Freezing, new technology and some quick reviews
This is my new computer. My old computer, godbless the old nag, finally wore out at the ripe old age of at least six. I probably could have fixed it, it was just a monitor problem. But I’ve been wanting a new one for a while, and what good are savings if you can’t dip in for a necessary investment like a computer. 

It’s so beautiful I can’t stand it sometimes. I stroke it gently. Tell it how beautiful it is. I dream it can hear me and my words make it feel so good and proud, and it will never die or leave me. And if I asked it to, it would destroy my enemies, although I never would ask because I never want it to lose its innocence.
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We’re experiencing a bit of a cold snap here in sunny Portland, Oregon. The high today is 31, and the low is supposed to get down to 17. And of course, we haven’t turned on our heat yet, so last night I was watching television and I started seeing my breath. I couldn’t believe it was true so I walked around to different parts of the house, and drank water thinking maybe something I ate made my mouth really warm. Sure enough, I could see my breath in the house. It’s supposed to warm up after today. This morning Knives walked over me and her little pawpads were so cold. 
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I discovered last night after many dares, and fits of hysterical laughter, that it’s impossible to eat even one teaspoon of cinnamon. Try it, I dare you. Next time you’re at a bar, dare someone to do it. It’s the most fun simulation of asphyxiation you’ll ever experience.
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Alan and I were having breakfast the other day, and I asked for a two-egg plate with no meat. After the waitress left, he said, “No meat except for those two aborted chickens.” I said, “Well that’s the thing, I’m a vegetarian, but I’m also pro-choice. So I can eat eggs.” Besides, I’m pretty sure eggs are closer to periods than abortions.
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I watched “Eastern Promises” last weekend. We’re all lucky David Cronenberg decided he wanted to stop fucking around with weird prosthetics and start making really good movies. Don’t get me wrong, I love his old 80s weird shit, but this last movie was amazing. All of his movies have an unsettling mix of violence and sex, and the latest delivers his obsession with flesh better than ever. I’d hate to ruin the climax for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but it had me literally sitting on the edge of my seat, with my eyes wide and my hands over my mouth in awe and disgust.
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“3:10 to Yuma” is also pretty good. Its performances and concept (based on an Elmore Leonard story) do all the heavy lifting, but well enough. It seems kind of under-shot, if that means anything. Anyone who films the American Southwest and makes it look anything but breathtaking, as does “Walk the Line” director Mangold, dropped the ball. The camera could have been a little less fixated on its cast. That and the obvious geographic fudging annoyed me. It was filmed in rocky, snowy parts of New Mexico, squandering the supposed settings of far Southern Arizona towns like Bisbee. But still, Christian Bale, Russell Crowe, Peter Fonda and that scrawny whiny little bitch from Six Feet Under ham it up and provide a classic western ensemble tragedy.
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