A poor showing, poor showing, a very poor showing indeed. Only seven out of ten films guessed based on one letter of font alone. Should have been at least a nine and I was expecting ten. What good is a mind if it cannot capture these things? I remember what you ate fifteen years ago, I remember some brother's car. I remember the look on the woman's face who made my pasta back at school, and the olive oil and garlic she'd add in copious amounts. But I guess letters escape me, or escape me all but average. I should be happy with seven out of ten. If you could go through life doing seven out of ten things rights they'd hail you a god. You'd find yourself with T-shirts, hats, and frisbees, golden idols, sacrifices. Average, when you think on it, is really quite incredibly remarkable.
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