It's Getting Better All the Time
I'm not sure I like the built-in Blogger comments. If you want to use them, folks, now's your chance, as my self-delineated trial period for them is almost over.

June is gonna be good. Two shows lined up. The first and greatest of these is this Friday, the Decemberists again, this time at the Metro, in Chi-town. Then, at the end of the month, Stephin Merritt and Co in Columbus.


Oh, and a new 14" iBook G4 is on the way, as soon Apple builds it for me. I'd be more excited except I feel like an idiot for mashing the old one. And poorer. Oh well...

America the Beautiful
This Memorial Day weekend check out the comics. Doonesbury. I'd link to it, but I don't know where to find it online. You'll have to pick up a real old fashioned newspaper. Skip over the story of NFL star/Army guy Pat Tillman dead from friendly fire. Pass by the stories of our troops (whether they were ordered to or not) abusing prisoners. Don't even bother reading about the President's latest "stay the course" speech. Just look at the tiny type of all the people dead in this stupid war.
If he can't even ride a bike without fallling off, how can we expect much else? It's strange, though. The military people I know don't want to go to Iraq, their familes certainly don't want them to go there and get blown up by a homemade mine. But if they have to, they do. Ultimately, I don't get that.

Wait! Here it is: * !

Status Report
You might be able to read this.

You Wept, But Your Soul Was Grinning
Things are not at all well, after all.
I dropped two sketchbooks on my open iBook. They left some nasty scrapes on the screen. The grime cleaned off, but there are a few fuzzed out scratchy spots. The bezel around the LCD is loose at the top and especially the bottom. It won't close without a squeeze to get the latch to engage. And then it creaks in complaint. It's also a little more wobbly up top than before. Shit! I'm just sick. Yes, I have an open Apple credit line, but I wanted to get at least one more year of hard use out of the thing before it got replaced. I know I shouldn't be so materially-minded, but I just am.

And this is after a great day yesterday, in spite of the fact that I had to skip the club ride/race for Sam's preschool graduation--see, I'm not totally self-centered. I finally went and got new strings. I told the guy (the same one as before) that he was right, four years is too long for a set of strings. He was really very nice and after I bought one set he gave me a free set, so I would be more inclined to replace them on a regular basis. So, I got through the stringing OK, although my winding could be prettier. I have to say, I'm sold on the replacing strings regularly thing! It sounds SO MUCH BETTER! Even with me playing it! The thing is, I always fear that I'm gonna warp the thing all to hell and render it unplayable. It's not the greatest guitar, plus it has more than a few dings and scratches--especially the pick guard--but it's still the guitar I bought when I just decided one day that I would learn to play and I marched right into the music store and said, "Boys, sell me a guitar!" No, it wasn't quite like that. I borrowed a friend's during my last year of college and had played around with it, plus there was that whole guitar recital debacle back in 6th grade...

Remain Calm. All Is Well.
The hospital, across the street from our development, has closed off its back road. It used to be that you could just ride your bike all around the spiffy new building, but now there's a gate with a chain and serious-looking warning signs. I wonder if they were put up because of me? Almost every day I ride a bike around there. But once, a few weeks ago, just as I was on the back loop a helicopter landed, not so many meters away! It kinda freaked me out I must admit, and I could see one of the pilots pointing at me and saying something into his headset. (That's how close it was.) Then the chains went up. So I rode around them. Then the signs went up. Then more signs. Now security guys are there. I'd say that the old service road in back of the hospital is pretty much off limits. Tsk! It was the last part of my 15 mile time trial course. So now I'll have to redo my little course and set some new records. Actually, it's surely not just because of me. All the housewives used to go for walks around there because it makes a nice tidy mile and half loop if you go from your house, around the development and the hospital.

Then there's the case of our (morally) bankrupt cable company. For the last two years we've had OLN as part of our basic cable. I put up with the lumberjack contests and hunting shows and even Kirsten Gumm (is that how you spell her name?) just so I could watch same day coverage of all the major cycling events in Europe. But now, OLN has been moved to a tier of channels only accessible by purchasing the highest-level digital package. It would cost more just to get up to that level than it costs for cable now! So, I won't be watching Lance's epic quest for 6, except for the super-cheesy one-hour summaries each week on CBS. I wonder if there's a Eurosport stream available? OLN's website did have live audio last year. That might work. Honestly, what is there to see? Guys riding bikes. Got plenty of glossy pictures of that in the mags. So all I'd need to keep updated is the voices of Phil, Paul, and the inimitable Bob Roll. I've been doing a sort of test run of life without OLN during the Giro, checking daily results via good old cyclingnews.com, which is all we had before anyone even invented OLN.

