Cultural curiosities, anomalies, apochrypha and ephemera. Arcane and trivial crap.
Picking nits, for better or worse. Figurative nits, not literal ones. Which is actually a good example.
Music
Movies
Fahrenheit 451, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, 8 1/2, The Party, My Man Godfrey, The President's Analyst, The Lady Eve, Strangers on a Train, Home Movie, The Apartment, The Last Picture Show, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, Rushmore, The Perfumed Nightmare, The Forbidden Zone, Rififi, How to Draw a Bunny
Television
Columbo.
Books
Samuel Beckett, Philip Roth, Nick Hornby, Nicholson Baker. The Master and Margarita. The Baffler. Biographies and books on music: Stoned, Please Kill Me, Lush Life, His Way
Hey Jeem! Hope all is well with you and Jen. It'd be great to see you at this show. Maybe I'll even sing some Neil Young in French for you! Ha, ha. Actually I am planning on rocking out "Like a Hurricane"...
Dammit! I feel terrible. I never check my gmail and totally spaced last night. I hope I can make it up to you. Sorry I'm a fuck-up, but happy birthday nevertheless.
I once saw Jim eat half a plate of fried calamari. I ate the other half. Later, we split the bill. Only I didn't just eat half. I ate more than half. But Jim never said word one. The guy is class. Pure class.
Let me tell you a story about our mutual friend Jim. I first saw him in the Antique Emporium out on Route 4. He was pacing slowly before a stained and sooty sofa, examining carefully its diverse features. His manly bracelet shone super shiny, and brashly flashed its countless fangles and bangles. “Typical for its type,” he sneered brightly. We both sensed the lie of it. Needless to say, I gamboled gaily in his direction. Upon being all up in his face, I noticed its basic contours. His hair smelt peaty and pelty, and his brows were wild and overgrown. He was notably exasperated, and his fleshy face flushed and blushed my way. It was spotted, mottled, puffed and pale with beads of sweat dragged and dripping downwards. His eyes, soused with brownness, carried pupils full of blackish fire. I introduced myself in standard fashion. Jim slyly cracked a creaky smile, and trained his gaze upon me. I bolted back, and Jim beamed like a drunken baby. The game was his to lose. He said, “The humdrum tastes surprising,” and then he deliberately mispronounced his name. This threw me off. With a start, his limbs suddenly sprang into motion. He was a blur of angled elbows and kinked knees. And then he was gone… in a spasm that smelled like sulfur. So that is how I met and came to love our mutual friend Jim.
