The Trip, streaming on Netflix
Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon’s dueling Michael Caine impersonation movie, The Trip, is now streaming on Netflix.
Mostly improvised and highlighting the duo’s penchant for dueling impressions of famous actors, the film follows them as they test their friendship while sampling the best restaurants in Northern England.
To see if that interests you, you can check out this clip, previously, on clusterflock.
(via @spavis)
Jason Molina – Don’t It Look Like Rain
The wolf outside my door don’t need
Anymore of my blood
Of my bood
She don’t wait for nothing
nothing anymore
She’s watching for nothing anymore
Moon above my light
Starts fading out
I live for nothing anymore
I live for nothing
Redington
“And this is where it starts.”
Living in the county long enough, you begin to feel that you know every road, every creek, and even every cow; but there are still places hiding out there, waiting, scattered amid the leaves, in the lonely hollows.
But where are we? Where have we gone?
Somewhere Beyond the Corn.
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spam name
Skye Tandy.
from the archives: April 28, 2006
I always wondered why Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown decided to visit Israel and hang out with Ariel Sharon. Tonight, while eating Country Fried Kalebone™ at phATLanta’s Soul Vegetarian restaurant on N. Highland Avenue, I finally found the answer.
The ancient burden of language.
I can still see the three perfect self-contained sentences if I look into the blue depths of the sky, into oceanic currents of air. Once, they rode dromedaries or Bactrian camels of syntax, bearing dangling modifiers in boxes, vases, jars. At all the stoplights and Shell stations in Los Altos and Encino, the inhabitants of night would talk about the Crab Nebula and how they saw it erupt in the frigid velvet darkness like the first strobe light in a Whitesnake concert, the first flash of the first camera in picture day at school, and what this meant. The three perfect self-contained sentences lived on the top of a mountain overlooking Menlo Park, and they had fiberglass radio dishes and astrographs and big Schmidt-Cassegrain telescopes on tripods, and they had had studied the theory of peace on earth.
So peace would be established in parking lots and the office blocks on Wiltshire, and bags of Reese’s Pieces would be handed out for free. A waitress with frosted hair had seen the Macho Man Randy Savage asking for directions to the banquet of the resurrected at the Getty. Two aspiring hip-hop producers produced an iphone with photographs showing Frank Zappa eating an oven-roasted chicken sandwich on Ventura Boulevard, and they needed a tank of silver-grade unleaded and two bags of Doritos, because this meant that 2Pac was out there somewhere, clothed in white and riding a Ducati through the night. Everybody embraced, and two young Java developers burst into tears at the sudden beauty of the world.
Everyone knew that the three perfect sentences were on the move, through the deserts, because we could hear the sounds of tiny bells. But there were some that doubted that they were self-contained. “..es un Tigre que me destroza, pero yo soy el tigre; es un fuego que me consume, pero yo soy el fuego” said a line cook from El Cerrito, and we all knew that he was right. Serpents made of language that have a period preceding the initial capital letter, they were the recursive CatDog of perfection: if somebody tried to use a chalkboard to make a sentence tree from them, the tree would flower, and burst into leaves. Birds would gather on the branches made of chalk. They were like something out of that dream that Samuel Johnson had, which he was incapable of telling Boswell, because the weight of the words on paper, the shape of the words in his mouth, destroyed the purity of the absolute sentence, the single sustained example of perfect prose.
So where are the three perfect self-contained sentences now, Mr. Neece? What happened to their journey? And what will they find at the center of the world?
mile high club?
Flight 623, with 116 passengers on board, landed without incident in Detroit after the crew reported that two people were spending an unusual amount of time in a bathroom, Frontier spokesman Peter Kowalchuck said.
Update: This just “in.”
tweet of the day
photo out of context
Two Grain Elevators And A Railroad. U.S. 56, Ardell, KS 67563
headline of the day, II
Ark. man in plane spots his home being burglarized
Love Can Always Find You
We met today for a celebration, to mark the marriage of a mutual friend. She was just back from the beach. ”Marry me,” he said. ”And I accepted,” she told us. She wore a white halter top and a white wrap skirt, a two-piece bathing suit of the same shade underneath, no shoes. The groom had on casual attire, with flip flops. They went for dinner at a bayside restaurant, then back to the beach.
