This has been a rough week. Monday morning started early with the lugubriousness and unavoidable pain of 9/11, as of this weekend Marshall Field's is no more, Ann Richards just died, Iran's looking inevitable, I worry stupidly about Iraq from all sides all the time... Not to mention, a former coworker who never looked anyone I knew in the eye except those he found worthy of starfucking has written a tell-all with (as I am told) annoying innacuracies, and that didn't help either. A few things he said sound just Incorrect and worthy of correction, but I suppose it's also that *I* wanted the last word.

TV was just *dangerous* on Monday. I try hard to avoid the images of the towers--it's like watching somebody being beheaded--but it was just...unavoidable. Very slippery slope. It's a terrible thing that TV has enough imagery and hoo-ha to fill that many rehashed hours of straight horror and sadness without having to stretch very hard (either way it's awful). After 20 minutes or so, I decided that I needed to shut it off in a big way. So I listened to all of Ravel's Bolero, which had just started. I figured--this will take me somewhere.

The key art for The Black Dahlia is really effective, clever and just YUCKY! Which is the point.