Fallout of the Out-Fall

Our Ethan Lipton CD has just come in from the Great Northern Factory, and there’s plenty of ooo-ing and aaah-ing and moving things from one box to another, so we’re sparse for a day or two. The CD, A New Low, is a very wonderful thing. You should hear it. It will be up at CD Baby in a week or two; meantime you can order from us directly if the urge strikes. Drop us an email. We take Paypal.

But this about that: fuss or no fuss, I myself am rather fond of breasts, in person and on TV as well. Janet Jackson‘s would not have been my Boob Of Choice, but what the hell. Nice jewelry. Now can everyone who is outraged on the subject please move someplace where the rest of us will never hear from you again? Swaziland, maybe, they seem to like breasts over there, maybe they offer a remedial program. Thanks for playing. Sheesh.

High Fidelity, by Nick HornbySo who’s next? I call Britney. You know she wants to.

Speaking of Sheesh, there I was checking in with a pithy sardonic blogger who shall remain anonymous (oops) the other day. She commented that the movie High Fidelity drives her crazy because the asshole gets the girl in the end.

“JOHN CUSACK WAS NOT AN ASSHOLE IN THAT MOVIE,” I proposed, caps in original. Her swift response that “he certainly was” got me thinking. To my surprise he kinda sorta is, in an endearing puppy-dog wait-how-does-THIS-work way. A little. If you take a particular point of view, which I never had. I’m not sure how I feel about this discovery; another role model down.

The book is always better than the film, of course, but this book is way better. The movie is like a postcard from the book that says “Wish you were here.”

About Linus

The man behind the curtain. But couldn't we get a nicer curtain?
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