confessions of an amateur cineaste

When I got home last night I found that the housemate had rented a stack of movies. (I wish I had gotten there sooner, because I only saw the last ten minutes or so of Waiting, which looked like it might have been worth it for John Francis Daley alone.)

But The Ice Harvest was better than I thought it would be (though still not actually -good-). There are worse ways to spend an evening, though. One of them was the other option I was given — Yours, Mine, and Ours. Um. No.