It's Wednesday. The middle of the work week. "Hump Day" to some, drudgery to others. The rain is steadily dropping to the absorbent earth today. I'm about to eat yet again at the bagel shop. It's an eating habit that I cannot seem to shake yet, but like any other repetitive eating habit, it will fade with time. I finished reading Jar City, an "Icelandic thriller," a few days ago, but I haven't been able to commit to a new book yet. I've been bring a few with me to work, including Portnoy's Complaint by Philip Roth, and Earth Abides by George R. Stewart. I'm not sure what fictional world I want to dive into.
Last night I watched the recent film adaptation of Jim Thompson's The Killer Inside of Me, starring Casey Affleck, Kate Hudson, and the multi-talented Jessica Alba. If you are not familiar with the story, it's about a psychopathic cop, who has a penchant for sadistic sex. The film was publicity worthy for the film beating that the Jessica Alba character is subject to. Needless to say, the film was not easy to watch. I think part of the success of Jim Thompson's novels is the voice, the narration, but the interior mind of a psychopath is difficult to film, especially without making the audience sick. The dark humor of Thompson's novels are lost when the depravity of the characters is actually seen on film.
Now I venture forth into the gray rain of the Pacific Northwest. There is an author event tonight at the bookstore, and I have already mentally committed to introducing the author, since my co-worker (the fledgling rock star) absolutely "fucking hates" doing introductions.