Dear Fuck.

I just finished ripping the new records I got while in Laramie; I'm now sitting on top of 70.7 GB's of music; that's not counting the stuff in the mail, the advances I've been sent, or any of that. 70.7 is where I'm at after five years of record collecting and deleting at my discretion.

Dear fuck.

Fuck living in a van, I want me one of these

I was looking through one of the old Playboy's I've gotten in the mail (September, 1970) and found a short article on these magnificent things and have decided that A) I need one and B) I need a friend with a backyard to put it in.

The thing's goddamned brilliant! Lookit it!







And, my! Weren't they ambitious!


Futuro-House.net even has galleries of actual people's Futuro's. I want one. I wonder what it would take to get plumbing and high-speed in one of these babies.

Find me a Futuro! My Kingdom for a. . . Fuck it. ebay doesn't even have one. I'm doomed.

I'm back

Well, after a long trip to Laramie in which I drank too much, smoked too many cigarettes, and played too much Xbox 360. Here are some photos courtesy of Brando.


Brando next to Third Street.


Me next to Third Street.


Me, Katie, and Bill on our way to the Buckhorn.


Guitar.


Biggie holding Brando as Brando stills a swig of Mickeys.


I'm leaving. Sniffle.


As we waited for the bus, Cam, Brando and I had a photo shoot. Here's the Duke's shot.


Scary.


Aw.

Constant drinking with the kids for Brando's B-Day.

Okay. Enough. Now the Never-News.

In the Bedroom



Back to normal Star Valley habits, tonight I picked up a random previously viewed DVD from our local Maverick to compliment my soda and cigarettes. This is what I'm reduced to in Star Valley—no Brando, no video games, no social life—just assorted films and a caffeine high.

So what marvel of cinema did I get tonight? In the Bedroom. Really, what sold it to me (besides being the only film that wasn't a romantic comedy or, for that matter, White Noise was the fact that it has my boy Nick Stahl in it. Nick Stahl was 'That Yellow Bastard, not to mention the focal point of Carnivale. Having only seen him a few times, I figured that I might as well drop the ten bucks on this movie so that I could boost his appearances in my media-inundated life. That, and Sissy Spacek rules.

I wasn't sure what I was getting myself in to. I hate reading blurbs on the backs of DVD packaging – though, thank god, Bedroom's has absolutely no spoilers – and all I got was yadda yadda yadda Nick Stahl yadda yadda yadda older single mother (Tomei) yadda yadda yadda concerned.

I'm just glad that the plot wasn't just that.

The movie is visceral. Painful, even—we watch in muted horror as Tom and Sissy go through the seven stages of grief; we sit through it all and can't help waiting for the next stage. I was a little saddened by Stahl's brief turn after buying the film for him, but have realized that this should have been in my collection from the get-go. How did I miss its release? How the fuck would I know. Am I glad I got it? Yes.

Equal parts Rick Moody drama and Shakespearean tragedy, the film gets a big ol' thumbs up from me. The end.