Friday, August 13, 2004

In my head for no reason I can find: "Say buh-buh-buh-bye to the bunch..."

Joel: "Write down three things you like about yourself! Instead of ink, use your own blood!"

Pacifica radio host, after playing some trad. Korean music: "The Axis of Evil never sounded so good."

Jonathan Mayhew wonders: "If a given poet is only one of two thousand equally worthwhile poets, why should any particular reader choose to read him or her? How can one distinguish oneself from the thousands?" Asking these questions, especially the second, as though they were inevitable strikes me as precisely the 'failure of imagination' at issue.

Anxious to see Los Angeles Plays Itself, a 3-hr cine-essay on Los Angeles* in film by Thom Anderson; I hope to show my aesthetics class his earlier Eadweard Muybridge, Zoopraxographer this fall, and no, there are no typos in this sentence. Typically, the new one just showed at FilmForum but isn't here until Sept.

*I understand the film contains an argument against ever saying (writing?) "L.A." I doubt I'll adopt the longer form.

Vitaphone shorts at UCLA tonight!

Bye, Julia. (Update: Pasadena gal, which I'd forgotten. Also, sorry to hear of the passing of film composer David Raksin, at 92. He was introduced -- stood, but didn't speak -- at a LACMA screening of a film he scored, about 2 years ago. I'm racking my brain to remember which.)

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