Burning Eyes to be Soothed (One Hopes) by Somewhat Chick-ish Flick

There are nights aside from the usual Friday-Saturday respite, it has to be said, when blogging just isn't happening. More accurately, basic brain functions aren't happening. So rather than torture you with halfhearted posts (which, trust me, would be even more torturous than my fullhearted posts, if you can imagine), I'm sitting this one out. Over the past week or so, I've read -- no exaggeration -- about 2,000 pages for work, so I'm feeling more than ever that my job, as I once described it to a friend, is less "editor" than "woodchipper." Now, for an exclusive shot of me at my desk:


Given that state of affairs, and the resulting sensation that my eyeballs have been scoured with sandpaper, and given that I've had the same three movies from Netflix for the past six weeks -- also no exaggeration -- I think it's movie-time. Two of the three options are subtitled, and that's no good, subtitles having to be read and all. That leaves me with, I'm half-ashamed to admit, In Her Shoes. Ever since Curtis Hanson directed L.A. Confidential with such style, I figure his movies are worth a shot. I'm off to put that theory to the test. Wish me luck.