Tuesday, April 24, 2007


So, TV was a lot of fun last night. We got the first new HEROES in seven weeks and started the last quarter of Jack Bauer's sixth (and final?) day. I've got to say, I'm worried about ol Jack. He started out the day as a Chinese prisoner, has had missiles and bullets fired at him more than once, disarmed two nuclear weapons (both at 5 minutes till the hour, natch), and is running pretty ragged. More importantly, he's going against the White House with a potential replacement for protagonist waiting in the wings (Ricky Schroeder, of Silver Spoons fame). They do a good job about making you think that they would actually kill off the leading man. We'll see.

And HEROES, quite enjoyable, though a couple of things fell flat for me. The way they dragged out Peter being dead was just silly, we all knew he was going to be fine. The way they burned like two minutes of the new episode showing the cliffhangers that we've been stewing over for four weeks (Mohindir's apartment, Hiro & Ando in the future). And Isaac's death was somewhat unmoving, I thought. But, loved Linderman all over the place, particularly talking about the good old days, and that Tim Sale painting of Nate in the Oval Office was huge. And of course, great cliffhanger. As usual.

Didn't even get around to THE RICHES, but also watched the excellent Jarmusch flick starring Bill Murray, BROKEN FLOWERS. Murray reprises his mid-life crisis character from the Anderson flicks and LOST IN TRANSLATION, but the plot moves him along enough so that we don't get bored. I enjoyed how it reflected usually inconsequential minutiae of life, and didn't wrap up in a tidy bow at the end.

Read 100 pages of THE FOUNTAINHEAD. Catherine's been after me to read that for years, and I feel like a chump for putting it off this long. I'm loving it, great characters, a sweeping narrative, and a truly engaging meditation on what puts the art in architecture.


So, the time has come, I'm joining the masses who feel the need to vomit whatever words and thoughts bubble up from their cerebellums to clog up the Intrawub. There will probably little rhyme or reason to what follows, planning to just talk about whatever whenever. Except for that island show, this is the one place where you won't find my musings on that, title and address of this thing, notwithstanding. Onward, to beauty and truth via the hammering of keys with letters on them.