life on tape

I've become increasingly fascinated with documentaries. I like the way they make their subject seem like the most important thing in the world, and for the hour and a half or whatever it takes to watch the thing, it is--if it's a good documentary anyway.

Tonight, I watched Live Forever, which is a film about the Cool Britania Britpop movement in the '90s. It was very well put together, and it was about music, so I was pretty stoked. I had the DVD lying around my room for a while, and always forgot to watch it, but after reading a review, I decided to give it a looksee. What's the Story Morning Glory?, in my opinion anyway, might be one of the top five albums of my lifetime--no matter what Noel Gallagher says--and if nothing else, I figured I'd be able to bask in good songs and Gallagher brothers drunken squabbling for the course of the film. But the filmmakers tied in all this social / political stuff that was going on in the UK at the time, which, being American, I had absolutely no idea about. Anyway, it's highly recommended.

I decided to do as little as possible this evening, because today was very taxing. Three meetings, discussing a new project, more work, more money, more stress. It's nothing I can't handle, I guess, but trying to make myself look like a presentable, capable adult is probably the most difficult thing. I guess that's a bad thing considering my age. I have to grow up sometime, right? It just seems like a postive way of saying "giving up." Still, I am a little excited of being given the chance to head up a project again, especially since the last one was doomed.

I really don't like to write about work, but that's really all I have going on right now. I come home, watch cable, maybe use the computer, or go out drinking if I have the money, and then try to sleep in as much as possible. I don't think it's really as bad as it all sounds. With all the stuff going on at work, I think I'm going to have to make a decision soon whether or not this is a place I want to spend a good portion of my life, and right now, I'm not sure that it is. There's something about this place that I don't trust--it's like Fool's gold or something. I feel like it was too easy to make it to where I am now, and it shouldn't have been. It wouldn't have been in a big city. I wouldn't have gotten this opportunity anywhere else. I'm grateful for that. I'm just not sure what I want to do.

Maybe I shouldn't have read that Dr. Suess book (props, S.).

I definitely don't want to do anything that has to do with spiders. I found one in my room last night, on my wall kind of staring at me. I'm really not sure if it was or not, but...anyway, I don't know why I'm so scared of the things. Many of them are harmless enough, but I guess that's why they call it a phobia. It's an irrational fear. Normally, I don't let my fear of spiders turn me into a murderer. Just because I'm scared of something, that doesn't mean it doesn't have the right to live. When I see a spider in the wild, or even outside my house, I give it plenty of distance and respect and hope it goes away as fast as possible. The only time I get medieval on spiders are when I'm driving--I've nearly gotten into an accident with one in the car before, so I see it as either it or me--and when they're in my room. The only problem is, I'm too scared to get too close to the fucking things so it's usually an arduous and embarassing process of either trying to shoe it away or destroy it--I opt for shoeing whenever possible. Luckily for me, I'm usually the only one present, besides the spider.

I couldn't tell how big last night's spider was, hanging out on the wall next to my bed (like right next to it), because I had my glasses off, but I'm convinced that they're all huge. It was stationary and I stared at it. It was too far from my door, so there was no possible way I could successfully herd this thing outside without making a whole lot of embarassing noises, so I eyed it firmly and strengthened my resolve. I grabbed and old pillow. It moved. It knew what was coming, and I felt terrible, but I had to get to sleep if I was going to make it through the work day, and that wouldn't happen if Mr. Eight-Legs was lurking about. I smooshed it to death with the pillow before It got away, and nearly freaked out in the process. I'm a bad person.