I saw The Host in the city on Thursday.

I underestimated the appeal of niche cinema to San Franciscans and waited anxiously in the rush line until a kind stranger sold me one of his extra tickets. Never again.

Of course, had I pre-ordered a ticket, I wouldn't have been able to flirt with the San Francisco Film Society's outdoor liaison.

My head knows that "Money Maker" isn't a very good song, but my heart doesn't care.

Proof-of-payment fare systems for public transportation baffle me. Under them, hitching free rides is way too easy.

I wonder, for example, how Vancouver's SkyTrain stays in the black. At least Caltrain and Muni check tickets occasionally.

Before I forget:

The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno

Creative. Bittersweet.