Welcome To My Bed

Murder by television.


This is how I look when I wake up well-rested. No thanks to Mel Gibson. I tried to watch Apocalypto last night for the first time and only made it about fifty minutes before feeling completely sick to my stomach, not because of the excessive blood, but because it was just so unsettling. I couldn't tell who was on what side in the scenes where people were fighting. And they killed a tapir in one of the first scenes. I love tapirs. How can you not love something this cute?


The one in the movie didn't have stripes and spots, but it was still a big fat mushy elephant-pig looking thing and it made me very depressed to see it die. To get that bad taste out my mouth, James and I decided to watch Murder By Death, which is a lot like a better version of Clue, and I already think Clue is brilliant, so this was just delightful. Truman Capote is in it, and Peter Falk, and Alec Guinness, and Peter Sellers, and Maggie Smith. It was so silly and wonderful, I laughed so much.

I didn't get to bed until after four in the morning, but I feel so amazing today. I had wonderful dreams about India, probably because I fell asleep listening to Ravi Shankar. And last night at Slam Collective Jai Chakrabarti featured, poems about Betty Boop and Calcutta childhood. Then there's our frequent viewing of Michael Palin's BBC journey through the Himalayas. And the other night James and I both saw The Darjeeling Limited for the first time.


The best bit of writing in the whole movie somehow doesn't show up on the IMDB page, which is criminal.

Peter: "They're laughing at us."
Francis: (completely in earnest) "I love it here; these people are beautiful."

My armchair tour through India makes me wish I had the money to travel so so badly. Maybe one day.