In the spirit of sleepy and Joe’s posts, I want to frame this little bit around movies, lyrical prose, and feelings of comfort. Like a night walkabout where by sheer accident one finds a faster route to the tennis courts, I want to try to let these suggestions speak for themselves rather than try to impress you with maps to the gold, dear reader.

I haven’t seen this movie, but I want to review it as the quintessential “wtf are we doing in our late twenties?” sort of movie, but it’s British so it’s totally different because they don’t talk like you and me.

Y’all put that possum in the tanning shed ’til it can commit to a relationship and accept that I.T. position in Rancho Mirage! See? Told you.

In the trailer one of the girls says something along the lines of imagining one’s mouth is a cathedral, and to really project, and to imagine filling that cathedral with sound. I dunno about all of that, but if reader dear reader you haven’t read Raymond Carver’s “Cathedral” then by all means run don’t walk to the making of that happening.

I really fell in love with that song e.d.l. posted, that dreamy serge gainsbourg soundin’ joint. By sheer accident I found Episode 33, in which our hero drunkenly foists himself upon Whitney Houston, then half-heartedly apologizes while saying dirty words in French to the host. Next topic!

“She had a sour look on her face”

Lindsay Lohan spawns with a disco ball in her new movie “I Know Who Killed Me” and swims upstream to write short fiction as “Dakota Moss,” an alternate Lohan who is an amputee deflowering high school boys. Yeah. The bad Lohan proves to the good Lohan’s estranged boyfriend that the good Lohan could never ever bone him in the fashion of the bad Lohan, at which point he joins her search to find stigmatic twin who’s being tortured by a guy who has a bunch of mail-order Klingon knives. Cinematographer becomes bored, decides to rip off the following elements of the Twin Peaks movie, “Fire Walk with Me”: dopplegangers, blue roses, owls, limbs suddenly going dead, all-American girls gone wild, scary duplicitous daddies, then etc. to the maxx. And I’m sure it was more deeply ingrained than that but the margaritas smoothed over most of the cracks, dear reader. The high point was this forgotten gem from Out Hud played in THX or something awesome and reverbed-out sounding, like the sound of Clint Eastwood’s boots on a kid’s spine. It was like being the love interest Veronica while her dad shows off the new hi-fi to Archie. An immense sense of pride he has, that pretty money daddy:06-how-long.mp3

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