Charlemagne in a Motorcade
Matthew, my large-amounts-of-disposable-cash brother, is going to give me the new Morrissey CD tonight, right?
All others, please excuse this highly specific post. Thank you!

Run, Shadowfax. Show Us the Meaning of Haste!
It's only fair that I mention the old crabby pharmacist again. She was extremely nice to me today, even telling me about her own son who has athsma. I attribute this sudden change in her attitude to my clean living and general good-ness toward most of humankind. Clearly, she can see that snottiness will get her nowhere with me.

Watching the Return of the King DVD, I noticed that Pippin sings what sounds like an Enya song to the steward of Gondor guy. Breathy vocals will get nowhere with me either. The rest of the music is stunning, though. Best Picture, indeed! I think Eowyn is my favorite character in this movie. I never really liked Elijah Wood as Frodo. I tolerated him. Sean Astin does make a great Samwise, though! Viggo might be the overall coolest. But then Sir Ian (is he a Sir? can poofy Brit actors be knighted?) is also fantastic throughout the series.

How Often Do You Get Any Action?
When I went to the guitar store the other day to pick up a nifty little order of Bacon 'n Eggs I asked about how often strings should be changed. The guy asked how much I play. I answered, "A few pointless minutes a day." He replied that even if it's only a few minutes a day, strings should be replaced every few months. What? I gave him a look, like "Well, of course, you'd say that, you sell strings!" He got my drift and said that Jim(?!) replaces his every two months, sooner if they break. ? I don't know about all this. I put new strings on my acoustic in 2000 or 2001. I like they way they feel. I'm just now getting to like the strings on my electric, months after I put them on. Plus, I never seem to do it smoothly. Once I broke the little E and it snapped back and cut the back of my hand. So you can imagine the associations of horror I have with this whole process.

Yow!
Cycling is going well, not that anyone ever bothers to check up on these things. Passed the thousand mile mark for the year the week before last. I'm not really training up for anything in particular for another few weeks. Then the pain begins in earnest. But it's so delicious, in a way. Except when a 13 year old girl that you're passing (WITH a verbal warning I might add) turns left right in front of you, causing an immediate slowdown from 20 to 0, but you miss by inches and she apologizes, and you don't even have to unclip because of your superior bike handling skills, though you are worried her redneck father, drunk on a Saturday afternoon, will chase you down in his Chevy S10 pickup and beat the tar out of you, as if the near miss was your fault.


Gabe got a new stuffed bear at a garage sale. I don't even want to think about the dust mites and bacteria. He made up a whole dossier for him--birth certificate, photos, etc. This page is the one that tells his age. The same as Gabe, apparently.

So What Difference Does It Make?
Names for new bands (all of which are horrible):

Crooked Teeth & A Flat Voice [what you see and hear is what you get]
Day Job [irony]
One Abrasive Pessimist [for my solo career]
Psonic Psunspot [XTC cover band--wait, this is probably already in use, as Andy can't be bothered to play EVER]
Boots
Which E String?
Brigadeer On Wheels
Chicken Breast
Petunia
Flabby A**

Invisible History
One true thing you probably didn't know: for several weeks, during my first semester in college/art school, I was in a band. Yup. Well, it was more a manifestation of dorm-life politics. There was this guy in our suite, Pat, who was jerk. He wasn't just a geek. He wasn't just obnoxious. He was cocky and nerdy and generally unpleasant ALL THE TIME. So, me and this guy with a sort afro-y hairdo (though he was whiter than white)--I forget his name--and his roommate, a Shriekback and Joy Division maniac, I think his name was some Nordic appellation, like Sven or Anders or something, formed a band to record and write songs about how much we didn't like Pat. The "band" was named TAP, or Three Abrasive Pessimists, because Pat decided and announced that all us artsy types were glass-half-empty people. We borrowed a Music Institute student's Yamaha DX7 (she was slutty Beth's roommate--they lived underneath me and the Army brat who shot me with his BB gun, stupid bastard) and recorded some ambient sounds and long sustained chords. Then we spoke various things, like the dictionary defintions of the words "three," "abrasive," "pessimist," "Pat," etc., and layered and looped them on some sort of primitive recording equipment. I designed a logo for us--a skull and crossbones with TAP underneath. We made copies and distributed them. We briefly had a plan to put together some more songs and play at the Barking Spider's open mike night. We went to a music store one Saturday but decided that instruments would use up our beer budget, so we went back to the keyboard. One night we went out and sprayed a stencil of our logo all over campus. We were caught by the RA on our way back in, but he was friends with Pat, so we had to make up a ridiculous cover story for the whole thing. I must have either misplaced or acccidently thrown out the master of the tape that had our "music" on it. History is better off that way, I suppose.
PS It also stood for That Asshole Pat.


