Monday, December 29, 2008

holy toledo

Apparently time is relative, because we can catch up when we want:
Extra second before the ball drops.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

cum on taste the soup

probably nsfw.

out to dinner la nuit.

talked about this


which led to this

which came (heh heh) full circle with this.

Recalling NYT article (or was it NPR?) with slight unpleasant after-taste in mouth.

Tuesday, December 9, 2008

Dreaming of Angels.

We finally joined the 21st century and purchased our own wireless.

My mother, who takes 5 minutes to type "R U O K" into her cell, purchased an i-phone.

And I purchased a round-trip train ticket to New York, but I wonder if it might not have been better spent on a plane to Los Angeles.

To complement my dreams of late, I've been watching the second season of Californication.

I have to say, I'm pretty sure it's some of the best stuff the Showtime network has ever broadcast. It's like Sex and the City with far less materialistic bullshit and lots more sex and drugs and rock and roll.

There's something about charmingly cavalier protagonist Hank Moody that pulls a viewer in, although this ain't no drama for the desperate, I think Californication caters to a special kind of philistine.

Consider the episode before the Season 2 finale, Hank is lolling about with his on-again off-again soul mate, and she is about to tell him something when she feels a lump. Writing in enough of a cliff hanger that the devoted viewer will want to know whether or not Hank has cancer in the finale.

I won't spoil the fun, but let me say that it's so refreshing to watch a show that doesn't hyperbolize human drama (I'm looking at you Grey's Anatomy, with your code blacks and will she won't she).

Californication doesn't try to win any prizes and that's where the strength lies; in the show's ability to just be.
Although it doesn't hurt that the lech factor is at an 11, what with Cokey Smurfs and Porn Stars with Sweet Nature and Satanists teenagers.

P.S. I don't think I'll be too into Weeds when it comes back. It feels like a boy? Really Nancy? I'm beginning to see why they call you Not-Francy.