Saturday was the sort of grey rainy day that called for first meals in dark bars named after
barfly poets, for muted, eye squinting, not enough sleep conversations, for fried foods and low volume music. Not that we picked the bar because of the weather, mind you, that's just the way it worked out. A few of us made plans to check out some of the
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I think I could've spared myself the misinterpretation by prefacing with a description that my friends are sarky bunch.
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I have always wanted to do this with cologne, so that I could see a visible trail left behind by the overperfumed Eurotrash walking down Newbury St. In fact, my idea was to have it tinted fluorescent green, the kind of color you get when you kill an alien and that viscous stuff pours out. Either that, or orange, like escarey's pants.
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btw, if you feel like killing a lunch hour, you can always play with that little flash piece that was saw at Mills.
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Argh! I procured the Canadian three-disc special edition of this movie recently,* and was planning on hosting a screening. You'll have to come anyway, despite having recently viewed the movie, and even if you don't much like it, because I don't see enough of you, and I think that your commentary will be enjoyable.
Also, regarding Better Luck Tomorrow, I was much more favorably inclined toward it until Laurice told me about the Stuart Tay case, and saw how Justin Lin would but barely acknowledge the glaring similarities.
Hm. This belongs in my own journal, methinks.
*I am a big, fat sucker for this movie. I'm not proud.
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