Dear Diary: Jell-O

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Regular readers know what the header means.

Not a lot to report, you betcha.  I got very hungry, but, eventually, my stomach gave up. There’s still plenty of Jell-O. I finished the last of the nectar before nine.

I watched three movies. Le Patinoire is one of the funniest films that I’ve ever seen. So funny, in fact, that I’m not recommending it to anybody. It must be just me. To Kill a King was — like The Wolfman, it would have been better in Martian. Was today really the day for Fatih Akin’s Gegen die Wand again? Now it’s too late to watch Honolulu, a movie I didn’t even know about until just the other day, when Brooks Peters ran a clip. I love Eleanor Powell, but I bought the tape for George and Gracie. Not to mention Honolulu.

Amazingly, I completed tomorrow’s Daily Office. I worked. That has never happened on a Jell-O day before — and I estimate that there have been somewhere between twelve and fifteen of them. Jell-O days have always had a determined sort of Victoria-mourning-Albert inertia about them.

I am going to eat my head off tomorrow at lunch. Frites en ciel.