Florence and the Machine


I decided I had enough to do so I’m not going to buy Internet access while on this flight.

There’s really not enough elbow room to pull out my laptop. I’m inthe middle seat, between a man reading a book in Japanese and a young woman reading financial newspapers and some female targeted magazine. She’s got a diamond the size of my thumbnail on her left ring finger.

I’m rereading the book “Rant” by Chuck Palaniuk on the Amazon book app and listening to “Lung” by Florence and the Machine.

I recommend both. If you didn’t know already I love Palahniuk and I contribute quotes to the chuck quotes to the right of your screen.

While in Grand Rapids, my brother introduced me to Florence and the Machine. Holy shit it’s an excellent album. You should buy it.

I don’t have internet to link you to it. But if you doubt it, go to lala.com and listen to the entire thing once all the way through once. If you’re disappointed I’ll give you your lala money back.

I happen to know at least two of you (SAW and Xina) who would like it a lot. Xina, I think you would like Passion Pit if you haven’t got it already.

In Rant, I’m at the beginning still where he’s building up the myth of the character of Rant Casey. The reader gets to see just how screwed up the little town he lived in is. You never learn the name of the town but you know it’s in a southwestern state.

Palaniuk often writes from several POVs. There’s one girl who describes how when you have a sewer system like the one in her town, you learn fast what the tanks don’t digest. So you take your dirty “pussy plugs” and wrap them in some paper and toss them in a trash bin.

When the wind picks up and blows the trash cans over or the dogs go crazy and knock them down, an army of femine-care products march off to the nearest fence. The fence is soon decorated by loads of bloody tampons, used condoms and filthy pads. As they move across the ground, they pick up sand and grit.

When I read the book the first time I remember being struck by this. In just a short section of time you know just what kind of book you’re reading. You know the setting and you know what’s important to the characters in it.

The most brilliant parts in movies and books are when the writer or director can tell you a lot really quickly.

You know what I’m talking about. Like in “No Country for Old Men” when the bad guy picks his feet up when the blood of his kill is inching toward his boots. Or in “La Femme Nakita” when she wakes up in that white dorm room. She pulls her legs over the bed and one toe hits the floor and quickly pops back up and smooths against the other foot. In 150 frames (3 seconds) we know it’s cold in the room and our hero is cold and vulnerable.

That’s good writing. I wish I could do it better. Maybe you’d be much happier too. 😉

What are you listening to, reading, watching, turned on by right now? Spill it, Beanheads!

Put your seat trays in their reclining position and scream your brains out.


Tina and I are on the plane waiting for people to smash their laptops and toiletries in overhead compartments.

NYC is just over two hours away. Frankly I’m jealous of myself. I love this city more than the one I live in.

It’s an over stimulus of sensual pornography. There’s a great bit by David Cross in which he talks about how you constantly forced to make a decision in NY; whether you should stare at the craziest person in the world or the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in the world. It’s quite the conundrum.

It’s a full fucking flight. We’re packed like sardines.

This is from my phone so go easy on spelling and grammar. All electronics off. There’s wifi on the flight so I’ll catch up on a little blogging, I hope.

Here’s a pic I found last night.