We can trace the lines they followed sixteen hundred years ago

Last night's dreams were full of rivers and rainforest and severed heads and people whose wrists were sliced with gills, like razor cuts. This stuff had better alchemize into story, or my brain has no excuse.

I am going to need to rent the first season of M*A*S*H after all: the episodes currently broadcast on TV Land are cut for commercials, and I haven't been watching them regularly anyway. At least I have had a good week for movies. In the last five days, I've seen Notes on a Scandal (2006) with rushthatspeaks and nineweaving, Little Miss Sunshine (2006) with gaudior and weirdquark, and Dinner at Eight (1933) with my mother. And all of these I liked, although throughout Notes on a Scandal I kept thinking how much better the film would have been without Philip Glass' score, which was alternately minimalist and bombastic and at no point suited the story. But because of Jean Harlow in Dinner at Eight, an entire character in Victor / Victoria (1982) finally makes sense, and for Steve Carell I will see The 40-Year-Old Virgin, and maybe the DVD of Notes on a Scandal will come with some option to turn off the score, because otherwise it was a terrific film. Next up should be Pan's Labyrinth. I've realized that there are many fewer movies than books with secondary worldbuilding that I really like—possibly because film often feels like a filter through someone else's resonance, while words on the page allow for more overlap between the writer's and the reader's particular images. But I am hardly averse to giving Guillermo del Toro's resonance a try.

Speaking of secondary worlds, I have been discussing Diana Wynne Jones' Howl's Moving Castle with fleurdelis28. Cut for anyone who cares about spoilers.
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I still credit it and Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles with instilling in me an early desire to learn Welsh.