Thursday

Well, I got into the watchmaking program in Saint Paul, and am nothing short of exhilarated. I thought I screwed that interview up pretty bad, but I think thinking that was a defense mechanism in case it turned out bad, so I wouldn't be crushed into oblivion were things not to work out. It's pretty complicated being Dale, you're always having to trick yourself.

Thanks to everyone for your support.

And now, an open letter to David O. Russell, maker of I heart Huckabees.

Dear David O. Russell,

Why have you made this vile excrescence and not hidden it under your bed, or set it on fire, or maybe strapped it to a missile that was subsequently shot into the mouth of an active volcano? This "existential comedy" isn't funny AT ALL. Is that somehow, circuitously, your point? Is this supposed to make me think about something other than how much I hate you for making this hunk of shit? Well, I'm not in the mood for abstruse, convoluted, interwoven layers of poorly researched coffeeshop philosophy. Any grade-school dropout can write this kind of dogshit, but it takes a real sociopath to actually do it. Please, take up macrame, go to the shaolin temple, do anything, but stop making movies.

Thanks,
Dale

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