It's only 6:30 pm--practically morning for me--and I've already been out to dinner with my family and angered them by asking why they follow the teachings of Sylvia Brown. It was kind of creepy the way my sister answered, as if it were a perfectly good reason, "Because we're programmed to." I don't normally discuss their beliefs with them, having learned long ago what a breach of diplomacy they considered it to be. But I guess it'd been so long since the last time that I'd forgotten.
I watched Jean Renoir's Rules of the Game last night. It was a fun diarama of chaos and people being cool and kind of stupid about the grave peril they're. My favourite line was when Marceau, the poacher, helpfully suggested to a man (whose name escapes me) that he shoot Octave for kissing his wife, only to have the man reply that he'd used up all of his bullets on Marceau for doing the same thing. It was like screwball comedy delivered with utter candour.
Now I feel like working on things . . .