November 6, 2001, 1:21 a.m.

yeah, you're the queen of Westchester County, but have you been drinking enough?

back & forth

You may have noticed, carissimi lectores, that I have no favorite movies on my profile page. This may very well surprise you, particularly if you know me in the (oh-so-pretty) flesh and have, therefore, been dragged kicking and screaming to yet another F*ssb*nd*r retrospective to sit through another three hours of Petra von Kant ...

But, � propos de bottes, as French dominatrices say, MG and I were in the Hollywood Express in Central Square tonight looking for a movie. It's very fashionable in my household not to like movies. Well, ShW has no problem with watching movies, of course, but she does tend to like fairly straightforward action movies and Hollywood fun. But EN, who constitues four fifths of my household by dint of total hours logged and the sheer immensity of her personality, has a maniacal antipathy to the ars celluloidica. MG, who constitutes the three fifths of my household not claimed by ShW, EN, the recent infestation of fruit-related vermin, or my beloved harpsichord, doesn't. No, he just comes here and falls asleep. Last time it was The Heidi Chronicles, the time before that, Edge of Seventeen, and before that, something else. You know the drill.

Well, this time he was a good boy and stayed awake all the way through Pepi, Luci, Bom y otras chicas del mont�n, early Almod�var; not surprising, if you've seen the film, which starts pretty outrageously and only really gets worse. I can recommend it, I suppose -- then again, I only really brought it up to say I won't stand behind my taste in film like I will my taste in music or taste in literature, and that's the biggest reason cinema is such a relief for me. I get to sit in the dark (always a plus) and eat maltesers and popcorn (carbohydrates and me go way back) and watch something that doesn't necessarily promise to make me think.

Speaking of media that prance along the line between "entertainment" and "Art", here's a really fun and smart comic book adaptation of Exercises in Style (make sure you check out the collaborations). And speaking of comic books, straight from the horse's mouth, "Skinny sex cartoonist Cameron Stewart and I [Grant Morrison] are working on a four page programme insert for Scottish Opera's November production of Mozart's Cos� Fan Tutte (we do a synopsis of the opera plot in the style of a Jerry Springer show)." Me, I can't wait, especially since, co�ncidentally, I was listening to Smanie implacabili when I lit upon the news. The good old days of pomo pop-and-high-culture smug complicity are over, but we may warm ourselves with our feet in their ashes for years now.

Soltero is playing at the Kendall Caf� on the 11th, be there.

I still don't have an official job, but I have [tucket without] offers. And now it seems that I should bring this link-heavy entry to a satisfying close.

As our lord and master John Darnielle says:

The day of reckoning is coming
faster than anyone here realizes.
And our love is like Jesus, but worse.
Though you seal the cave up where you've lain its body,
it rises,
it rises.

Listening to: The Professor and Maryann, who are lyrically clever and cleverly lyrical, and all-around enchanting
Having just eaten: tortellini with pesto
Not thinking about: Old wounds and new regrets.
Thinking about: Who the hell has my copy of Zopilote Machine, and why I haven't gone mad without it.