Still reeling from the Anne Heche interview on 20/20 tonight. Will post more later (I’m sure you’re on the edge of your seat), but first up, Xkot’s Cliffs Notes for the interview, in case you need the executive summary:

“My dad was gay and my mom hung up on me, and it made me crazy.”

Well put, Xkot.

Inspired by Arthur, I’ve added some new photos to the photo page. Some are new, others are from other parts of the main site you might not have seen, and others I’ve posted in the body of words mean things in the past. In traditional weblog style, all the new pics are at the top of the page. Hope you enjoy them.

Arthur has thought up a cool online photo Treasure Hunt game. Why not give it a try? I can’t wait to play, but do you know how hard it is to find a squirt gun after Labor Day? Go there now! (© miguel)

The movie wasn’t that good, was it?

“I spoke a different language that God and I spoke together,” Heche said. “I could see into the future. I could heal people. I did (the 1997 film) ‘Wag the Dog.’ ”

After the movie, The Final Chapter:

I went to see “Edward Scissorhands” with a colleague from the paper in Michigan. We came out of the theater, and I was enthralled. What an amazing fairy tale Tim Burton had told. If you’ve seen the movie, you know that at the end, Edward is carving giant ice sculptures, and the ice shavings are falling upon the town below as snow. Wonderful image.

So I come out of the theater with a big smile on my face. My friend turns to me and says, “So where did he get those big blocks of ice? How did he pay for them? Did someone deliver them?”

My jaw hit the ground. “Well, let me ask you this,” I said, incredulous. “How did he get scissors for hands? What movie were you watching?”

After the movie, Part IV:

I sat through “The Piano” reluctantly, squirming throughout the whole pseudo-feminist crapfest. When Holly Hunter threw her mute self into the sea, I groaned, hoping she would remain there – but, sadly, she survived. (And I love Holly Hunter in just about everything else.) My friends Kristin and Paul could obviously tell how much I hated the movie by my reactions during it, but that didn’t stop Kristin from asking me brightly what I thought, as we waded through a crowd waiting for the next show. I exploded with rage against the whole experience, which was clearly not appropriate behavior. But I think Haidi can back me up on my understandable reaction.

I don’t much like Bill Maher of Politically Incorrect; I think he’s a blowhard who eclipses his guests’ attempts at conversation, rather than facilitates them. But he does have the courage of his convictions, which I admire. And he made a good point on last night’s show: the public are a lot more interested in finding out details of Gary Condit’s affair with Chandra Levy than they are with finding out what happened to her. Another in the unending series of examples of how Americans need to re-examine their priorities, if you ask me.

Watched “Pleasantville” on DVD tonight. I liked it better this time, but it’s still pretty obvious and heavy-handed. The message is a good one, though, and the black-and-white photography is creamy and gorgeous. It makes me want to see more current movies filmed in B&W.

I’m not making this up, Part II

Apparently everyone’s favorite reformed non-lesbian, Anne Heche, will reveal to Barbara Walters tomorrow night that up until a year ago, she had an alternate personality named Celestia, who spoke directly with God. Oh my sweet lord. Her relationship with Ellen Degeneres, she says, was her way of working out the pain caused by the abuse she suffered at the hands of her closeted gay father.

Words fail me.

Can you believe I’m going to link to one of my own sites for the second time? I can’t believe it either. But I’m really pleased at how Mike’s photography site turned out, and I hope you will be too. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a freelance job or two out of it. And if you’re in Madison on September 15 (opening night) or October 5 (Gallery Night), stop by Radical Rye on State Street and tell Mike that Adam sent you.