Nope! We decided cutting out seven or more scenes would greatly help our intake of all the avant-garde bat shit raining into our eyes. For those of you thinking, “Well, Ghost in the Shell did have some boring expository bits”—take those bits, make them Our Town-esque re the history of cinema’s self-awareness, and you have a very preposterous test of Western audiences appreciation for animation theory. Luckily, I’m in the company of these fine women:
Who’ve put me up this birthday weekend, and took me to play with Ayla at Lake Michigan (there was a riptide warning, and winds were up to 30 knots, blowing south; and in the picture I look positively set on eating the dog; also I’m saying goodbye to my summer body, goodbye, I love touching you):
And here is the other guy celebrating this evening (he and I both got haircuts recently! I went to The Hair Cuttery, A.J.! Did you um cut your own?):
My cake is chilling in the fridge. (A major component of my cake is cherry Jell-O.) Nope! My cake came out and then there was some documentation:
That’s cherry for you. Then a tea light.