Home alone in Ryan's aunt's house and bundled up like a skinny version of Eminem in 8Mile. Jason and Ryan went out to see The Weather Man. I'm tired of thinking about the weather. Scranton is interesting, sure, but give me balmy mosquito-ridden evenings any day of the week. If everybody has a Kokomo, I guess Ryan's must be Scranton, PA. Having witnessed first hand his passion for this place, I guess I can finally kinda see why we're shooting here instead of Florida. But it is cold as balls outside, and the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon.
Jason and I were watching "I Love the 80s: 3D" before he left, and they started making fun of "Kokomo." I said I'd always liked that song, and Jason thought I was kidding. I've witnessed a lot of needless "Kokomo" hatred lately. Why is everyone so angry about "Kokomo"? I mean, I'm not saying it belongs on Dylan's Blood On The Tracks, or anything, but for a song that is basically the aural equivalent to a Pina Colada (the "Pina Colada" song notwithstanding), I think it's a fucking pleasurable song to listen to.
Anyway, I'm beat. I think I'll turn in and turn off.
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