bathe in bradness
Super Bowl, pooper bowl. It distracts people from CNN. Although if indeed "[s]ports, politics and religion are the three passions of the badly educated," as William H. Gass claims, then I'm not doing any better. But then Gass's views are often elitist and ill-considered, so screw him too. I've started having dreams about bacon.
Something about the weather is messing with the casette deck in my car. It plays slightly slower than normal, so that all the songs shift down about a whole step. Suddenly I can sing along with Black Francis/Frank Black, and when Tom Waits growls it's downright menacing.
We went to see Snatch the other night. It was Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels with more elaborately cute editing. Brad Pitt entertained me, but then he usually does; he seems to have more going on upstairs than, say, Leonardo Wilhelm diCaprio. There's that Fight Club-era interview, unfortunately titled "The Unbearable Bradness of Being", where in between the predictable celeb stuff he talks about the Chuck Palahniuk novel vis à vis Kafka, Beckett and Radiohead. We also saw trailers for The Adventures of Joe Dirt, The Brothers, and Saving Silverman, all three being the five-minute sort of trailer that renders it unnecessary to actually see the movie, which is good because I don't really want to see any of those. Until halfway through The Brothers I thought the premise was that they were voluntarily giving up womanizing and turning gay, which would have been much more interesting.
New book on string theory and suchlike questions of the cosmic. It "covers roughly the same territory as Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time," says the review, "with the benefit of 10 years' additional research."
Huh, Guy Ritchie has my birthday.
