*takes deep breath*

Yep, that’s the ticket.

In other news, aren’t movie reviews weird? I mean, this morning on Good Morning America Joel Siegel gives just about the best review ever for Red Dragon, which opens today. I mean, he’s about to go into wheezing mode over how we MUST go see it, now, don’t wait, it’s incredible, and on and on. So I—impressible as I am—think, Sold. I’m there. Only to come up here to the computer and see that says it’s not-so-good, and some paper in Canada says Nah, don’t bother. (This from Google News, which proves every second how a story can be told any number of ways, literally.) The fact of the matter is, reviews are just one person’s opinion. If I listened to the reviewer from Entertainment Weekly (my showbiz bible), for instance, I never would have gone to see several of my favorite movies: they never like the same stuff that I do. Then again, most people don’t. I’ve been told I have horrible taste in movies. (I do own Crossroads on DVD. ‘Nuff said, right?) Luckily, I have good taste in other things. Like friends. And husbands. That’s the stuff that really counts anyway.

(I have wonderful family, as well. But you can’t pick them. So the fact that I got so many great cousins is just lucky, I guess.)

Also: I am so tired today. I went out last night to hear a band with my friend Marianne: her son was the drummer. It was at this restaurant/bar called 23, owned by Michael Jordan. (Yes, that Michael Jordan.) So there I am, after a long night at a university reading/reception, listening to music. It was nice. Until I looked around and came to this realization: it’s one thing to feel old at a club/bar when everyone else is in their early twenties and you, well, you’re just not. It’s entirely something else to look around and realize that just about everyone isn’t even legal yet. Man. I felt ancient. Although not quite as ancient as this morning, when I dragged my tired butt up to get onto the treadmill.


have a good weekend, everyone….