Obviously I saw Batman Begins this week. Aside from wondering whether Katie Holmes is a dropout from the same acting academy that flunked Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman, one has to say that, finally, someone has gotten Batman right. Then again, watch Pacino in INSOMNIA. Nolan knows how to direct actors. Simple as that.
They also showed a long preview of Charlie and the CF, speaking of directors whose Batmen were near misses, making one wonder how JDepp manages to get weirder with every single picture. All right, every other picture, if you count Neverland.
And I heard from the Nostrumite last night, who claims he is in a state of permanent depression over the fact that, with the school year ended, he now has to make the rounds of institutes, where he is teaching his fine brand of polician strategy and tactics across the country, leaving Odelie behind for weeks at a time with no company other than the Nostrumutt, Pecksniff the Nostrumian Applehead, and her congregation of High Episcopalians. Oh, the torture of a busy life. I prefer my existence, where all I have to do is dig up old juvenile justice files and send them to the team and go back into estivation. (That's a great word, estivation. Feel free to take it and use it yourself, whenever it seems to fit. Tomorrow's word is musth.) Anyhow, the lad vows to keep up his TWHS episodes, a new one of which he promised he would post this morning. I haven't checked yet, but I've never known the Mite to back down on a promise, except that time at the baccarat table with the go-go dancers back in Monte Carlo, but we won't go there. This time.
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