Poisonville
"I first heard Personville called Poisonville by a red-haired mucker named Hickey Dewey in the Big Ship in Butte..."
[poisonville at verizon dot net]
Nobody likes a good laugh more than I do.
I mean, if you’re so much smarter than all your targets, maybe you should aim your satire a little higher.
I’m talking to you, Flaubert.
Speaking of broad stereotypes, I’ve found the Coen Brothers comedies to be for the most part offensive, demeaning, and most certainly not in any way funny. I feel the same way about Sacha Baron Cohen (though he occasionally makes me laugh).
But what do I know? I like Jerry Lewis, Eddie Murphy, the Farelly Brothers, and Jackass.
Perry and Winfrey may think "Precious" is serious, but Daniels is hoisting his freak flag. He gets off on degradation....Not since "The Birth of a Nation" has a mainstream movie demeaned the idea of black American life as much as "Precious."
Armond White on “Precious.” A must-read from a sharp guy. I haven’t seen the movie, nor read the book, so I won’t say more than that. (via wannablessedbe)
After the opera, we’ll head to a French bistro in the neighborhood, where we go for birthdays.
Last time we went, for my mother’s birthday, Dov Charney was sitting at the next table, shoulder to shoulder with me. He’s my age. He was with two young women, fresh-faced beauties, the both of them. We were old enough to be their fathers.
He spent the entire dinner hunched down in his chair like a question mark, staring at his blackberry, ignoring the two women, occasionally picking at his food.
“Start Me Up,” the Rolling Stones
Is it inappropriate to see a matinee of Don Giovanni for your 40th birthday — with your parents?
“Miss You,” Rolling Stones
I’ll be seeing Don Giovanni this Sunday, at the New York City Opera.
Here are the libertines who refuse to be swallowed up by hell, in some sort of new-wave purgatory, with “She’s So Cold,” their reworking of “To His Coy Mistress.”
I suspect late-era (which is to say, post-1972) Rolling Stones inspire so much hatred because they’re so damn haunting. We’d prefer to enjoy our shallow fantasies without having to witness the consequences.
As for me, I love Charlie Watts’ tired smiles. He seems to best understand the situation.
After blowing your nose: You should not open your handkerchief and look inside, as if pearls or rubies might have descended from your brain. —Giovanni Della Casa, Galateo (1558)
From Arielle Saiber’s survey of Italian Renaissance advice manuals, in Cabinet magazine.