This Just In!
Perhaps that decision not to reproduce further was made in haste? Perhaps we should try for that little girl...? Now, over at The Decemberists webshop, they are selling onesies. I wonder if that means one of the band or significant others is expecting?

I Believe in Travellin' Light
Well, the rain held off long enough for us to ride. There were rides on the last two rainy Thursdays but very few riders, I found out. Last week they cut it short after 7 miles because it was raining so hard. Last night, only the triathlete guy who goes for a run before and after the ride (as well as take constant pulls during) was tan. The rest of us were pale pale pale. One old guy had a brand new Trek 5500, with the new 10 speed Dura Ace gear--wow! I think the new crank looks better in person. In pictures it looks so heavy and lifeless.
I came in tied for third--me and another guy finished at exactly the same time. No big deal, really, since there were only 12 of us on the ride--compared to, like, 30, in the middle of the summer. All results are totally informal. But you can't tell me the guys aren't keeping track, at least in their minds. Why else would people sprint for the line? Our average speed was only 20 mph, but it was windy and it's still pretty early in the season. It'll go up a few miles before we're done. My only goal was to finish with the group. There was one new guy on a fancy schmancy new Cervelo. But at the end he tried to do some fancy cool dismount and crashed. Fred. No, actually, he seems to be a very strong rider. It could happen to any of us--who can't get out of the pedals properly--while swinging your free leg over the saddle--to ride sidesaddle for a moment before hopping off. Just unclip and touch down. That seems to work just fine for Petacchi or Hamilton or any other pro.

Enough Is Enough
OK, if the club ride/race is cancelled again tonight I'll scream. No, actually, I'll drink heavily to console myself. Last week (cancellation #2 in a row) I had to indulge in some retail therapy to replace my aging LLBean laptop backpack with a genuine Timbuk2 messenger bag. It'll come in handy and look cool when I ride my old mountain bike to work. It'll look just right as I dodge cars, ignore traffic laws, and generally scoff polite society, like real bike messengers. Forecast is for severe thunderstorms later in the day, but it's just bee-you-tee-full right now.

Turnin' Rebellion into Money

Ah, the irony. (I think that's the right literary concept.) Sheet music for The Clash, laid out in a dizzying array of little black dots and squiggles, as if it's Bach or Beethoven. It amuses me no end.
Just finished watching the brand new, Region 0 PAL DVD of Rude Boy, courtesy of amazon.co.uk. I haven't tried it on the regular old player yet, but it works just fine on the iBook. A little research told me that PAL DVDs play just fine on computers, even with the cheesy, disfigured Apple player app, the only slight problem might be a random bit of blockiness. I only noticed it once, for a flicker around Paul Simonon's head. But then again, I've noticed that on good old Amurkin NTSC discs, too.
I haven't seen the film since, well, a long time ago, when it was on USA's Night Flight (it was probably spelled Nite Flite) at midnight once every few months. I could never understand why the band was so mean to poor, oafish Ray. The other film they also ran a lot was Breaking Glass, with Hazel O'Conner. I should see if that's available, too.

Credo
While in France recently my kind kid brother got me a French cycling magazine.

I just love how in French cycling is an -ism. Like a way of life. A philosophy.
As it should be.

Drag Another Cliche Howling from the Vaults
Unsolicited preliminary review of The Magnetic Fields new CD, i: I deliberately didn't read any reviews until after I listened to it, and now that I have I must disagree. Actually, I only looked at Amazon and Pitchfork. There seems to be two schools of thought on Stephin Merritt--either he's a lyrical god or a blithering idiot. I offer a third way. Really clever. Not "clever clever," as the Brits say. The insipid and hilarious rhymes. The funky sounds--lots of simple guitars, weirdo synths, and, is that a ukelele? I can't imagine more true love songs than these. I really enjoyed it (twice) on my long drive yesterday and even stopped off at the Wexner Center box office for tickets to their June 30th show. So there. Plus, all the songs start with "i" which is something I didn't notice right away.

