Whatever song Miguel was whistling in the shower this morning.
This terrible grey, rainy weather is destroying my weak nerves. Is it any wonder that the English Malady is that of low spirits. I'd quote Cheyne here, but honestly, it'll just take too much effort.
Sigh.
Going to a party tonight with D (I believe our not-so-real boyfriends have better, non-Spanish speaking things to do). Must go and buy beer.
Sigh.
Hair won't do what it's supposed to. Have nothing to wear. 5 pounds too many. Shouldn't have eaten that last pint of Mayan Chocolate.
Sigh.
I tell you, those children starving in Biafra have nothing on me. Nothing, I say!
And speaking of children starving in Biafra, I just came across this article about the Angelina Jolie-Anderson Cooper interview last night. Since I don't have cable (nudge nudge), I'll have to take the NY Times' word for it. My favourite lines are as follows:
"He [Anderson Cooper] praised Ms. Jolie for doing the interview solely to draw attention to the plight of refugees and not to promote a movie. He then seamlessly moved on to vigorously promote his best-selling book."
Now, I've always been suspicious of Mr. Cooper. That 360º show was just another shameless way to through geometry in my face. And the standing. Standing? Who stands? I didn't find his coverage of Katrina that interesting or good. Call me oldfashioned, but I see nothing appropriate about breaking down and crying during every interview. Yes, it's terrible. Yes, there's a lot of water. I didn't see any tears being shed for any of the stories he covered overseas. I guess Americans and the odd - yes, I said it, ODD - American disaster are worth crying over, but the everyday atrocities... eeeh, not so much.
I bet Mansbridge could kick his ass.
N.B. - I apologise for the rampant and unavoidable bitterness. It was, after all, unavoidable.
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