October 26th, 2003


Not going out

I've decided not to go to the club tonight. Shocking, I know. If you get home and feel like you need a dose of me that you didn't get, but would have except for my lack of attendance at said club, then you should call me. I'm not actually going to sleep. Just going to read. Y'all have my telephone number, right?


Lost in Translation

Bill Harris is an aging movie star in Japan to film commercials for a Japanese whisky. He's having a mid-life crisis. Charlotte has accompanied her photographer to the rock stars husband for a week in a foreign land. She's questioning her life and her marriage. The two meet.

That about sums the movie up. Well acted, but there really seemed to be little point. People meet, they are tempted. We all knew that. I liked the fish-out-of-water skits with Bill Murray as well as Charlotte's reaction to the vapid chatter from a starlet her husband meets. Murray is a great comic actor, and this fits in well with his shtick as the put-upon victim. Scarlett Johansson is gorgeous and also a fine actor. Well-directed, just not well-written. Maybe Ms. Coppola's next story will hold up better.

I give it 2 out of 5 stars.


Spring forward, fall back

Gonna be interesting to see who has their computers set to not adjust for daylight savings time. You know, if I could package the ability to be amused by things such as this, I'd give Prozac® a run for it's money.

In other news, 11 a.m. 14 Carrot Café. Eastlake and Lynn. For those not driving, busses 71 to 73 and the 66 stop there. Course, everyone's working off their hangovers I'm sure.



i haven't fucked w/the past but i've fucked plenty w/the future. over the silk of skin are scars from the splinters of stages and walls i've caressed. each bolt of wood, like the log of helen, was my pleasure. i would measure the success of a night by the amount of piss and seed i could exude over the columns that nestled the P/A. some nights i'd surprise everybody by snapping on a skirt of green net sewed over w/flat metallic circles which dangled and flashed. the lights were violet and white. for a while i had an ornamental veil. but i couldn't bear to use it. when my hair was cropped i craved covering. but now my hair itself is a veil and the scalp of a crazy and sleepy comanche lies beneath the netting of skin.

i wake up. i am lying down peacefully and my knees are open to the sun. i desire him and he is absolutely ready to serve me. in house i am moslem. in heart i am an american artist and i have no guilt. i seek pleasure. i seek the nerrves under your skin. the nar- row archway. the layers. the scroll of ancient lettuce. we worship the flaw. the mole on the belly of an exquisite whore. one who has not sold her soul to god or man nor any other.

Patti Smith