Ryan, Nate (with Carlos/Fritz) and Ken

We gave Grandma a ride out and she told us stories about getting her driver's license in the '20s and what she thought of jazz when it first came out.  Born in 1913.

Gwyn, Aidan and Harper.  All of these are reblogged from my older sisters' blogs, so check them out for more family fun.

     Last night I picked up my acoustic guitar and wrote out the chords for a new song.  My watch stopped working.
     This morning the radio announced that I-5 southbound was closed at Kent, so I veered into the valley and followed 167 through the fog that's filled in along the Sound the last few mornings.  The detour added thirty minutes to an hour-long trip.
     I saw an espresso stand called Smoking Hot Espresso (which I assume to be one of those that sells espresso by paying girls to work in swimwear or similar) in a part of the Puyallup Valley that seemed otherwise utterly desolated, an effect probably amplified by the fog.  I saw a tobacco shop called Chief Cottonmouth in a dark strip mall.  Those are small businesses where people make a living.  In places like those it's challenging to conceive of a deterministic universe.
     And at times like these abstraction functions well as a political tactic, but otherwise seems more like a coping strategy than an aesthetic decision.

The Borders of the World

     She made the noise again.  A long wet whinnying letter k.  And I found the more she talked, the more she owed me.  But I didn't say a word.  It was in my heart to speak, to make a breach in her self-absorption, in the solid stuff of her hometown and dying brother.  I wanted to reduce these things to rubble.  It was just a passing mood, a thing that erupts out of the formed core of one's middle-minded resolve.
     I let her talk.  And the more I listened and the more unappealing she became, the more I wanted to get inside her pants, for reasons no one comprehends under heaven.
     But I didn't say word one.  It was in my heart to talk her into spending the night in my room, or half of the night, or an hour and ten minutes.  I didn't know why I wanted her but I knew why I didn't want her.  It would have been disloyal to Klara, to our shared memory, our own brief time in that small room back there in the narrow streets that were the borders of the world.

- Don DeLillo, Underworld, p. 81.

Fall Films I'm Excited About Part III

It's Woody; res ipsa loquitor.

Fall Films I'm Excited About Part II

I have to admit to being interested in this one and I recognize that this admission could end up being embarrassing.  If nothing else, the trailer was well done.

Fall Films I'm Excited About Part I

For some reason almost all the great films (read: small-studio films made by auteurs) are released in fall.  I would guess it results from some combination of market research and film-festival timing.  In any event, here is one I am most excited about:



It's interesting, to me, that the director making films most like Fellini today is a woman.  As demonstrated by Lost in Translation and, apparently, this new one, Sophia Coppola has daddy issues.  Thanks for messing her up a little, Francis, because I am reaping the benefit.

IMG_5420

IMG_5420, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5415

IMG_5415, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5405

IMG_5405, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5411

IMG_5411, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5323

IMG_5323, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5349

IMG_5349, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5339

IMG_5339, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5333

IMG_5333, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5315

IMG_5315, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5319

IMG_5319, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5311

IMG_5311, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5301

IMG_5301, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5384

IMG_5384, originally uploaded by Gambol.

IMG_5373

IMG_5373, originally uploaded by Gambol.