Negotiated with my dad so as to be able to borrow the car during the day. I still do not renounce my general hatred of driving, but I would have been faced with no choice but sitting in an empty house all day, which for whatever reason, I was not in the mood for today. Maybe it's the peculiar nature of this house, Idunno. Other times or places I would enjoy it. Instead:
Went to burger king for breakfast. They brought back sausage egg 'n' cheese biscuits, (as opposed to crossainwich or the erstwhile sourdough-thing, which, though reasonably edible, wasn't so great) hooray! Tasty.
Went to barnes & noble's again. I am weak! So weak! I bought a book. But! It was (a) used (b) on sale (all used books were 50% off) yet (c) in a language I don't know and (cx) a book I already own. That is, I walked out of the store with "A hundred years of solitude" in german, $1.58 less in my pocket, and newly renewed motivation to get some reading comprehension in german, to at least wander out of the romance subfamily a bit. Judge the utter and total futility of the act however you will.
Called
Anyway, the movie was pretty awesome. Nick Cage acted a fine piece of acting. It had all the contorted self-referentiality I could ever hope for. It had futile fantasies about cute waitresses that hit the mark exactly. It had actual, vaguely interesting comments on life and its frustrations. It had lots of stuff. You should go see it.
Called my dad. Chatted about about dinner plans. Decided to just go to Chili's instead of going home. Martin remembered he wanted a complexity theory book, so we headed over to the BN again, since it was in the same mall. He found a couple books which were interesting, if not exactly what he was looking for.
Dropped him off back at the apartment. Headed home. Wrote livejournal entry. Wrote about writing livejournal entry. Wrote about metaness. Ran away from angry mob fed up with cheap self-reference. Bedded high-on-powdered-orchid Meryl Streep. OR DID I?