has been showing Kurosawa films all day. Seven Samurai's on right now. I'm tempted to watch it, but I'd rather watch it another time on DVD, when I can give it my full and undivided attention.
While waiting for my car to be fixed, I watched an episode of Monster Quest, this one centering around Sasquatch sightings in Vancouver. I've seen a ton of episodes of this show and I'm always a little surprised at the end of each episode that they never get closer to solving any of these Cryptid mysteries. If they had, I would have heard about it well before the episode aired. I don't know, but something tells me that if, while filming an episode, they capture the Loch Ness Monster, the news will break immediately. I still like the show, despite knowing that the most I'm likely to get in the way of new evidence will be a hair follicle, a murky photo, or old evidence repackaged as new evidence. Tomorrow's episode concerns the Michigan Dogman, and will not only be the last episode of the season, but also the last episode, period. I'm surprised it lasted this long; there are only so many Cryptid mysteries out there. Anyway, cheers to Monster Quest.
Ok, really this time, off to Drood.
Monday, March 22, 2010
You say that you'll give me all your love some day, but baby that some day seems so far away
A pretty good weekend. In light of the Rich situation, which, aside from a couple of arbitrary displays of passive/aggressive behavior, hasn't changed much since I last wrote about it, and a couple of other vexing instances that keep resurfacing, I was going to riff a bit on the destructive influence lack of communication has had on some of my relationships. I decided against it because I'm kind of tired and don't have the necessary energy to be thoughtful about the subject. Maybe another time. Or maybe never. I'm ready to move on.
Finally watched The Big Lebowski last night. Three out of five stars. It was good, but I was definitely not as enamored with it the way so many other people are. One thing I couldn't understand is how it came to be such a cult classic like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I guess these things are hard to predict.
I finished Carrion Comfort over the weekend and, without missing a beat, I moved on to Drood. Carrion Comfort was a good read, but not as good as The Terror. I'm about fifty pages into Drood and my attention was rapt from page one. How can you go wrong with a Gothic horror story that centers around Charles Dickens?
At the Registry of Deeds in Nashua today, Linda, one of the abstracters who works there, and the one I've had a mild crush on, was flirting with me more overtly than she ever has. A little back story: Linda looks to be in her mid to late forties, is pretty quiet, and is probably married (which is why I've only ever had a mild crush on her). As far as our interactions have gone, they've mostly been brief and have centered around her teasing me about hogging the printer. As I said, she's pretty quiet, and while there have been instances of flirting between us (I recounted one in particular in a previous post), it's mostly been subtle; you could say the majority of our interactions haven't exactly been torn out of a Harlequin romance novel.
Today, though, she seemed to step up her game. Comments were made, glances exchanged. When I left, it was with accelerated heart beat and stirred up libido. Will anything happen between us? Probably not. I'd have to find out about her marital status, for one thing. But, if it looks workable, then why not? I need some fun in my life, damnit!
Finally watched The Big Lebowski last night. Three out of five stars. It was good, but I was definitely not as enamored with it the way so many other people are. One thing I couldn't understand is how it came to be such a cult classic like The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I guess these things are hard to predict.
I finished Carrion Comfort over the weekend and, without missing a beat, I moved on to Drood. Carrion Comfort was a good read, but not as good as The Terror. I'm about fifty pages into Drood and my attention was rapt from page one. How can you go wrong with a Gothic horror story that centers around Charles Dickens?
At the Registry of Deeds in Nashua today, Linda, one of the abstracters who works there, and the one I've had a mild crush on, was flirting with me more overtly than she ever has. A little back story: Linda looks to be in her mid to late forties, is pretty quiet, and is probably married (which is why I've only ever had a mild crush on her). As far as our interactions have gone, they've mostly been brief and have centered around her teasing me about hogging the printer. As I said, she's pretty quiet, and while there have been instances of flirting between us (I recounted one in particular in a previous post), it's mostly been subtle; you could say the majority of our interactions haven't exactly been torn out of a Harlequin romance novel.
Today, though, she seemed to step up her game. Comments were made, glances exchanged. When I left, it was with accelerated heart beat and stirred up libido. Will anything happen between us? Probably not. I'd have to find out about her marital status, for one thing. But, if it looks workable, then why not? I need some fun in my life, damnit!
