The beach had movie waves, you know, the crashing-against -jagged-rocks-with-great-drama kind and steep cliffs with glass-crazy houses perched on them. Yeah, movie houses for movie waves. It was a one hundred and thirty mile drive (one way) and by the time I got home last night I was exhausted, not so much physically as nonphysically. There was something... wrong. I ignored it. Because this is what I do. Ignore, ignore, ignore. But it took Basque all of ten seconds to uncover the fact and its source, which I then promptly downplayed and/or denied: Oh hey how about we go see Scary Movie tomorrow, la di da. I suck.