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Ah, the irony. Looks like she finally said, "Yes, yes, yes," and "went, went, went."

From the Gossip feature of the 02/08/08 edition of The Week...

Singer Amy Winehouse checked into rehab last week after a 20-minute video surfaced showing her apparently smoking crack and snorting cocaine and Ecstasy. "Amy decided to enter the facility today after talks with her record label, management, family, and doctors," said her record company in a statement. Winehouse had already taken what she called a "detox trip" to the Caribbean shortly before the video was filmed.

I see today that she's been denied a visa to enter the U.S. to sing at the Grammy's, but will perform via satellite.

I worked from home today.  Around an editing council I'm a member of, a little drama tried to rear its time-consuming head today, but I put the kabosh on that. Life is too short.

I met Joe to workout today, where we did side-by-side elliptical machines, and talked the entire time; that is to say that I didn't listen to any of In Cold Blood.

Today's workout stats:




I love the idea of this new website, "Found Cameras and Orphan Pictures." If you've lost a camera, or a memory card or flash drive with pictures on it, you might find them here. If you've found such a thing, you should post here. I mean if you want to.

I tried to start on an edit tonight that has a due date of today. Needless to say that's not going to happen.

I saved the document to my hard drive, deleted it from the e-mail it was attached to (Which gives a warning: "This action cannot be undone. Continue?" to which I replied yes."), and navigated to the directory in which I'd stored it. Empty directory.

No, absolutely not a happy camper. I sent an e-mail to the writer asking her to resend it to me first thing in the morning. Grrrrrrrr!

Since I couldn't work, I decided to treat myself to a $1.50 movie:  August Rush

Movie Synopsis: An infant secretly given away by a woman's father has grown into an unusually gifted child who hears music all around him and can turn the rustling of wind through a wheat field into a beautiful symphony with himself at its center, the composer and conductor.

He holds an unwavering belief that his parents are alive and want him as much as he wants them. Determined to search for them, he makes his way to New York City. There, lost and alone, he is beckoned by the guitar music of a street kid playing for change and follows him back to a makeshift shelter in the abandoned Fillmore East Theater, where dozens of children like him live under the protection of the enigmatic Wizard.

He picks up a guitar for the first time and unleashes an impromptu performance in his own unique style. Wizard names him August Rush, introduces him to the soul-stirring power of music and begins to draw out his extraordinary talent. Wizard has big plans for the young prodigy but, for August, his music has a more important purpose. He believes that if his parents can hear his music, they will find him.

Unbeknownst to August, they have already begun that journey.

This is precisely the kind of movie that makes me rarely see mainstream movies. It's the kind of thing that everyone would want to happen in real life, but never would. So, of course, it has an incredibly sappy, happily-ever-after ending. It's movies like this that make me realize that I do still have a gag reflex.

As soon as the credits started rolling, the guy sitting behind me said to whomever he was with, "That is the gayest movie I have ever seen in my life." I got the distinct impression that that wasn't a good thing.



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