artpost: preparing for lift-off

Cory McAbee, fringe-music demigod, founder of The Billy Nayer Show, best friend of my last sweetie, That Mike, and director and creator of one of the most splendid films ever made, The American Astronaut, has finally directed a new movie with his mad and crazy band, Stingray Sam.

“A dangerous mission reunites STINGRAY SAM with his long lost accomplice, The Quasar Kid. Follow these two space-convicts as they earn their freedom in exchange for the rescue of a young girl who is being held captive by the genetically designed figurehead of a very wealthy planet. This musical space-western miniseries is designed for small screens and perfect for screens of all sizes. “

It’s not Werewolf Hunters of the Midwest, the next film he was ostensibly working on, but it looks to be just as weirdly captivating. For extra points, his sweetheart co-star in this kooky Cowboy Space Musical is his wee little daughter, it’s narrated by David Hyde Pierce, and rumour says it was filmed in only two weeks. I believe the proper response is Hell Yeah!!

found via Marc-Antony, popular purveyor of joy

this is my new favourite thing

365 day eleven: swept on
365: day eleven

Penn Jillette of Penn & Teller has a new video blog called Penn Says up on Crackle. It’s incredibly satisfying, as they consist entirely of Penn, a refreshingly intelligent individual, picking up a camera and talking into it about whatever he feels like. He’s astute, cynical, charming, and hilarious.

“Now let me just tell you, I don’t care at all about Britney Spears. Britney Spears is in that category of, I think, someone I could have sex with and still not care about her. Usually, there’s something that that would trigger in me on automatic, but I think I could with Britney and still not even answer her e-mails.”

Also, oh my mercy, not only does he compare Hillary Clinton to Jerry Lee Lewis, I think he just flashed his bits during a political rant about the possibility of a Mormon President’s magic underwear. Win. If there were more, I would leave these playing when I went to bed.

“She takes from life, eating its words and minutes and licking her lips, not wanting to waste any, “

Paintings: The Seduction of Oedipus

going hunting
Originally uploaded by Foxtongue.

It has been a struggle to sleep this week, and when I do, there has been no comfort in it. I dream of California, but not the California I had lived, full of bleak stories I tell now with terrible humour, but of the possibilities I could interpret from every building I walked past, their sunburnt lawns, every house a microcosm, every business an untold discovery, and the palm trees swaying almost shadowless to the sky, perfect emblems of hot modern fantasy lining every street.

I blame my current reading material.

Before I go to sleep at night, I read. Being a basic thing, there are variations, but it always the same pattern. Finishing with the computer, I turn off my lamp, plug in the ornamental lights, and snuggle in underneath them with my book. When I am done, I pull the plug. It is almost ritual, except that it carries no meaning. It is only the reputation of necessary movements, like washing dishes or putting on a shirt one sleeve at a time, that create the illusion of depth. Every day, the same ingredients.

This week I was reading White Oleander, a harsh book yet beautiful, set in Los Angeles. I am told it was turned into a film once, but I never thought to see it. Why are all my favourite books set in L.A.? Reminiscent of buying my fierce summer clothing on the boardwalk in Venice, they are almost always written by women, couched in some foreign manner of prose that still remains english, always reminding me so strongly of my own writing – as if I were to live there again, it would be my turn to write a book, something powerful and achingly frail, like the bones of the body that I miss so much. Visiting the wild beaches was like stepping into fairyland. A fairyland punctuated by stairs and people in cheap foam and plastic flip-flops.

Sweden opens embassy in Second Life.