Tears of a clown, heart of a champion

I started watching the 1974 version of Murder on the Orient Express 85 minutes ago. 80 minutes ago I remembered how it ends, despite never having read the book nor seen any of the various movie interpretations (or played the video game ... what the hell?!). Regardless, I'm unable to stop watching because it's on Turner Classic Movies, which means no commercials which means anything I'd want to accomplish away from the tv could mean missing the scene where Sean Connery and Michael York discuss their desire to star in ill-conceived sci-fi movies later in the decade.

I'd go downstairs for a cookie, but we don't have any cookies so that could turn into a long trip.

Instead, I'll let the movie play out as I try to think of what to write in emails when nothing happened today. I'm tempted to steal from Camus: "Aujourd'hui, je n'ai fait rien. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas."



Actually, I did go for a walk because it was a lovely day. I brought along my camera and took pictures of birds, winding roads, dilapidated barns, and the rolling hills all around me. I regretted not taking my wide-angle lens because a rolling hill isn't the sort of subject you always want to zoom in on. Upon getting home I looked at the pictures on my computer, at which point I came the conclusion that there's a spot of dust somewhere on my lens. So that kinda sucks.

Later, I composed a possibly ambiguous text message. I wanted to send a follow-up explanatory text message, but resisted the urge; hey, maybe it won't be misread, right? Fingers crossed!

"Aujourd'hui, j'ai écrit un message des textes qui était ambigu. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas."

Fig. 1: Honey, where's the diaper I wear when I go shootin'?
You know, my shootin' diaper! Where's my shootin' diaper?