Early video of Indiana Jones 4. I can think of a better use of bandwidth than disseminating a large video file of Lucas and Spielberg drinking champagne and sitting in an old car. What next? A 350 MB Quicktime file of Harrison Ford passing a kidney stone?
Okay, you celebrity news obsessives, listen up. If Elizabeth Crane, who is perhaps one of the more obsessive of the obsessives, thinks that Paris Hilton is beneath her notice, then there’s a pretty good chance that the news is sizably insignificant.
Richard Nash: “Using a variant on the word ‘fuck’ in an interview with Salon will triple your company’s website traffic.” Future Salon interviewees take note.
Alas, this blog is rated a mere R. I’m clearly going to have to do better to match Gwenda’s NC-17. I apologize for not being sleazy enough. More dick jokes to come!
Mr. Teachout, please see Raging Bull immediately. For the record and perhaps rather frighteningly, I’ve seen all but four films on the list. I feel particularly embarrassed for not having seen Murnau’s Sunrise.
Clive James: “My feeling that I would have been a happier man if I had been a painter and indeed a happier man if I had been a gravedigger.” Give James points for honesty, but run the other way when he approaches you with a shove for “yard work.”
Sarah Bradford reviewed Tina Brown’s book for the Spectator. The Spectator refused to print it, without citing a specific reason. The Guardianhas run the review. I didn’t find Bradford’s review to be overly pugnacious. Is the Spectator pulling its punches? I am trying to track down the current literary editor for the Spectator, but alas, the Spectator website doesn’t load for me. I would be grateful if someone could pass along this information to me. I wish to know why the Spectator would rather run puff pieces rather than honest reviews. (Of course, if the literary editor wishes to address these questions to the public, my comments remain open.)