I did it. I popped my Lansdale cherry. I know a people or three that love them some Lansdale, but I had never experienced the man for myself. Unless you count the film Bubba Ho-Tep, which was based on his short story, but that was more like letting Lansdale feel me up in the back of a car. There was also that stage production of By Bizarre Hands, which I saw in a small Long Island playhouse with the man himself in attendance, but I’d consider that third base at the most. Other than that, I swear, I’ve never done this before. This is my first time.
Let the right one slip in
And when at last it does
I'd say you were within your rights to bite
The right one and say, "what kept you so long?"
Quentino Tarantino, whose new film "Inglorious Basterds" hits theatres on August 21st, has just compiled a six minute video for Sky Films in which he lists his Favorite 20 Films of the past 17 years. Why 17 years? Because 1992 is when Tarantino began directing and these are the films he admires most since then.
I tend not to post about 'Fight Club' movie screenings much anymore. They happen so frequently, in every state, that it just doesn't seem that important to stay on top of. But this screening in particular, is pretty cool. 'Fight Club' will be shown at the Hollywood Outdoor Cinema on August 21st, at 7:30pm. Here are some of the events that will go with it:
A short conversation between my girlfriend and I concerning The Compleat Motherfucker-
Me: I thought complete was spelled l-e-t-e.
GF: It is.
Me: So what’s this word?
Me: That’s not a real word.
GF: Sure it is.
Me: Then what the hell does it mean?
GF: (Checking iPhone) Kom-plee-ot. Having all parts or elements; lacking nothing; whole; entire.
Me: That’s the definition of complete.
GF: (Smiling) I know.
Author. Surfer. Skier. Survivor. Norman Ollestad has done quite a lot in his life already. On February 19, 1979, he was 11-years-old, traveling from Santa Monica airport into Big Bear to retrieve a skiing trophy he had won the day before. Along for the ride were his father, his father's girlfriend, Sandra, and the pilot of the small, chartered Cessna.
Where to begin with Pynchon? Despite being fascinated by premonitory erections and scenes of submissive turd eating, I was defeated by Gravity’s Rainbow in college. This was before I felt the postmodernist bite, and I barely made it a hundred pages in. Years later, I attempted V., trudging through 19th Century British colonies and the Namibian Hereo Wars along with Stencil and the Whole Sick Crew, coming out the other end with less of a grasp of the historical framing than when I began.
Listen. Look, in my dayjob I work with some people who can most delicately be termed characters. You know the type; at home with the mindspring of Kaufman and Solondz. One gentleman in particular I vibe well with, and depending on the amount of drudge to be done that day, to be working next to him is a bane or boon; he is a storyteller. The man yarns. I have been gifted new chapters of the same story on the regular for nearly two years, delivered cantabile-like with purposeful pauses.