“I’m a stud muffin,” I shrug. “Take a bite.”

I’m heavy into Bret Easton Ellis’ Glamorama, the Zoolander of literature, although literature might be too strong a word for what it is. Make no mistake Ellis is an amazing writer and I find his ridiculous tale of Victor Anderson, similar to, yet somehow more human than Amis’ Money, a book I was unable to finish. He doesn’t namecheck everybody, but he does namecheck Evan Dando.

Ben Stiller ripped this book off so bad. Thinking I was all insightful, I just read this on wikipedia: “Ellis has stated that he is aware of the similarities, and went on to say that he considered and attempted to take legal action."

I picked up more reading time since I (flew over the top of my handlebars and) wrecked my bike and started taking the tram again. I read Evelyn Waugh’s The Loved One, which disappointed me.

Kicking_K’s cover story in Plan B this month on disco label Italians-Do-it-Better is my favourite piece of writing in the magazine’s history. I actually felt cool reading it. How Victor Anderson is that? I don’t own any of the label’s stuff, but I think I will ask for the three-vinyl After Dark comp for my birthday. Two of the bands, Glass Candy and the Chromatics, are from Portland. Gee Portland’s changed a lot since Big Daddy Meatstraw were running things (or since I left town).

How cool are those popsicle maracas Jeff Koons designed for Google?

Loved '400 Blows' last night. Got really sad when it ended. Was really enjoying myself in the company of Antoine Doinel.
I went home and read essays on Truffaut and reread the New Yorker ‘New Wave at Fifty’ article from a few weeks back. Critics were never as exuberant in their writing about Truffaut as he was with his movies. I'm mainly referring to Pauline Kael and David Thomson. Godard of course came to despise Truffaut's "style" of entertainment.

Guy at work just casually mentioned how he cried watching the 'Bucket List'. He said he wants to see it again, but only on DVD because he doesn’t want to go through that again’(It’s prompted me to put a photo of Godard and Jean Seberg on the wall of my new workplace, thus establishing where my cinematic allegiances lie).

My trophy for winning the first annual New St Table Tennis Championship on Saturday is proudly displayed on top of the TV set. It’s a garden gnome holding a spade that looks more like a paddle after Tobe and Suze painted it red. Since it was too wet for a barbie, Suzie made lasagne and I put so much of it away. It was really yummy. But my tummy, oh my. I won the championship with a bellyache 7-0 over Joshtown.

Been listening to The Cannanes live at Applecore bootleg I scored off Ricky. It’s a score and a half. I feel like I’m in Tutankhamen’s Tomb for the first time. The Cannanes live at Brunswick Hotel was something I participated in after the TT tourney on Saturday, down the road from tobe and suze, hitting tambourine during the encore though my timing was off, everyone seemed to love it, except James and Gavin who glared and counted every mistake (five apparently). I even stopped mid-song to part my hair. We followed this with a legendary episode of the Name Game, which lasted until 4am. They should try and make a documentary about that!