James Ellroy is like shooting heroin -- or at least that's the idea. He writes like he's trying to send electrical volts through your veins. Just started his new one, a paperback original called Destination: Morgue! Three word sentences. Packs small wallop. Vibes Beat poetry. Almost makes it.
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Note to self: listen to the new Bjork CD, form an opinion on it, match wits with the Todd Rundgren fan over at Slate.
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And get the re-release of London Calling. $24.99 at Papa Jazz. They're holding it.
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Tonight: last episode of "Big Brother 5." Michael will win, go back to the sticks and everyone will be happy. This is not a bad ending as these things go. I'm just glad his half-sister got booted. I was tired, so, so, so tired of looking at her tattooed tits. I'd say more, but I think you actually lose more brain cells the more you think about that stupid and addictive show.
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Maria Full of Grace is playing this weekend at the Nickelodeon. (What was the last movie I saw there? It's been months.)
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I told you it was good: David Mitchell's novel Cloud Atlas is the favourite to win the prestigious Man Booker Prize after judges released their shortlist this afternoon.
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Do I want to stare at John Edwards tomorrow, or at this stage of the game do I still give a shit? First of all I'd have to get a ticket from party headquarters -- at least that's what the release says. Then you go to Martin Luther King Community Center, behind Harper's in Five Points. Doors open at 4:30 p.m. Hmmmmm...
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