"... patron saint of those men who hear the riverwhistles sing the mysteries and who return to sleep in wine by the south wheel of the city."

(Part of) the last line of Great Jones Street, DeLillo's third, which I just finished. Another mess. But a focused mess concerned only with East Village life in the 70s. It's entertaining to see a take on the city that includes warehouses, vomit, and utter destitution where condos now dominate. An almost classic New York novel? Sure. Readable outside that uber-specific milieu? Not a chance.

"he lived in a pink stucco palace-as-a-bungalow that clung to the side of malibu canyon."

The above photo courtesy of the streets of la. The subject line might be something i wrote.

"you get what you pay for"

That's the tagline for the new Owen Wilson comedy Drillbit Taylor. Yes, it looks terrible. Doesn't that tagline seem awfully prophetic to you? I can just imagine two fledgling CAA agents discussing the film's inevitable demise over flutes of baby blood at Cut.

"Dude, that movie, like, totally bombed," one would say, never looking up from his blackberry.

"Well, you get what you pay for," the other would respond, alluding to a half-baked script, interchangeable child actors and Wilson, who at this point must be the movie star equivalent of buying a tacky sweater for half-off at a going-out-of-business sale.