Late Night Pursuits
I usually stay up late on Sunday, since Monday is never any fun anyway. Everyone else is asleep and I paint, draw, strum or whatever. Recently I was flipping through the channels and saw Tori Amos on PBS, Lani Guinier on CSPAN, and an infomercial for the latest girls gone wild video on E!.
I don't get Tori. I know many of the fegs are enamored of her, as are many others, but I don't ever get her. The songs themselves just seem to ramble along with no structure and I guess I'm too much of a pop purist to deal with that, and her trilly voice sometimes is too much for me. She's great on the piano, yes, but someone will have to explain to me the rest.
I really don't have any thoughts on Lani. There was some big deal with her and politics some years ago. I can't remember or care.
And, as far as the girls gone wild videos...well, what is there to say? You've seen one nipple, you've seen 'em all.

But during the day today I went for a ride on my time trial course. I managed to beat this year's record, set last week. So now it's 47:44. I'll keep you posted (not that anybody but me cares). One thing perplexes me as I ride along: why is there so much underwear on the side of the road? Never men's underwear, either. Maybe the girls gone wild crew has come by recently? Roadkill, broken glass and beer cans I expect.


I like pictures of chairs.

Watching the Watchers

Generally, I am amazed that anybody ever comes here. A lot of the hits are search results for various cycling or Decemberists topics, not that I am an authority in either area.
Some are in the Pacific Rim neighborhood. One, and this intrigues me, is from the other local ISP, whose offices are right across the street. Hmmm.

Jury Still Out
I don't know about you, but I'm not convinced the new bubbly Blogger interface is all that great.

And there's that mousy little pharmacist who won't speak to me anymore. What happened was Lauran ran out of all her migraine meds from Chicago all at once. So she sees the family doctor, who's on the case now, for refills. He gives them to her and I take them in. I went over at 8:30 and the pharmacy closes at 9. The pharma-girl looks askance at me and then asks if I want them all tonight. Of course I do! She can't guarantee it, she says. But there was no one else there. I wander around the store for a while and when I come back I apologize, because I am that nice a guy. She wrinkles her pointy little nose at me and insists it's no big deal, even though every ounce of her 100 lb body language says that's not true. A few days later I'm in the store for something else and I go over and say that I'm sorry about the other night. She, not even looking up, says, there's no need and then walks away. Now whenever we meet there is awkward silence. Dear Ann, what should I do with a moody pharmacist? Dumbfounded in Defiance.

I...Am Not Waiting for Tonight
The club's unofficial races officially started last week, but it was too thunderstormy to drive 45 minutes just to find out we were rained out. So I stayed home, but tonight, if we don't have our standard-issue evening electrical storm, I'll be there. My only goal is to finish without getting dropped. It'll be somewhat nerve-wracking, since I haven't done any pack riding since last summer, and that seems to require 110% concentration on top of peak physical effort, so I don't wiggle off my line and take out some geezer on his $4,000 Italian steed (like poor Mario Cipollini yesterday at the Giro d"Italia).



Damn Damn Damn! Update: Rain, hard, right when I needed to leave. Radar shows more on the way. I guess that potbellied guy on the Colnago is safe for another week.

Allez, Allez!
As you probably know, Matthew and Brian were in France. I was in Ohio the whole time.
My Franco-fun has been limited to The Triplets of Belleville DVD, which is utterly dark and charming.
It's all OK, my passport expired last year.

Ha! An Appropriate Term
Finally got that whole bit torrent thing to work. A few new Robyn Hitchcock boots later...

And, in cinematic news: rural Ohio seems to be the place for finding the lost classics, cheap. Today at the venerable retailer, Kmart, I found this:

the ultimate St Francis movie, complete with Sir Alec Guinness as the Pope, and songs by folky troubador extraordinaire, Donovan.
I have a secret soft spot for cheesy 70s Jesus stuff. Like this movie, Godspell, the Johnny Cash Jesus movie (and soundtrack), and that funky piano man, Keith Green.

Ugh, For Lack of a Better Term
We've gone from cold and windy to hot and windy. And then thunderstorms every night.

