Groovy.
Ampersand brings us news of the Off-Broadway Evil Dead: The Musical, but unaccountably misses the Buffy/Red Dwarf connection: it’s co-directed and choreographed by Hinton Battle.
Park that car. Drop that phone. Sleep on the floor. Dream about me.
Duly added to the list of things I can’t get enough of: the way John Perry’s guitar won’t stop climbing at the beginning of “Another Girl, Another Planet.” I may not agree that it’s the greatest rock single ever recorded, but certainly no pop song ever kicked off better than this one, and that’s what it’s all about. —The fact that it’s in heavy rotation with “Catastrophe” is probably best not dwelt on, given that our Secretary of State is sending coded messages to the end-time fucknuts who are so goddamn besotten with themselves they think it’s only fitting the world’s ending just for them. This, too, shall pass. The Dude abides.
Would you believe I’m still tinkering with the deltiolographs?
Until then:
Participatory culture.
Could someone with a direct line to Jane Yolen and Mark Teague pass this along to them? It’s just about the best review a book can garner.
Send more cops! Send more paramedics!
teaotter has a public service announcement for your consideration.
A critical failure on my pop-culture roll.
It wasn’t until this morning over breakfast that I realized why it is Kitty Pryde’s doing that fucked-up splashing thing with her fist on the last page of Astonishing #15.
Other than that, Madame de Pompadour, how did you enjoy the reign?
There is a lot to like on the new Regina Spektor, but I want each and every one of you to know that whenever I have occasion to refer to “Samson” (and I will; oh, yes, I will), ever and always henceforth I would have you understand I mean the “Samson” one hears on Songs and never in a million years the “Samson” one finds on Begin to Hope.
Signs and wonders.
The Exodus Inward has ended, it seems.
Monkeys and Wolves and termites, oh my!
The Known World is back from database hell. (For those interested in such things, of course.)
Things you did not know you knew.
No matter who you are, you (yes, you; even you) are a better writer than Tom Cruise.
Or is it the other way round?
Richard Thompson is the Eddie Campbell of pop music.
Futurama Battlestar.
How could you not share something like this?
(Oh, there’s more.)
What do Philip K. Dick, priestly ephebophilia, Knopf, and Gay Talese’s 50 pairs of hand-lasted shoes have in common?
They’re John Crowley’s suggested interests for Thomas Disch’s brand-new LiveJournal.
Later than eleven, trying to make the earth into a heaven.
Ran Prieur falls down six times. You can get up seven, if you like.
