Back in the old days, theater goers wouldn't be stacked up and orbiting the movie house waiting to get in to the next show. Ticketed and popcorned, we'd walk right into the dark auditorium, straightaway bumping into things while other things were taking place on the screen. It was amazing how much better you could see after ten minutes in your seat.
Anyway, we didn't always get there in time to see the start of the movie, and sometimes couldn't figure out what was going on. The thing was, this rarely detracted from the enjoyment of the movie. I suppose we've come back around to that in a way with pics like Pulp Fiction, Momentoes, and Mulholland Drive, where you can't understand what you saw until you get home. In the case of Mulholland Drive, without the internet to provide a walkthrough, you still don't.
My DJ is like that. It's a short read where you're plopped down with the feeling you must have arrived a little late. Funny thing is, the matter-of-fact graininess of the writing is so unsurreal, it doesn't matter. Actually, maybe coming in late helps. There's something to be said for friendly bewilderment. Here's a clip. It's the very beginning. For more, go to McSweeney's and tell them you're over 17.
I have to take the bus to the doctor's office because some drunk rear-ended me last week on my way home from an after-bar. It's morning rush hour, so of course my DJ and I have to stand. He doesn't have a stable surface to set his turntables on, so his records keep skipping all over the place.So what do you think? Shall we watch the rest of it? Why not. My feet are stuck to the floor anyway, and it's not from weeks of spilled Pepsis. *McSweeney's Internet Tendency: My DJ