I’m not a teacher. It’s not that I’m not good at it. I’ve taught things to people before, but I don’t have the long term patience for drilling stuff into people’s heads. Put me in front of a class of thirty students and I’d start the hour teaching Calculus and end up making balloon animals.
I know how to make exactly two balloon animals: the herpes virus and The sandworms from Dune.
Last Thursday night I’m sitting in the library at the College of Santa Fe to get some writing done. I enjoy writing in libraries. They’re quiet and comfortable and full of people completely unlike me (i.e. published authors.) On this particular night I observe a young woman meet with a young man and sit down at a nearby table. She’s wearing a striped skirt and a maroon top. Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s soft-spoken, carries a binder and clings to a well-used tissue. The young man is stocky, with sandy hair. He’s got a black jacket on that’s a bit small for him. He has trouble modulating the volume of his voice, which is loud and cottony. From what I can tell, she’s here to provide some sort of guidance for his college career. If my guess is right, his studies have spiraled out of control and she’s here to help him.
Normally, that would be the extent of my interest. I would drop the headphones back on, turn up Steve Reich and get back to the script. But since the guy’s voice was so loud, I couldn’t help overhearing when they got to talking about his subjects and I realized that he’s a film student. He was taking History of World Cinema, Post Production and Fundamentals of Screenwriting. All the classes are giving him trouble, but what’s weighing on him is a script assignment.
Welcome to the ever-lovin’ club.



Andrew Grant over at Like Anna Karina’s Sweater writes about movies. And he writes about them well, with the sort of inflection that comes from pure cinema passion. A week ago he posted about
I like noise. I always have. And I don’t mean noise as in the simple vibration of air, although that can be a blast. I’m talking about musical noise. I love it when a song loses all apparent semblance of order and dissolves into noise and chaos. And now that I write this I realize it’s not simply noise that I like. I think it’s that very descent into that chaos out of order, that collapse into wanton formlessness, when a band begins with something measured, logical and sane but then cuts loose into cacophony and nightmare.
Much has been said on the web about today’s release of Seventh Tree. This site hasn’t exactly been mum on the subject. “Mum” is not our word. In fact, there was a week or so when we considered a name change to The Goldfrapp Channel, but, lucky for me, it was struck down in committee. Most of what I’ve read about the album has been good. “Different,” is what the consensus has been. The reviews pretty much go like, “Whoa. How weird. This is Goldfrapp? Seriously?” There’s a lot of mention of “breath of fresh air” and “change of pace” and “I want to marry Alison Goldfrapp.”
You got a last minute Oscar ballot to fill out? Are you minutes away from dashing out the door to attend an Oscar party of the type I used to throw until I just got so tired of the ceremony I just couldn’t take it anymore? Here’s your salvation, Courtesy of Charles Reece over at
Last year, Scott Smith’s long-awaited follow-up to A Simple Plan arrived in bookstores and proceeded to cleave readers down the middle. What I mean by that, of course, is that some people loved it, some people hated it, although judging from the caliber of some of the negative reviews on Amazon.com it might have been nice had the book literally cloven some of these people in twain. Reviews for The Ruins fell this way: people who hated it thought the characters were dumb and unlikable. People who loved it thought the menacing evil of the titular entity was well-articulated. I happen to love reading about dumb, unlikable Americans getting eaten, so I loved it.

I generally don’t follow through on press release style emails, but I got one last night that happened to catch my eye, only because it sounds like the sort of event I’d love to attend. I can’t, because it’s happening tonight and I’m not in Los Angeles. And anyway, I’m supposed to fight a duel at sundown.


















