Endnotes

Boy George

Everyone is so down on the coke users lately. (It’s ok—we still love you, Kate!) I will always have a soft spot for George, who brought us such classics as “Church of the Poisoned Mind,” “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?”, and the theme from “The Crying Game.” But George’s interesting journey through life (chronicled in the Broadway flop Taboo) has apparently not taught him two very important life lessons: (1) Never trust a hustler, and (2) always flush your stash BEFORE you call the cops. Really, George, these are just amateur hour mistakes.

Overheard this weekend when the latest Netflix arrived:

Lord Kissington: Ummh, are we having a Sam Rockwell film festival this month?
Me: We’re not not having a Sam Rockwell film festival this month.
Lord Kissington: Well, thanks for clearing THAT up.

(Just for the record, Galaxy Quest is really damn funny. Even if it does have Tim Allen in it. Maybe having Alan Rickman in a movie negates any Tim Allen influence?)

Intellectual blockage

Do you ever have intellectual blockage? I am having a bad phase right now. I usually read about a book a week, sometimes more if they are lightweight. I haven’t picked up anything new in a couple of weeks. I am reading one of my favorite books for the fourth time, but it’s not exactly heavy duty. I just can’t get into anything. I was sitting on the couch last night watching the day’s episode of Guiding Light and flipping through US Weekly, and I felt just so, well, dumb. The Reformation: A History by Diarmaid MacCulloch is sitting on my coffee table waiting in vain for me to pick it up, but it’s being obscured by copies of Elle and the Charlie’s Angels DVD. So sad. I need two CC’s of Foucault, stat.