I don’t love films about families that just generally aren’t very happy, in which people just sort of remain unhappy throughout it all. It feels like there are an increasing number of films that are like Wes Anderson movies in their tempo, in their general climate, but they lack any sort of fun or humor. Has it just become easier to pass misery off as art because we’re so adept at covering it up in our daily lives? I think there’s plenty of fiction out there like that as well. You know, the stuff that just sort of ends on you.

Of course, I’m not reading a whole heck of a lot of word-fiction right now. I’m rocking plenty of poetry, and a lot of the rest of it is graphic fiction. Fiction with pictures is more fun. Especially fiction with pictures of people with guns! They can be six-shooters, like the phenomenal Jonah Hex showcase collection DC released a couple months ago. Or the Transmetropolitan books B-Mo loaned me, all of which make me want to get a bowel disruptor gun. I don’t know who I would use it on– there’s not really anyone– but I’d like to have one handy. You know, in case I get to meet the president.

I wish I had more to report; I don’t. Worked a bunch today… whoo hoo… Ladybug and I went out to dinner after a couple of lazy post-work hours… whee hee… nothing much worth telling.

Who is this Ken Ray dude who pitched for the Braves today? I didn’t even know he was on their roster. Clearly, it’s tme for me to fire up the RSS reader again; with baseball season here, I’m going to need to be reading Mac Thomason’s Braves Journal.

Ted Hobgood, evil genius.