Ten Things, 2023-16

what if the Devil was just a vat of green goo in a church basement somewhere in Los Angeles

Here are ten things.

  1. For the first time in a long time, I made a social outing with new friends to the movies. We watched Air! It was totally fine! We talked about it on the way out! Man, I missed social outings to the movies.
  2. Last week's game of Watchlist Roulette ended up landing on John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness, which, surprise surprise, was awesome. No one hit extra-base hits into the gap during his prime quite like the Master of Horror himself.
  3. Kevan MacKay, better known by his nom de YouTubeur BobbyBroccoli, put out part one of his series on disgraced South Korean researcher Hwang Woo-suk.
  4. Wes Anderson is poised to have a big year, what with Asteroid City playing Cannes and all, but he's also having a moment on TikTok right now, as people are making tons and tons of little shorts inspired by his films set to Alexandre Desplat's score for The French Dispatch. In other Wes miscellany news, Kottke dug up some shorts he made to promote the 1999 MTV Movie Awards, and I also stumbled upon his American Express commercial.
  5. The great Scott Tobias on one of my favourite comedies of the last five years, Support the Girls.
  6. The Rewatchables dusts off the studio cameras and finally does Alien. All-time bad Bill Simmons take re: cats contained herein.
  7. I went to the venerable Montreal institution Drawn and Quarterly for the first time in like a decade for the launch of the English translation of Dandelion Daughter by Gabrielle Boulianne-Tremblay.
  8. Even though I don't have a pony in this particular race, nothing beats playoff hockey.
  9. For this week's edition of Mild Takes from 2016: I played Overcooked with Steph! It's super fun!
  10. A poem, via Pome: “Folk Song” by Tomaž Šalamun, translated by Charles Simic.
    Every true poet is a monster.
    He destroys people and their speech.
    His singing elevates a technique that wipes out
    the earth so we are not eaten by worms.
    The drunk sells his coat.
    The thief sells his mother.
    Only the poet sells his soul to separate it
    from the body that he loves.