The Dear Hunter, the band I’ve been listening to for weeks. Act I-The Lake South, The River North. Act II: The Meaning of and All Things Regarding Ms. Leading. Act III – Life and Death. If a fascist dictator took over and banned the Dear Hunter’s music I would probably risk imprisonment, that’s how much I love them.
Where the Wild Things Are. I’m so looking forward to this movie. Aowww – that’s supposed to be a howl. Are they his friends or are they going to eat him? If you ask me, this question is at the core of all relationships. Dave Eggers’ novelization, The Wild Things, was lip-smacking good. I think I’ll read it again tonight, and this time I’ll make comments to myself in the margins.
I love children’s books. They’re rich and colorful and as complex or simple as you want to make them. Maurice Sendak just became my new hero. When asked what he’d say to parents who think the movie is scary he said. “I would tell them to go to hell. That’s a question I will not tolerate.”
Good for him. Parenting involves making decisions, lots of them, right or wrong. You had a child – now stop being a coward and make a decision. Take a stand – movies, fast food, bedtime, pets, whatever – and leave the rest of us out of it.
I have a gimp thumb. It hurts and it’s ruining my chances of becoming a world class hitchhiker. I can’t straighten it. Who would take a hitchhiker with a permanently bent thumb seriously? Oh look it’s the half-assed, half-hearted hitchhiker. Now kids, I’m just joking…I don’t condone hitch hiking. I need a teeny, little outpatient procedure to make my thumb stand tall and pain-free again. Why don’t they make viagra for trigger thumbs? Oh right, because it has nothing to do with sex. Where’s my universal health care?
Derek Jeter, A-Rod, Mark Teixeira