Friday, March 19, 2010
When I woke up, mom and dad are rolling on the couch, rolling numbers, rock and rolling, got my Kiss records out
I woke up with The Lemonhead's song Frank Mills in my head and felt a wave of melancholy, not due to the song, that took a while to shake off, despite the gorgeous weather. Maybe it was a dream, forgotten, yet present, that caused this. Probably. Whatever it was, the flavor of my morning was one of faint regret and longing. And, of course, the aforementioned melancholy.
My work day was abbreviated. I left the office around one to do some work at the registry in Cambridge. Marcy had given me a ten dollar bill for parking before I left. When I reached for it in my pocket later on, it was nowhere to be found. I wish I had the same kind of mojo receiving money that I have losing money. Really, in the last couple of weeks, I've gotten a ticket for fifty bucks for skipping out on paying a toll while on my way to pick up Janelle (I thought, because it was on the exit ramp and everyone was breezing through it, that it wasn't operational); I learned my car's registration needs to be renewed; I've payed my excise tax for my car; and more, but I'm getting depressed just thinking about it. Well, good thing I'm incredibly wealthy and these payments won't even cause a blip on my bank account's radar.
I was tired when I came home. I had some sushi and took a nap. I needed it. When I woke up about forty five minutes later, I went for a run. It was such a pleasure being outside; the air was warm, the sun blanketed everything in golden glory, and there were so many attractive women about it was almost overwhelming.
After the run, feeling hale and my libido in check, I put Baby Boy Z out in the yard and made him promise not to bark at anyone walking past the house like he's been doing. He wagged his tail and gave me a cute look. That was good enough for me. Ten seconds later, he freaked out on a woman and her son. Oh, why, Baby Boy Z, did you betray me? I brought him back in the house and we played with his rope for a bit. All was forgiven.
And now, you must forgive me, as I'm about to end this and do something sexy.
My work day was abbreviated. I left the office around one to do some work at the registry in Cambridge. Marcy had given me a ten dollar bill for parking before I left. When I reached for it in my pocket later on, it was nowhere to be found. I wish I had the same kind of mojo receiving money that I have losing money. Really, in the last couple of weeks, I've gotten a ticket for fifty bucks for skipping out on paying a toll while on my way to pick up Janelle (I thought, because it was on the exit ramp and everyone was breezing through it, that it wasn't operational); I learned my car's registration needs to be renewed; I've payed my excise tax for my car; and more, but I'm getting depressed just thinking about it. Well, good thing I'm incredibly wealthy and these payments won't even cause a blip on my bank account's radar.
I was tired when I came home. I had some sushi and took a nap. I needed it. When I woke up about forty five minutes later, I went for a run. It was such a pleasure being outside; the air was warm, the sun blanketed everything in golden glory, and there were so many attractive women about it was almost overwhelming.
After the run, feeling hale and my libido in check, I put Baby Boy Z out in the yard and made him promise not to bark at anyone walking past the house like he's been doing. He wagged his tail and gave me a cute look. That was good enough for me. Ten seconds later, he freaked out on a woman and her son. Oh, why, Baby Boy Z, did you betray me? I brought him back in the house and we played with his rope for a bit. All was forgiven.
And now, you must forgive me, as I'm about to end this and do something sexy.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
There's a lady in a turban in a cocaine tree, and she does a dance so rhythmically
Yesterday, I had a post about halfway written about St. Patrick's Day, but it was tough going and about midway through, I gave up. I was tired, I guess, or maybe the quality was poor, but whatever the cause, it wasn't published. Basically, I was just riffing on how, despite being Irish, I have little interest in the holiday. I hardly drink and I'm not prone to wearing green, even on special occasions. To me, the holiday has almost nothing to do with the Irish, at least not in a favorable sense. Change the name to St. Get Hammered Day and we're closer to the mark.
I have the Bruins game on in the background as I type. I've hardly watched them all season, mostly because I don't find the team appealing, but tonight's game has a lot of fanfare surrounding it because of Matt Cooke's egregious hit on Marc Savard that left him heavily concussed and most definitely out for the season. No one on the Bruins defended the honor of their fallen comrade and neither did the league. No retribution came Cooke's way. So tonight is the Bruin's chance to redeem themselves, to save face in front of their fans. I don't think much will happen, but I'm curious.
