I’ve been a fucking drag lately, right?
In lieu of apology, I’m giving y’all one of the painter John Kacere’s lithographs above to make it up. You’re welcome.
I’m tired and I’ve been working on loglines so I’m in danger of boring myself to death any minute now. How I get through writing loglines is I pretend I’m writing joke loglines for a sketch or fake T.V. Guide and imagine a wacky SNL character reading them, like to introduce the Sunday night movie. Then, when they’re sufficiently jokey and awful and sound like the worst movies ever … voila. Done! It’s a little more complicated than that, but there is something to that feeling of a logline needing to sound punchy and familiar in tone and rhythm, like a hacky joke version of itself.
What I’m discovering is this is my method — I do whatever keeps me moving. No matter how fly-by-night. Better to be moving in the wrong direction and change course, than stand frozen in one place, uncertain. That’s me, anyway. Or what I’ve come to.
Hey French braids — you’re just hair that got pulled into a series of complicated relationships with the Germans. Lay off the attitude.