Well, we goofed when we ordered Collateral Damage. It's actually on MONDAY night.

I was really looking forward to admiring Arnold's perfect V, huge muscles and tight ass.

Ah well...another day.

Instead we watched Mulholland Drive. Larry really digs David Lynch. While I also like his work, I must admit I don't relish it as passionately as does my better half. This film was particularly unenjoyable for me. Most of Lynch's work tends to be conceptual and abstract (to say the least). This one was just fucking confusing. Now, admittedly, we may have missed something important that ties the whole deal together due to the fact that both babies were awake and going on all cylinders. I still managed to catch most of it though and at the end was left with that uncomfortable wtf?? feeling, like I was the only one who didn't get it. Fortunately I wasn't. Larry didn't have a clue either.

It starts out as the story of a nice girl trying to help a woman with amnesia. Then it goes in so many different directions it starts to look a lot like Pulp Fiction, but while PF cleared everything up nicely and the end worked (even if it did take fucking forever to get there), the end of MD just kind of left us puzzled and with that "there's more, right...?" feeling. completely and wholly unsatisfying.

Who really was Betty? Who was Camille? Which one was Diane?

Who the hell knows?

Do I wanna watch it again and see if anything clicks?

Not particularly.

It reminded me of an old joke; what do you get when you cross a performance art piece with Western Union?

* A message you don't understand.

'Nuff said.