Thursday. The movie I mentioned in the last entry is called Marebito and it is, well, weird. Weird in the focus on what I assume are the director's odd ball obsessions (one way to define “art”), so it was interesting for that, but it was, well, weird and could have used a rewrite. Then, what could he have had for a budget? The disjointed story of an amateur video photographer who views his life through a camera and who has, you learn as the movie progresses, bad habits. It's back in the mail to Netflix to be replaced (probably) with something just like it.
The temperature has been good these last two weeks, the fog rolling in late in the afternoon, early evening, breaking up in the middle of the next morning allowing the buildings in Oakland, at least, to cool down. The breeze has been coming in off the ocean. I still need to sleep under a sheet rather than a blanket, but that's pretty high living. Ms. Emmy still curls up close for the warmth, but cats originated, I seem to recall, in the desert. They need the heat, silly little mammals.
I've been listening to the Doors LA Woman under the influence of alcohol and thinking of the madness associated with Jim Morrison and thinking, well, the music was worth the trip. Silly thing to be thinking. Perhaps it's the sake, perhaps it's the age, perhaps it's the loss of critical facilities. Not sure if it matters.