Woke up first thing this morning to the sound of a barking dog, our barking dog, wanting to be taken outside. When you make a habit of occasionally stealing things off the kitchen table like, say, several rolls, you can maybe expect a little gastrointestinal distress a few hours later. But we came back in, and I went back to bed. I left him downstairs, but I can only presume Tucker did too.
I didn’t do too much with the rest of the day. I went to the library. I got a quick haircut. I read a little for Kaleidotrope. I wrote a little, too. And tonight I watched The Men Who Stare at Goats, which was okay but not great.
And that’s really it.
Ah, the woes of stealing dinner rolls from the table. Many’s the time it’s happened to me…
The book version of The Men Who Stare at Goats was better. Less Hollywood wackiness on top of the already wacky enough real-life wackiness.
That’s what I hear. I didn’t have a problem with the wackiness, for the most part, and lord knows the cast (Clooney especially) does their darndest to sell it, but it’s ultimately a pretty one-note, one-joke movie. The movie just claims to have been “inspired” by the book, which frankly can mean anything. (G.I. Joe was “inspired” by the works of Jean Paul Sartre, did you know?)