This exchange has played itself out all-too-many times during our tumultuous affair, so it's no surprise that I am typing this from underneath the kitchen sink, where I have been quietly rocking back and forth in a seemingly catatonic state for the past three hours. Or maybe it was that bad lunchmeat I just had.
In on the Kill Taker & that awful Le Tigre song taught me more about Cassavetes than any intro to film class ever could. References, Ahoy!
[/quote]
Hey, for the record, that Cassavetes reference was Tom’s, not mine (good one, Tom)
… So what are you going to do now?
...Are you still confined under the sink?
Maybe you should confine yourself to the Chase Manhattan Bank in Flatbush, Brooklyn, where you and your down-and-out friend Sal can try to steal enough money for your male lover to undergo a sex change operation. Failing this (and you will), fly back in time to 1961 to find yourself smoking a Gauloise, locked in a Paris hotel room (the kind you can touch all four walls in when you’re lying on the bed) with a beautiful, yet ultimately dangerous, American girl who sports a serious crew cut and sells the New York Herald Tribune on the street. Escape her treachery by travelling over to 14th century Sweden - bring your chess set. Then find yourself at an Italian spa retreat in the position of having to cast an actress from a bevy of beauties (some with pretty nice racks). When you get back home ignore the lady from the radiator. In heaven, everything is NOT fine. Heaven, I hear, smells like a whole lot of cat poop.
Ok, I’ve exhausted my references. (I tried without success to work in something from "Battleship Potemkin", oh well) Have a great evening, Bobo.
