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August 20, 2004

"Autumn is my good side," said the lime green sweater.

Only one of the fall's spate of creative films has been released, and I already have a complex, eating away at my gullet like a hungry Frenchman in a Boursin factory. My man Zach Braff got the Rex Reed cabal's golden handshake for Garden State - now, somewhere, he's peeling another of Tom Brady's standby lays off his jock. This is a problem for me, because as much as I love the autumn's run of lustrous, quietly powerful films, stuff like Garden State, I Heart Huckabee's, and The Life Aquatic makes my own creativity cringe like a baby seal on the elevated. They're fully-realized, minutely-detailed, and delightfully idiosyncratic; they fuck with life as we know it, tug at the heartstrings like a weekend marathon of "Ed", and license every piece of cool music ever written, from any era. (Rushmore 's Kinks and Faces references; the Royal Tenenbaums binding Nico to Gwyneth Paltrow.) They bother me, because they do it all before I ever will.

A movie about a quirky, emotionally distant Cousteau-ish dude? That's fucking gold! Honestly, who throws a shoe?

I have this to my name. And John Frusciante's latest solo epic "is on the run from darkness, but still believes in the comforting light ahead". (I like that piece a lot, even if the Fork's editors hacked it to ribbons.) And "Summer Never Ends", Northern State's duet with Har Mar Superstar, is one of the best snoot-rap songs since MC Paul Barman's "School Anthem". "Three MCs Hesta P, Spero, Sprout, and me/Are gonna bone the fuck out to the next party!" Buy this song from iTunes now, and then get a hot tub.

The New York City trip did make something stir in this skittering career path of mine. I spoke with a Portugese model as the rain splattered on Fifth Avenue. "I read your Pitchfork reviews all the time", she cooed, and everything she said sounded like "Shh, ooh, shh, ahh, oohshaah". She handed me her enormous green umbrella as she lit a cigarette. "Is Portugal responsible for this umbrella?" I asked. "It's larger than the surface area of Vermont." She blew a thin stream of smoke out into the rain, and caught a look from the bike messenger huddling across the way. "Vermont is for lovers," she said, and took the monstrosity back in her hands.

If there are models in Portugal reading my stuff, well, then maybe I'm doing something close lustrous, too.

Shh, ooh, shh, ahh, oohshaah.


Posted by Johnny Loftus at August 20, 2004 10:46 AM