I stubbed my left pinky toe last night in a wee hours trip to the bathroom. Why is it that stubbing a toe hurts so freakin' bad? Maybe it's the pain coupled with the uber stupidity of not watching where I'm walking. I'm still not even sure what I ran into -- the closet door? A steel-toed boot? A concrete wall? It's a mystery that will continue to haunt me.

I want extend a special thanks to sturge for providing me endless minutes of entertainment yesterday. I read his entire diary during the down time that is my job. He's a fellow filmmaker who resides in Austin (a booming little film town, despite the fact that it's in Tex-ass). His hobbies include drinking Schlitz and spending lots of time sans pants. Try him. You'll like him.

Regarding yesterday's interview : odd. I've never been to an interview where the interviewer doesn't ask me any questions. No, wait -- she asked me if I had any trouble finding the building (and no, I did not). I spent the next 45 minutes listening to her talk about the company and all the nifty perks their employees get. And that, my friends, was it. Does that constitute a good interview or bad? I don't think I can decode that one.

And now for a two-word description of a guy who just called here: chemically imbalanced.