He's a writer, not a madman.

I must've seen Quills in the theater about five times when it came out in 2000. I'm not sure what was going on with me at the time to cause such a return other than a brief fixation with 18th century French literature, and a breakup.



I recall thinking that the movie was so great and wasn't it funny that I was in love with a thing like Geoffrey Rush (as the Marquis) at that age. But he does have that smooth, evil and sensuous Alan Rickman thing, doesn't he? I think they were roommates when they were young, did I make that up? Imagine the sex pheromones running down the windows of that shitty little flat. Anyway, I am in the process of watching Quills again for the first time in years and can't seem to stop rolling my eyes in tired consternation at all of this obviousness. I hate when a person or piece is so self-consciously wry.

This was a really good time for Joaquin Phoenix. I don't typically follow actors, directors or cinema in general, but I do keep one eye on this guy because I think I am seeing a bona fide artiste in there. I enjoy how effortless his acting seems to be, how genuine and believable he is in every role. I probably have not posted yet about how much I love the movie To Die For, in which he is perfect and almost makes ME want to cry when his lovelorn teenager-turned-murderer character chokes up and croaks out a tortured, "We were in love!" when goaded by a reporter about how Kidman's character had used him to achieve her own wicked ends.

Last time I checked, he was bloating like Jim Morrison (kind of suits him, though?) and I really would like to know if the fable is true regarding his wrecking his car somewhere in Hollywood and being rescued by Werner Herzog. My understanding is Werner drug Joaquin's half-conscious body to safety, whereupon Joaquin said something like, OMG! Werner Herzog! at which point Werner doubtlessly said something very short yet clever, and then disappeared into the growing melee of rescue personnel. Sounds, you know, pretty believable to me, but I like to fact-check things I read on Oh No They Didn't.

I forgot Michael Caine was in Quills, too, although I suppose I would admit that I didn't know who he was (Alfie!) at the time.

tonight i invoke

PORNOGRAPHY

actually i'm more likely to invoke donovan (let's be real here) but whatever.

oh, shane.

what's it gonna take to get me some free time. DURING THE DAY.

Oh hell no.

How does a Phoenix restaurant celebrate a (potential) World Cup win? By serving lion. This is just the sort of trite-ass (soo ultimate!) attitude that I have become accustomed to in this strange, strange town.

Farm-raised lion? FOR MEAT? Really?


I do like when animal rights activists get really crazy and demonstrative, though. There is a line and it is often crossed, but I'm all right with that. I mean, the restaurant probably sucks anyway, right? It's probably ok to blow it up. Just say so beforehand so no one gets killed -- not even the people in the kitchen, thank you. The owner sounds like an asshole anyway.

the house divided

Been listening to this for a while. Brief and insightful vignettes of Civil War life from both sides of of the Mason-Dixon.

Civil War Podcast by Dr. James C. Robertson

I even like his weak r's now. So far he hasn't covered my favorite failed criminal, Lewis Payne, but I'm still waiting.

exhausted just in time to go back to work.

in spite of all the recent vacationing, i do not feel rested. i feel disheveled, out of order. i am trying to finish a book, but it's written like a shitty student paper and full of misspellings. guy tells me to pick from a particular university press to ensure book quality. shyeah.

this picture reminds me of summer storms in southern arizona. "batten down the hatches!" as high winds begin to roll through flat lands. that's what i'd rather be doing. staring through a dirty window at horses with heads bent low in the rain, waiting for it to clear up to go stepping around deep muddy puddles. air cooled by water, patting waterlogged hides. casa grande: where the neighbor dog is a coyote.

i always feel so in awe of these when i pass them. first you see just a few, then round a curve and there are hundreds upon hundreds, all turning lazily at different speeds and in different directions.

this bit of sass was my favorite part of born free. looks like i'm not the only one.

scratch that, mochi was.

hello hello

yeah !

...i feel like i haven't seen any of my bros in like weeks, dude. there is an inch of cat hair on my bed. more later.