I see Blue...he look's gloooooorious

This morning there was LIGHT when I left my apartment. The Netherlands has officially moved from the dark ages and I no longer can claim to have SAD (seasonal affective disorder -- ingenious acronym if I do say so myself). When it's summer, damn is it summer, but during the winter this place is darker than a David Lynch film. I understand the excessive fake-baking: I too would be weirdly orange if all my winters dark as this.

Speaking of David Lynch, I always feel like a second-rate movie connoisseur when I watch his stuff because 20-95% of it goes over my head. For example, can anyone tell me -- without the help of Google or IMDB -- the significance of the "derelict" who's emerges from behind the dumpster in the diner parking lot in Mulholland Drive? (fun L.A. fact: That diner is an empty diner that films rent out all the time for use in movies. If I remember correctly, the diner was also used in Swingers).

(I've been thinking a lot about David Lynch this week -- I have a cold and so have been taking Benadryl at night -- seriously folks, only Benadryl -- and have had the weirdest frickin dreams, which all remind me of his movies. Maybe that's his secret to story lines: I bet to write Twin Peaks he had to buy out a CVS's worth of the magical pink pills.)

Also, I realized that I can officially call my movie watching/memorizing fetish a "collector's hobby" (aka compulsive obsession). I packed up all my DVDs and realized I have, oh, about 200. That's just fucked up -- like I'm ever going to sit down and watch Ghost Rider again (though, in my defense, I didn't actually buy that film; some dude lent it to me and it's asshole tax for never calling me back).