land of the dead

So, I went to see Romero's Land of the Dead tonight, and I'd rather not go into much of it in case any four of you want to go see it. I did enjoy it, but my opinion was in the minority, I think. Zombies creep me out. I don't much like people invading my personal space and zombies get all up in it with the swarming and the biting.

We did some test location shooting for the movie today. It wasn't much, but it was nice to get things started. I get myself so worked up and nervous about this stuff. I don't know how my sister does it. She does stage acting, though not much professionally yet, and I don't understand how she's able to get up in front of all those people.

Luckily, I didn't have to get up in front of anyone. I sat the whole time.

I got into way too many deep, thoughtful conversations with people today. For some reason, I just couldn't shut up. I got into a discussion about not wanting to spend the rest of my life in this town at a Jack in the Box. Oddly enough, I did so while another equally deep, thoughtful conversation on the nature of god was occuring between someone at my table with a bible group--having a jam session--at a series of tables adjacent to us. It just further proved my theory that for whatever reason, that Jack in the Box is the most fascinating place in town.

Then, in the movie theater parking lot, I had a way too esoteric conversation discussing the deeper meanings of Land of the Dead. Neither of these two conversations I'm particularly proud of, but they happened, and there's no point in me denying them.

Now, I'm just sitting here watching Sportscenter and hoping I don't fall asleep on the couch for the third or maybe it'd be the fourth night in a row. Last night, I got back from dinner at Red Lobster with my roommate--we both had the dish dubbed "The Ultimate Feast," which consisted of more shellfish than I've ever seen on one plate ever--and since I hadn't slept the night before, save for the two hours I'd spent on the couch, I collapsed once again on my surrogate bed. We were watching Bram Stoker's Dracula, and I remember a heavily made up Gary Oldman say something to Keanu Reeves, but that was all. Then some shrieking evil banshee woman lunged at me and I woke up (that dream sucked by the way) with no idea of where I was or how I got there. It was 4:30am. I was delirious, but I got my bearings enough to make my way to my room. But my part-time doggy roommate was startled by my staggering. I'd forgotten he was there, but he reminded me he was spending the night by delivering a few good woofs, which only added to the disorientation.

I tried to reassure him with jibberish, and I think he realized his error. I mean, even if I was an intruder, he probably figured that he could make quick work of me.

Anyway, since I'm watching Sportscenter and since I'm bored and since I'm a pervert, I've decided to post a picture of Maria Sharapova, (you can clicky the picture) who hasn't lost a set in her latest Wimbledon campaign and is also the richest female athlete in the world, and one hell of an athlete at that and not just a sex symbol (I'm not naming names). Kudos to you. And big ups to the Mets for taking two of three from the goddamn Yankees in Yankee Stadium over the weekend.



Rock. And as a PS, I hope the Astros pen blows more games for Clemens. I hate that dumb Texan fucker.