Sam sprayed WD40 all over my car, inside and out. So, yes, it's well lubricated, but it stinks.

Sounds good: all the Decemberist bootlegs that Ada sent me!
Tastes good: spinach salad

In the Festive Spirit of Mother's Day, Of Course
Ok, here's something odd. I made a quick run to the local everything under one roof store today. That's not really very strange, other than the fact that it's crowded on a Sunday afternoon and there's no liquor sales. Wait for the odd... While I was there, waiting on line to pay, a largish woman was checking out. Her purchases included some elphantine slinky lingerie and a set of kneepads, like a carpenter would wear. This was making the college girls behind her smirk at each other. They were buying, among other things, feminine hygiene products. This was making the rednecky guy in back of them wince. And there I was, waiting to buy my frosted shredded wheat and watermelon slices.
The cycling report: sunny, 80s, but very windy (naturally). Lauran told me to go on a ride since it was such a nice day. Sort of a Mother's Day present to me. Finally got under 50:00 on my time trial course--48:59. If there was no wind I'm sure it could have been much faster--the entire second half I was working harder than the first, just to go 15 mph!

It Was Really Nothing
Here's what I did to the lawn, when I decided that it was OK not to push the spreader over every inch of the grass. Stripes. Like on the stockings of all the cool, cute artsy girls circa 1986.

Rum, Sodomy and the Lash
Winston Churchill's famous line came to mind when I watched Master & Commander while the rest of this nation wetted its collective self over the end of Friends. (I thought it was over years ago...) In the movie I saw two out of the three, can you guess which? It was enjoyable enough, and it did have some compelling sequences, but on the whole it didn't have a certain...I dunno...depth. I liked the ship's doctor character and the way he and Aubrey related. Sort of a Kirk and Spock on the open sea thing. Russell Crowe was OK in his role, but he sometimes seemed like the whole thing was a Beautiful Mind hallucination. He even grunted the same way that character did. It was sad when the midshipman drowned himself. And when the little boy got his arm chopped off. I was very curious about it, but waited until just now to finally see it. I remember all the weird old men who came into Borders when I worked there, looking for the latest Patrick O'Brian novel. The weird guy on staff who did the sci-fi/fantasy section said it was some of the best adventure writing out there, much better than most serial stuff.
PS Historically speaking, it seems unclear whether or not those words actually came from Winston's cigar-filled mouth, but he gets credit for them nonetheless.

Disclaimer I already apologized to Mr Chris Funk, guitarist with The Decemberists, for insulting his guitar on this blog and on the yahoo list. I promised to buy him a drink in June to make up for it. He agreed and even signed his email, "Mr Nice Guy." Now, in order to keep my good name clear, I want it known that I did not have anything to do with this. Whoever posted this photo and caption was not me. Honest. He or she is entitled to his/her opinion. I, however, no longer share it. If Mr Funk wants to play a lavender guitar with little red roses, that's fine. No matter what color it is, he plays it way better than I'll ever be able to, so I'll just put my hand over my mouth and shut up about it now. (Thanks to Ada for finding this for me.)

Final Note I went and did the Pantone colorstrology thing. And guess what color I came back as? No, your monitor is fine, that ain't lavender.

Queer EyeS for the Straight Guy
I've been wanting to get a pair of prescription glasses for riding--so I don't get myself killed out there--but they're so darned expensive. By the time you buy the shades and the Rx adapter and get lenses made you've blown $150 or more. So I stumble across this site for a glasses maker in Hong Kong. For $29 I get a pair of specs. They're not riding glasses, per se, but they seem like they'll be servicable. They arrived yesterday, but when I put them on they seemed so small in the lenses department. (The lenses looked bigger and rounder on the website.) Fit-wise they're fine, it's just the trendy design of them, I guess. They look like old librarian glasses, except in translucent indigo plastic. And, um, they look like the glasses of a...well, you know--like I could be on a TV show where hapless hetero hunks are advised on how to dress and eat. Oh, they'll work just fine, and perhaps I'll set a trend. Or I'll get laughed at. Could go either way.

They do look good with my silver hair. It's natural, by the way. In a fit of unprecedented vanity, I'm going to start referring to it as "platinum."

