It’s 2:01 am, and I have to go to bed. Just spent a couple of hours working on the next book, and am exhausted. But, before that, here’s my guilty pleasure thought of the day:
When I’m casually flipping through the HBO channels, and an Amadna Bynes movie is on. I stop. I always stop. Nothing in the world says “Mindless garbage that your lobe will enjoy” more than a film involving Bynes, the perky, cute 22-year-old Disney TV offspring. As an actress, Bynes is very bad. I mean, really, really bad. And she almost always plays the exact some character—pretty girl who is cool like a guy and finds herself in wacky situations that result in her kissing someone to cheesy pop music.
But, alas, I find the movies to be, well, comfortable. No stress, no strain, no having to pay attention. If you’ve seen “Sidney White” you’ve seen “What A Girl Wants.” If you’ve seen “She’s The Man” you’ve seen ” hmm … looks like I’ve run out of Amanda Bynes movies. But she’s young—more crap is certainly on the way.
