“It was extremely realistic - not Jurassic Park realistic, but still.”
- My dad, recommending the movie Primer to me over voicemail
I am crying.
(Source: that-one-tragic-person)
Who the fuck is this “we”?
Is there any good reason why people continue to use the “what we talk about when we talk about ____” construction for the titles of their post-Raymond Carver story collections; theological texts; reviews of said theological texts (and also reviews of other books); and the seemingly unending deluge of articles and noxious online “think pieces” (I’m almost choking on my own bile here) touching on donuts, gun violence, torture, the Violence Against Women act, food (I guess), Girls and women, yoga stuff, money (I guess), food (again), the South, and so on and so forth. I doubt that all these articles/books are “bad” or whatever, but come on, y’all. Maybe think about finding a new lame-ass rhetorical crutch.
And now if y’all need to find me, I’ll be cruising around muttering about the day when a real rain’s gonna come and wash all the scum off the streets.
“It is very hard to imagine a movie as uncompromisingly tragic as “How Green [Was My Valley]” sweeping the Oscars (as it did in 1942) earning anything more than an award for costume design in the relentlessly upbeat Hollywood of 2013, which is apparently about to award Ben Affleck’s mildly glorified HBO movie “Argo” Best Picture honors for concocting a feel good story about American operations in the middle east (the bummer “Zero Dark Thirty,” with its uncomfortable suggestion that a more recent triumph, the killing of Osama Bin Laden, might have been facilitated by an immoral act of torture, has been run out of town). But Ford’s epic vision of loss — social, familial and romantic, with no compensating production of a couple to complete it — remains a powerful reminder of the artistic integrity and ambition once possessed by the American film industry. How green was Century City, then.”
- Dave Kehr, as erudite and engaging as ever. Read him on his site and in the New York Times
"Never eat Mexican food east of Mississippi or north of Dallas."
— Lyle Lovett, preaching the truth
A goal for this year is to reach a state of being in which the prospect of calling a woman on the phone to ask if she wants to get a slice of pizza doesn’t plunge me into such a whirlpool of neurotic anxiety that I immediately take a shot of whiskey after leaving her a voicemail.
(Source: pete-and-pete)
“Only a rank degenerate would drive 1,500 miles across Texas without eating a chicken-fried steak.”
- Larry McMurtry
