Affirmation, baby. That's comment number two (thank you "Ken"), and once again, one from someone who I don't get a chance to harass about the blog on a regular basis. The masterplan continues to unfold.
I'm about to watch the final two episodes of this season's 24. I'm fully expecting to be utterly diasappointed. I missed them on Monday night because the power company still doesn't have it's atom-dancing act together and we suffered from blackouts here.
I have to man the office of the North Carolina State University Friends of the Library tomorrow afternoon, which I'm not happy about. I like my job well enough, organizing donated books, but I dislike sitting in an empty office answering occasional phone calls, ('cause the library doesn't have quite as many friends as one would hope for.)
For the members of my Infernal Book Club, I'm slowly reading Nabokov's Pnin, which is good. I'm also still working my way through the Billy Martin biography, but keep being slowed down by the fact that it isn't very great. One would expect more from a biography of one of the more interesting figures in baseball history. Actually, I'm kind of suprised there hasn't been a biopic about Martin. The problem, I guess, is that Martin's story completely fails to fit the formula for sports films, and has a most unhappy ending. Martin was an underdog of sorts, which is good for the formula, but was a violent, surly, paranoid
alcoholic, which is less great for the Hoosiers type mold.
I picked up a copy of Allan Moore's first volume of his run on Swamp Thing. The introduction Moore wrote is so good in and of itself that I found myself desperately wanting to con my way into a grad school ahead of schedule and start writing a thesis on Moore and his work.
The post title today is a reference to the great song by the wholy underappreciated and dearly missed Warren Zevon. Today, while I was watching The 40 Year Old Virgin on HBO I was struck by the admittedly strange need to change my cell phone's ring tone. It had been a NCSU fight song since I got this phone, and I grew a touch weary of it. There is no connection that I can think of between the film and the ring tone change, unless I subconciously think that Zevon will get me laid. While my ideal woman would obviously respect Zevon, it seems unlikely. I don't know. I saw Hot Fuzz the other day, and there was the trailer for Judd Apatow's new movie, I think it's called Knocked Up, and it looks like it might be really funny, like Virgin. We can only hope so. This summer is a wasteland of sequels and adaptations. (I say this, even though I know perfectly well I'll be seeing Pirates 3 and the Simpsons and Ocean's 13)
In other music news, on Sunday night it looks like I might see a show by the GZA at the historic Cat's Cradle. It's a very strange situation- the show doesn't have tickets for sale (some car company is picking up the bill- Scion, I think, Which is a model of some sort of vehicle, and a very strange car name in your narrator's humble opinion.) Anyway, no tickets, but you have to go online and RSVP at a website. Now, this does not guarantee you anything, apprently. You still have to show up early and take your chances. I'd rather just buy a damn ticket and know I'm getting in. Assuming I get it, expect a review of the show on Monday or Tuesday.
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