I was reading from The Cryptoterrestials on the couch last night with Baby Boy Z beside me. I had my knees pulled up and BBZ used the nook that was created to rest his head and catch a little shut eye. Out of nowhere, he sneezed right into my butt. It wasn't just an "ah-choo"; no, this was heavy and abrupt: "Uhh...bwuh bwuh bwuhhhh!" It scared the hell out of me, and once my heart settled down, I thought it was the funniest thing. I've never had anyone sneeze into my ass before. A first.
I watched Cache last night, the French thriller I've been interested in seeing for a while. When it came out a few years ago, it generated a lot of buzz. And a massive amount of theorizing. Unlike most mainstream thrillers, this one didn't resolve it's mystery and left the viewer with more questions than answers. We're educated as film goers to leave a movie with all the loose ends tied up. Here, there are numerous possibilities and none of them are tied up. I've perused different websites that speculate endlessly about the film. "It was so and so who was leaving the video tapes"; "The last shot of the film explains everything -- you just have to look carefully"; "It was the father sending tapes to himself."
The film was so well crafted that it keeps it's mystery hidden, while letting it known that it can be deciphered. Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great film with a lot of little cool things about it and I've been thinking about it all day. Especially the ending, which at first I thought was cheating me, but when I figured out what it suggested, I was thrilled by it. Here's a link to Roger Ebert's review:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F20100113%2FREVIEWS08%2F100119986%2F1023
If you aren't put off by subtitles and like putting on your detective hat, then I wholeheartedly recommend this film. Hell, even if you disregard the mystery of the film, it still works on other levels. Go ahead, give it a try. Don't be scared.
--
Ok, I'm done. I was as busy as a tennis ball in a room full of puppies at work today and I need to regroup.
I have the Bruins game on in the background as I type. I've hardly watched them all season, mostly because I don't find the team appealing, but tonight's game has a lot of fanfare surrounding it because of Matt Cooke's egregious hit on Marc Savard that left him heavily concussed and most definitely out for the season. No one on the Bruins defended the honor of their fallen comrade and neither did the league. No retribution came Cooke's way. So tonight is the Bruin's chance to redeem themselves, to save face in front of their fans. I don't think much will happen, but I'm curious.
I was reading from The Cryptoterrestials on the couch last night with Baby Boy Z beside me. I had my knees pulled up and BBZ used the nook that was created to rest his head and catch a little shut eye. Out of nowhere, he sneezed right into my butt. It wasn't just an "ah-choo"; no, this was heavy and abrupt: "Uhh...bwuh bwuh bwuhhhh!" It scared the hell out of me, and once my heart settled down, I thought it was the funniest thing. I've never had anyone sneeze into my ass before. A first.
I watched Cache last night, the French thriller I've been interested in seeing for a while. When it came out a few years ago, it generated a lot of buzz. And a massive amount of theorizing. Unlike most mainstream thrillers, this one didn't resolve it's mystery and left the viewer with more questions than answers. We're educated as film goers to leave a movie with all the loose ends tied up. Here, there are numerous possibilities and none of them are tied up. I've perused different websites that speculate endlessly about the film. "It was so and so who was leaving the video tapes"; "The last shot of the film explains everything -- you just have to look carefully"; "It was the father sending tapes to himself."
The film was so well crafted that it keeps it's mystery hidden, while letting it known that it can be deciphered. Or maybe not. Either way, it's a great film with a lot of little cool things about it and I've been thinking about it all day. Especially the ending, which at first I thought was cheating me, but when I figured out what it suggested, I was thrilled by it. Here's a link to Roger Ebert's review:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=%2F20100113%2FREVIEWS08%2F100119986%2F1023
If you aren't put off by subtitles and like putting on your detective hat, then I wholeheartedly recommend this film. Hell, even if you disregard the mystery of the film, it still works on other levels. Go ahead, give it a try. Don't be scared.
--
Ok, I'm done. I was as busy as a tennis ball in a room full of puppies at work today and I need to regroup.
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