When I was getting ready to write this, I thought to myself, "What is the deal with Patricia Arquette?"
"Why does she always leave the house looking like that wacky woman who lives three doors down from you, who is REALLY nice and sort of very interesting, but who is always puttering around her side yard with lanyards she's made from her own hemp and whose rickety old Volvo is full of spare change, plastic doll heads, potting soil, and hundreds of unopened packets of raw sugar?" Then I realized: DAVID Arquette is always leaving the house looking like that wacky woman's best friend, the one who seriously considered going to clown college. It's GENETIC. In the end, you can't fight DNA.
