she bites her bottom lip, quietly weeping while he is sleeping...

I have, against all reason and sense, a cold. In the first week of August. No loving god would allow this. If it doesn't pass quickly, I will be forced to do something irrational, like overmedicate myself with Dayquil^TM. I get sick fairly infrequently and I really hate the feeling of malaise and fatigue that accompanies any illness stronger than a cold. Combined with my normal laziness and bipolar tendencies it just makes me feel like a lump.

I saw the Village with spreadnparanoia and lassarina. I'm one of those people who likes M. Night Shyamalan in theory, but basically thinks that some of his movies don't live up to his potential. Which is a funny thing to think about someone who's only made four movies that anyone has ever heard of. But I did enjoy the Village, and felt it was his most solidly constructed movie since the Sixth Sense. For further discussion of the movie and deconstruction of its themes, I recommend looking here. (WARNING: SPOILERS)

I officially own the be-epic.com domain for the next year. I have to admit its a relief to know that I can receive e-mail there on a permanent basis. Plus I'm just really into the idea of owning my own domain, and having web pages there, and all that jazz. Its just... keen.

I finished reading Shadow Puppets, Orson Scott Card's follow-up to Shadow of the Hegemon, which was itself a sequel to Ender's Shadow, which owes its existence to Ender's Game. I enjoyed it very much, as much as I had SotH (that is to say, more than Ender's Shadow but less than Ender's Game). It made me very eager for the fourth and supposedly final book in this arc, which I believe is tentatively titled Shadow of the Giant. Of course, Shadow Puppets was originally titled Shadow of the Valley of Death, so I suppose I shouldn't get too attached to that title for the forthcoming work.

I've moved on to reading Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs by Chuck Klosterman. When she saw me buying it at Border's, spreadnparanoia characterized the book based solely on the cover as being self-indulgent. I have to admit she's absolutely right, but I read and enjoy a good deal of self-indulgent prose (just look at A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which I'm borderline obsessed with.) Thus far I'm enjoying it very much, although he pretty much had me sold on the first essay, which is essentially about how no woman born between the years 1965 and 1978 will ever love you the way she loves John Cusack. Admittedly, I was born in 1982 and spreadnparanoia was born in 1984, but his overall point is still valid and interesting.

Oh, and by the way... cassielsander has started a nifty fad of just referring to me as spreadnparanoia's boyfriend. Do feel free to go ahead and do the same, as my humiliation really won't be complete until everyone I know has disassociated me of any identity aside from one based on hers. Seriously.