A Cloud in Contact

The fog has been letting up by inches each day. I expect to find bits of giant, prehistoric insects lying amidst severed limbs like in that terrible Steven King movie.

Speaking of movies, I'm getting really good at the art of the mid-day show. I smuggle in lunch from Japan Town, and grab a seat at dead center. This week I saw Errol Morris' Standard Operating Procedure. I thought it was really good, but I'm still on the fence as to whether or not I can feel pity for anyone who voluntarily enters the military, regardless of circumstance.

I also saw Iron Man. I actually really liked it, and thought it was a superb diversion. Robert Dinosaur Jr. was great too. At both movies I was one of maybe three or four people in the theatre. The joys of anti socialism, and being half in the bag before dinner.

I also went to hear Michael Chabon do a reading. I'm well into 'The Yiddish Policeman's Union,' and I read 'Wonder Boys' a while back. Solid.

I also saw Clinic, and, in spite of some sort of debilitating fever and brain infection, so did Lexi. It was pretty confounding to sit around and watch a bunch of Scouse freaks bang out eerily dissonant music while wearing surgical masks and Hawaiian shirts. Not that it matters much, but they played their entire new record first. It was a good, solid hour before they played a song that anyone had heard before. That's not to say that if they had ripped into 'Puff the Magic Dragon' early on that it would have made anyone feel more at ease.

It's been busy, but the clock is ticking. On Friday night I fly to Portland, take a cab to a bus and then drive up to Bend where it will, no doubt, be unreasonably cold for an outdoor show. I'm packing snowshoes.