Raise your hand if you're feeling emotionally needy.
He hates posting shit like this on here.
Last night he did his homework for The Motorcycle Diaries and rented Walter Salles' last movie Behind the Sun. It's beautiful, spare and tragic. The cinematography is absolutely breathtaking. Rodrigo Santoro might be the most beautiful man in the world.
This morning he watched Sydney Pollack's Havana with Robert Redford & Lena Olin. That Lena Olin: she's smoking hot and such a good actor. The movie that sold him on her was Paul Mazursky's Enemies: a Love Story from 1989. He'll have to rent The Unbearable Lightness of Being soon. He's told that's her best movie and he feels like seeing more of her. He wonders why she doesn't work as much as she used to in the early nineties. Got old, he supposes. Everyone does.
Today, The Passion of the Christ arrives and he's hoping he'll like it.
The thing about living alone is that one has so much time for so many things. He can do all of his laundry, bake three dozen cookies, dip each of them in white chocolate for Chrissakes, watch an old movie, listen to This American Life, and read Eugene Ionèsco's Rhinoceros: all before 5:00p.