May 2009
90 posts
I was impressed by the Bucephalus reference until I realized she knew nothing about history and way too much about horses.
I always want to head-butt something after a studio meeting. Not even out of frustration or anything—just in a dumb-animal aggro way. Hey, unsuspecting CE, I’m going to high-five your body with my imaginary horns.
Neither Richard Schickel’s nor David Ansen’s review of Basic Instinct appears to be searchable via the web—which is a shame, because I remember one of them suggesting that Jan de Bont shot the film as though he thought he were making Lawrence of Arabia—which, although I was a kid at the time, remains one of my all-time favorite film-critic disses.
“This isn’t Mad Men anymore. This is Far From Heaven.”
Monica Bellucci's Paris Apartment Burgled →
The headline neglects to mention that it was also motorboated.
There’s this exclusive after-hours social network I’m a member of that’s actually hosted on my iPhone. It’s called Friends Who Live in Other Time Zones Who Receive Texts From Me When I Can’t Sleep (dot biz, natch).
Nothing snarky
Memorial Day was raucous and sunny-delicious. So best.
Déjà vu can serve as a reminder that you’ve outgrown something.
The people you do the important stuff in your life with, the ones who’re there for the meaningful parts, those people are your friends.
Prettify*—Nice icons and wallpapers →
The presentation of this sweet, simple site makes me pine for the summer of 1998 something fierce.
Dreamt De Niro was the henchman of a megalomaniacal A.I. that resided on an abandoned drilling platform in the North Sea. He was rounding us up like that Hale-Bopp cult so we could be conveyed to the rig where the motherbrain would degauss our neurons. He made me remove my G-Shock because it contained too much titanium and apparently that would interfere with the cybernetic interface—which was a...
“I know it’s going to be a fun Sunday when you’re feeling predatory.”
– J____, to me just now.
I like you so much that I ruined a really good song just to make it your ringtone.
I like the way you move. →
“Honey Tree,” The Mostar Diving Club.
My Tumblarity score is going to be the title of Nic Cage’s next thriller.
Just found out my mother upgraded to the latest 24-inch iMac without any input from me. She’s become self-upgrading. Of course she refers to it as “that monitor that has a computer inside it,” so small steps. Her Kindle arrives tomorrow. I don’t know who she is anymore. Then again, knowing me, I probably came out of her feeling that way.
