Tossed and turned throughout the entire night until I woke up with the words from “Don’t Dream It” from The Rocky Horror Picture Show in my head:

Whatever happened to Fay Wray

That delicate satin draped frame

As it clung to her thigh

How I started to cry

This morning I learned that Fay Wray died at the age of 96.

Watched M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village over the weekend. I wasn’t too impressed; the most interesting thing about this film was Sonia’s interpretation that it was a metaphor for the Bush administration: a society based on lies, self-deception, and fear, that comes to the brink of falling apart when it’s self-created bogey man becomes real. It’s interesting to take this interpretation further and look at how the village’s emissary to the Real World is blind, and that the medicine that could so easily save the lives of the villagers is so readily available, yet the elders didn’t have the foresight to take some with them. Blah blah blah.

Now that we’ve covered the most interesting part of the film—i.e., our over-intellectualized interpretation of it, I should at least mention the most annoying part: the overly dramatic nonuse of contractions.

Enjoyed spending the last three days with two of my best (and oldest) friends in the whole world. We basically moved from table to sofa to café and back, talking and reminiscing for hours about life in Austin, Japan, Europe, etc.