K had a book of Philip Levine poems and gave it to me after she finished it. It’s really good. Stayed with me enough that I read one out loud into a microphone.

I spent a bunch of time thinking about Elaine May the past few weeks because of the bio by Carrie Courogen. I rewatched all her feature films, watched some Nichols & May clips, and wrote a thing about it.

A couple days before my birthday, K and I took in P.T. Anderson’s latest in 70mm at the Music Box. Everybody’s calling it the greatest film of the last thousand years but I was mostly bored by it. Except Sean Penn doing some kind of demented G.I. Joe Popeye thing. Sorry, but liking this toothless spectacle won’t end fascism in America.

I’m happy I live in a town where on a given night I can go with a friend to a place that looks like a converted Central-European social club to see a band like Brokeback.