THE GAME OF PERFECT MOMENTS

For the most banal even to become an adventure, you must (and this is enough) begin to recount it. This is what fools people: a man is always a teller of tales, he lives surrounded by his stories and the stories of others, he sees everything that happens to him through them; and he tries to live his own life as if he were telling a story.

I wanted the moments of my life to follow and order themselves like those of a life remembered.

You know, it's quite a job starting to love somebody. You have to have energy, generosity, blindness. There is even a moment, in the very beginning, when you have to jump across a precipice: if you think about it you don't do it.

First you had to be plunged into something exceptional and feel as though you were putting it in order. If all those conditions had been realized, the moment would have been perfect.

Well, this is the first time in years that a man has seemed moving to me.



What a book.

IN THE SHADOW OF THE NEW YORK SKYLINE

My coworker knows to remind me to watch American Idol. See, I'm really crap at watching television. And it's not that I don't like it - I just don't have the interest/gumption/attention span/memory/whatever to remember when things are on. Yes, yes, I know that's what DVR is for, but my DVR is pretty logjammed with old movies. Things like Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill! and Cleo from 5 to 7 that are far too expensive to find on DVD. (Not to mention the fact that my DVD player is still not hooked up properly, where's my fuckin handyman???) Add this to the fact that I watch too many sporting events and my TV schedule is pretty much fixed. (Ed note - the only series I DVR at the moment are Rock of Love (RIP), America's Next Top Delusional Talk Show Host, and Make Me a Supermodel).

Anyway, that said, I DVRed Idol last night (of course, I only remembered to do so about 15 minutes in and therefore in my mind there is only one female contestant). My assessment is as follows: somebody needs to punch Adam Lambert in the fucking face. Yes, he's an incredible talent, but JESUS H CREESTO he is a Ken doll!!! (Not a good thing, Ken dolls don't have bits). Break something, Lambert, even if it's just a sweat. My favorite is Kris. But he needs some serious, serious tattoos. And probably shouldn't have blown his marriage load so quickly. Lil girls gotta dream, don't they? I would rather he win than Alison because ultimately, the world of Idol throwaways has room for only one Kelly Clarkson.

And, just as a side note - why the hell was Vince Neil invited to DISCO NIGHT?

Fun times, like big brunches on Sundays.

LOVE THE LIFESTYLE IF YOU FEEL IT

Brain salad cuz my brain is, well... salad. Spent a few days holed up on the UWS - entertained because of the memories it invoked and because my idle chatter was most likely the catalyst for the Wat's dream about us being on Gossip Girl, despite the fact that neither one of us has seen an episode. (Imran, if you're reading this - you were in the dream as well. Don't get any ideas).

The Rock of Love Bus finale proved anti-climactic. While Taya threw us for a loop by using the "hold out and win" method, any thrill was lost when Bret in fact chose her. The two of them had ZERO chemistry in their embrace, and he didn't even give her the fucking ring she so painstakingly selected! As Gurj said this morning, it was something along the lines of "Taya, I'll give you the ring so long as the 1% of me that is perturbed by your eyebrows shuts off." The major upside was the preceding marathon that made me realize how fucking amazing it would be for MTV to relaunch that Singled Out show with Ashley as Jenny McCarthy. You would know all this by now if you read my Twitter.

I got the new Doves album but haven't had a chance to listen. Been listening to the L'Amour LA Morgue remixes and - of all things - Hundred Reasons. Fuck that band is good. "Dissolve" came up in my iPod's shuffle and I've been revisiting ever since. Speaking of the shuffle, I now have the Prodigy and Primal Scream vying for "best strut soundtrack" honors.

Either them, or John Carpenter's score when the Duke arrives in Escape From New York. That film, coincidentally, is also the inspiration for this year's new look for hunks. Take note. This is the future.



**Just an addendum: Listened to the first half of the Doves record on the way to work this morning... so good. Not sure that it touches The Last Broadcast, but then again, little can. When it came out, Broadcast became the perfect soundtrack to my life in London. "There Goes the Fear" was played in every indie disco and every radio station and I distinctly remember going to the record store right off the Camden tube to buy the album the day it was released. So yeah, its tough for Doves to top themselves, but Kingdom of Rust is far better than their last offering, thats for sure.