Note To Self...
...stop emailing The Decemberists, collectively and individually. Just because there are links, it doesn't mean you have to click on them! (Also, if they do deign to reply to your queries don't reply back! they have better things to do!) Would you bother Roger Daltrey at home? No! Would you ask silly questions of Keith Richards? Of course not! Now, I would be interested in corresponding with old Robyn Hitchcock, as I've been a fan for like 20 years (really? yes, really!), but when I did chance to speak with him in Chicago a couple years ago, he just mumbled something incoherent, like, "I have to go submerge myself now." I have a feeling that musicians only like contact from fans so much, and then after that point, they're just done. Oh, they might smile and pose for snaps and sign things, but really only in a detached, public persona way.
So, I won't bother them anymore, but I will tell other people how much I like their new song, 16 Military Wives, especially the last verse with the 15 cannibal kings wondering blithely what the dinner bell will bring--after the verses about the titular spouses, the 32 softly-focused brightly-colored eyes, the 32 gently-clenching wrinkled little hands, the 17 company men (out of which only 12 will make it back again), the 5 letters the sergeant sent, the 10 little tear-dripping eyes, the 15 moderate liberal celebrity minds, and the 17 academy chairs (out of which only 7 really even care)--15 celebrity minds served on a leafy bed of 16 military wives!

We Both Had Some Fun, Though I Twice Bit My Tongue
Some highlights from a day off yesterday:
1. Rode my little time trial course (15 mi.) yesterday. I try to do it once a week, if it's not raining. I hate riding in the rain, and since no one's paying me to ride, I don't. Last year I set a personal record--45:01. So far this year my best has been around 50 mins. But it's still early. Yesterday there was a lot more wind than I thought, so 53 mins. was the best I could manage, even though on the way back I was in the mid-20s the whole time. If there hadn't been such a brutal headwind on the way out I know it would have been a much better time. Let it be said that I also hate riding in this incessant wind. Without even realizing it, it's way too easy to hunch up and tighten one's torso, which makes it feel like the ride was much longer. Ouch.
2. Lauran stayed in, did a little spinning on her new trainer (her Mother's Day present) and played Animal Crossing.
3. Later we went grocery shopping (all 4 of us, a big chore!) and, of all the delectable goodies, I chose to have a Gorgonzola and spinach on baguette sandwich for dinner. Yum! And then raspberries were on sale, so I had some for dessert.
4. Apassionada finally got her "Essential Indie" music library, as well as all kinds of Colin Meloy-related musical treasures. The first package I sent her got returned for some spurious Postal Service reason, but this second one--to the same address--went through just fine. Stupid Postal Service is ending its sponsorship of the cycling team, in a big old bend over to pressure from self-appointed watchdogs. Don't get me started on this complex issue. Stamps had better get cheaper, now that they're not "wasting" all that money on a silly sport. Wanna bet they sponsor a good old boy NASCAR driver next year? Now that's a fine, fine Amurkin sport!
5. Mowed the lawn. The trails of my fertilizing are still visible, making it a striped, racecourse looking sort of landscaping.
6. Sorted and labelled the voluminous guitar tabs I've downloaded off the marvelous internet.

It Lasted Too Long for My Taste
Winter lingers on, here in the heartland. At least the wind has died down to a tolerable 10mph. It's sunny, but still not warm. Which is better than chilly and wet, like we've had for most of the last week. So all weekend I sat on the trainer, no actual road miles of any kind happened.
I hear about someone in sunny California going on rides whenever she feels like it. I see that iChat has gone dark because Matthew and Brian are in gay Paree. And I'm stuck here in the house with Sam having accidents and Gabe yelling about how he can't get the Harry Potter game to work by himself. If this IS the heartland, it's like the Grinch's--two sizes too small. Or maybe it's just me.

My Ugly Mug
The other day at work I was the last one to get to the coffee altar, so I got stuck with the world's ugliest mug. It really perplexes me. As if the turtle with the bubble pipe isn't weird enough, there's the crabs jumping up to pop the bubbles as they float by. The coffee just didn't taste right with all that strangeness on the outside, so I went to the coffeeshop across the street.

And That Is Why Art Will Always Triumph!
So, believe it or not, I found another Truffaut film at the grocery store. And this one was marked down to 50 cents! I wonder if my dad has this one...? Anyway, when I got home I noticed on the receipt that it was marked all the way down to zero! I'll keep my eyes open for Goddard and Bunuel, maybe Tarkovsky, too. And that Polish guy who made all the contemporary Ten Commandments films...I just never get tired of all that old Eastern Bloc stuff.
The price is right!