Not to lure you away from the safe and nurturing environment that is the Amoeblog, but, for those of you interested in reading it with your eyes, here is a link to a recent interview I had with one of my favorites, Marianne Faithfull.

Now then, on to a topic that is not oft spoke of; that is, silent films. Amoeba Music Hollywood has a small but rich silent film section which, at this writing, is located on the mezzanine. I’m taking this opportunity to advocate a greater appreciation and exploration of this antiquated genre.

For many people, silent films are a known but ignored craft, as though the technological progress that married sound to film rendered the silent precursors an inferior product. While I do hail “talkies” as a wonderful invention, I still feel there is much joy to be had in silent cinema. If nothing else, knowing a bit about it can be enough to get you laid by art-school chicks taking a break from experimenting with bisexuality.

I’ve been real sick for the last week, and it ain’t over yet. Ill enough that I went to the hospital. My doctor explained to me what was going on and assured me that I was in no immediate danger of dying. But he told me this in such a somber, hushed tone that it sounded like he said:

“You have Ulerythema Ophryogenes and you’ll be dead by the time your insurance bill comes.”

And so it goes.

Anyway, one thing that’s managed to make me feel better (besides my very, very patient boyfriend*) is the unforgivably short-lived TV show “Wonderfalls”.

It was co-created and written by the whimsically pithy Bryan Fuller, who’s new show “Pushing Daises” promises to be equally as unpredictable.

Only fourteen episodes of “Wonderfalls” were made, and only three played on the air. A classic situation of “too good for TV” (see also: “Arrested Development”).

As my last wish before I die, I ask you to procure a copy (might I suggest at Amoeba Music?) and give it a gander.

I realize this entry is a little bare bones, so I give you this as an unrelated bonus gem:



Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a pint of Nyquil.

*Corey, my guy, has seen me through my current state of disrepair with humor and grace. It’s been like this:

COREY: How you feeling, honey? Can I get you anything?

JOB: What do you mean? You mean I’m incomplete as I am? YOU DON’T LOVE ME! (sobbing)