They had gone the long way around to find each other. She was born and raised in New York City, to Greek parents in the restaurant business. She had several careers, ending up in the news business in D.C. When I met her decades ago, she talked about Latin music, about salsa. The groom, born in Puerto Rico, is a longtime civil servant. He’s also a musician. He owns four guitars.
But I had to wonder about this hasty marriage to a man she’d been seeing for five months. Then, he came into the room. He was a stunner. She was glowing. They talked about moving by the end of the year, maybe to Spain. Her dream is to be on a plane, on New Year’s Eve, flying to Madrid, her new husband at her side.
The thing is, these aren’t babes. They are at or near the age when they can draw retirement. As in Social Security.
You would never know it. They’re sleek and fit, all that dancing. And one thing was so obvious it filled the room with sweet certainty: My long-time friend is with the love of her life. And the feeling is mutual.
on reading The Atrocity Exhibition in Brighton
«There are one or two other bits and pieces, but together the inventory is an adequate picture of a woman, who could easily be reconstituted from it. In fact, such a list may well be more stimulating than the real thing. Now that sex is becoming more and more a conceptual act, an intellectualization divorced from affect and physiology alike, one has to bear in mind the positive merits of the sexual perversions.»—JG Ballard
More musings on Brighton, Ballard, Quadrophenia, Joy Division, presidential pubic hair, Beachy Head, mods, rockers, cars, crashes, 911, partying, sex & suicide.
Danny Macaskill, Industrial Revolutions
The latest industrial light and magic from bike riding wizard Danny Macaskill.
(thanks, Amy)
I took a walk Saturday afternoon
I took a walk last night
I saw Deron in Oslo
At Akershus Castle.
Miss Nell in New Orleans
I’m not sure what I did to this photo to chop it up, but it is just a copy of the original. Anyway, Miss Nell is on the left, before she married and had children. She was in New Orleans with her friend Lois and her other friend Lois. I told her, “You looked right sultry in that picture.” She said, “Lois probably was driving me crazy.”
Chris Burden, Metropolis II
You may recall the kinetic sculpture Metropolis II by Chris Burden. The work, which took four years to complete, features 1,500 Hot Wheels diecast cars and a host of electric trains all bustling around a matrix of steel and plastic. If that sounds like a snapshot of your morning commute, you’re not alone.
Burden recently sat down with directors Henry Joost and Ariel Schulman for a quick chat on what’s behind Metropolis II and what it means to the artist. Those of you in Southern California may be able to see the exhibit in person at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art in the fall of 2011.
Jason’s been tracking Chris Burden projects for a while now.
pregnancy tourism for a master race
In the film, the lady tells us how she isn’t the first, and “definitely not the last” to travel this far to have an Aryan child, one who, she imagined, would grow up grateful for the gift of racially superior intelligence. She speaks of an organised system behind such pregnancy tourism, but refuses to elaborate. “It’s not wrong, what I’m doing,” she says, “I’m paying for what I want.”
The movie is called Achtung Baby: In Search of Purity, and is about German women travelling to Indian villages to get knocked up by men they believe are the last of the pure Aryans.
(via the browser)
from the comments
This is fantastic. I’d like to add Miss Nell’s Skillet Flip Cornbread. I’ve talked about this. She bakes it in an iron skillet, takes it out midway, holds the skillet by the handle and FLIP!
She is 91. A piece of work. When I was driving her back from the lake over twisty country roads a couple of weeks ago, she tapped me on the knee and said, “Hey, how about speeding it up. I’ve got things to do.” I said, “I am not going over the speed limit. The law is always hiding back here.” She said, “Well, it is NOT 45, you can go faster.” We argued a while. Finally we saw a sign, 45. We got home. Brother-in-law got home later with sister and Mr. B. He had gotten pulled over for speeding.
Fishes That Could Be Dead Leaves (For Daryl)
A Wall that Could Be a Road
from the comments
Today is my birthday and we are in Marfa! As it has every birthday of my life, it rained this morning. No matter where I am, it rains. Marfa is parched (recovering from 10 rainless months), so it is lovely to see everything getting a drink. I will refrain from taking the credit, but of course, we all know better. To quote Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, “I make the weather!”
Mark Menjivar, You Are What You Eat
Delicatessen Attendant | Daphne, AL | 4-Person Household | Disowned by parents for marrying a black man.
You Are What You Eat is a series of portraits made by examining the interiors of refrigerators in homes across the United States.
I like that so many of them are from Texas.
(via marginal revolution)
