I could write here about viewing the Pianist on Saturday evening, and spending most of Sunday in an existential funk—watch the scene where Adrien Brody walks crying through the remains of the Warsaw Ghetto, amid broken furniture and blowing feathers, and then try to look at the Crate & Barrel catalog without slitting your wrists.

I could mention how I spent my Sunday in the basement painting the last of the walls Kilz white, but that would be boring. I could take pictures and post them, too, but that would be incredibly dull, and you really don’t give a shit about my basement. I could proudly mention that the basement is now somewhat organized, is about seven shades brighter, and has a pair of tables set up next to the only south-facing window under a grow lamp for our vegetable seed. I suppose that’s a good thing.

Honestly, it was a pretty quiet weekend, and now it’s Monday.

P.S. Lis– I get the Adrien Brody thing now. You’re on your own with Buscemi, but I get the Brody thing.