It's Paul Giamatti's Birthday

for another fifteen minutes. Man on the Moon, Cinderella Man, Sideways, American Splendor, The Illusionist. I didn't see Lady in the Water, and I heard it blew chunks, but I'm sure he was splendid in it. The man is forty-one years old today. Here's to forty-one more.

I wrote sent off five letters the other day - my hand started to cramp up after it all. But it was nice to catch up on my correspondence and also, it is nice to say that I caught up on my correspondence. Shoot. Nobody expect a letter if you're reading this. I basically sent out a letter to anyone I have an address to. Almost. I take that back. Nobody expect a letter.

My left eye is infected. I woke up with a slight irritation and tried to work through it with my dad. It kept getting worse and worse, tearing up and it actually really hurt for a while. I think I had tried to wash it out a dozen or so times before dad sent me to the hospital. The doctor was really nice and laid-back, making small talk while treating me. None of his four kids are doctors, he is a third-generation doctor. Sad, but they're all doing really well. He laid me back and put a few drops of florescent goo in my eye and turned on a black light. Of course, he told me what he was doing and everything so I freaked out. "Are you serious? Ohhhhh, that's going to be so cool. Haha! Is there a mirror? Can I see? Hahaha! Awesome!" I don't know why I was so excited - he started smiling and chuckling but I didn't get to see my glow in the dark eye. The lid and insides of the flaps are swollen, it's starting to spread to the other eye he says, but that one feels fine. They prescribed some drops that I take every four hours. Hopefully it's better, or getting better by Monday. The doctor said it's probably not a worm (he held his hands two feet away from each other) that burrows in the eye. It still hurts like hell, some times more than others - it's getting to be a huge pain in the... head all day. Hope it's not pink eye. Do you think my dad farted on my pillow while I was at the farm? You know, as a joke?

What do you do if you can't see very well? Can't read, can't watch a film, can't go for a drive, can't photograph or darkroom or charcoal or ink... you can sit by the firepit at Dordt, waiting for Shake and Pip to show up with wood and listen to LCD Soundsystem and Neutral Milk Hotel, trying to think up names for a film production company.

Brainstorming is easier when your eyes are closed, scribbling away and singing, "Your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking, and dad would dream of all the different ways to die - each one a little more than he could dare to tryyyyyyyyyyyy."

Tomorrow's a wedding. Hooray!