I’m sorry. I know I’ve said this before but I feel compelled to say it again thanks to the movie’s media blitz. There are people I know and love who like this show, and I tried to like it but can’t. I’ve probably watched 10-12 episodes and while the show has its moments, and Samantha’s pretty cool, on the whole this is a quartet of astoundingly irritating people who somewhat embody what I hate most about New York.
And if I ever met “Carrie Bradshaw” in real life, I swear to God I would punch her in the face.
is so you can publicly declare your love and your subsequent break-up on Facebook, complete with whole and broken heart icons. No need to talk to friends anymore. And if you’re anything like me, you’re going to blog about it anyway. [Oh, and the other reason is a hopefully constant source of sex.]
We should walk around with icons like that floating above our heads or pinned to our shirts. Like Walken wagging his tail when he’s angry, you’d always know where someone’s head was at. Of course, it might be a little awkward say, coming home to your spouse with a shiny new heart icon above you. Or a broken heart. I’m pretty sure if people were that transparent, everyone would just stop getting married. Or perhaps not.
I want to say something pithy and clever and semi-ironic about love’s doomed optimism, but I just can’t. For some reason it hurts my heart to make fun of it.
I recently re-watched “Tombstone” on cable and was reminded again of how fantastic Val Kilmer was in that movie. This is one of his strongest performances (though I loved him in “Heat“, too. That scene where he’s been shot and he gets out of the car, sees Ashley Judd standing on that balcony and his whole being just lights up. Then she makes that sublimely small gesture with her hand to warn him away and you see a flash of anguish before he turns and pretends to ask for directions.).
Tombstone in general has a great first half, a questionable middle (that scene in the rain?) and a great ending, but Val is really the reason to watch. It doesn’t hurt that his character is given genius lines like [in a Southern drawl], “Nonsense, I have not yet begun to defile myself.”
I have a ticket to see Built to Spill perform Perfect From Now On in its entirety September 26th. I am so freaking excited!
Not only because the music is so amazingly good, but because I’ve never seen them live before and have therefore never quite been able to reconcile the way Doug Martsch sounds with the way Doug Martsch looks, to wit: that voice with that beard.
“I’m going to sleep with Clare tucked into my skin.”
Here’s her response to my wolves e-mail, minus some personal bits and news about my grandfather’s infected toe:
Hi Cari,
How darling of you to send me this. I understand so little of modern music and lyrics but as you intuited, I love some of these lines - others I can’t quite put in context - probably not until I discuss them with you.
[Personal bits omitted.] By the way, the Wolves are still going strong. After l6 years we still meet every other Friday and while we still select a book to read from (right now it’s “Crone’s Don’t Whine” by Jean Shinoda Bolen) it’s basically a support group and quite wonderful.
I just gave Beeps your love - he was delighted. [Infected toe part omitted.] I’m going to sleep with Clare tucked into my skin.
Awww. It looks like the inset picture shows “Roscoe” and his bow-legs under a blankie!
LOST CAT
LARGE, LONG, BLACK CAT, SMALL TUFT OF WHITE FUR ON HIS CHEST
MIGHT ANSWER TO ROD OR ROSCOE
THIN TAIL, KIND OF BOW-LEGGED, SHINY COAT, FRIENDLY
MALE, NEUTERED, 2 YEARS OLD
LAST SEEN NEAR THE CORNER OF BEDFORD AND SOUTH 2ND,
ON APRIL 2ST [sic] IN THE EVENING
IF YOU SEE HIM PLEASE CALL JEANNIE AT 917.XXX.XXXX [I'll give you the remaining digits if you've seen her cat] OR DURING WORK HOURS 212.XXX.XXXX
At first glance, it looks like the name of this “gentlemen’s club” is “Primate Eyes”, which I feel is a far more fitting name for such an establishment.
On a more general note, I like how the word “gentlemen” has become a euphemism for “horn dog”.
“R.’s roommate tried his damnedest to hit David Copperfield’s face with a dart.”
R. was with his dad in Vegas and was asked to participate in the David Copperfield show they were attending. R. was taken backstage beforehand to rehearse his part, which chiefly involved holding a large, plastic tub out of which a live duck would be summoned. Also, he had to rehearse doing the same trick but in slow-motion.
The show went off without a hitch. R. was “randomly selected” from volunteers in the audience, the duck appeareth, another “random” audience member requested that the trick..sorry, illusion be performed again this time in yes, slow-motion.
In gratitude for his participation, R. was given an autographed headshot of Mr. David Copperfield (Thank god R. got that Theatre Degree from NYU! Otherwise, who knows what might have happened.)
Here’s the fun part: back in Brooklyn, R.’s roommate insisted they had to put the picture up somewhere in the apartment. They “randomly selected” the dartboard. Then R.’s roommate tried his damnedest to hit David Copperfield’s face with a dart. As you can see, some kind of magic repelled the darts, though his hair did get tagged.
We speculated that perhaps Mr. Copperfield protects all of his headshots, maybe performs a mass voodoo spell before handing them out? The story would have been a thousand times better if, after the darts missed, their phone rang and it was David Copperfield laughing at them. Also I read on Wikipedia that one time he and his assistants were mugged, but he did not lose any possessions because he used sleight of hand to make the mugger think he didn’t have any.
Moral: Don’t fuck with an illusionist! Or his headshot! Or his wallet!
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