Two hours of Deal or No Deal leading into Studio 60 tonight? That's how I like my irony.

I don't have anything grand to say about La Moustache -- just that it's one of the best films I've seen in some time and I want to get that down, if not with pen and ink, then with ones and zeros. Novelist and director Emmanuel Carrère adapted his own novel about a man who shaves off his moustache and no one including his wife notices into a sharp film that succeeds on every level. Its first act plays off the ridiculous conceit of the plot, winking and nudging along until it turns full-on thriller. At first, I thought it was ridiculous but I got sucked in, just as I suspect Carrère intended. The last act of the film turns weird -- Lynchian weird -- and I expected the whole thing to end abstractly, metaphorically. But, no, Carrère wraps the story up well. It doesn't make logical sense -- I never would have expected it to -- but it earns its ending. Earlier this year I read Carrère's novel Class Trip and I'm currently in the middle of his true crime book The Adversary. They are both, like La Moustache, gripping and slightly ridiculous and entirely worth your time, money, blood, etc.

You skipping the series on rebuilding the WTC site, too?

Esquire's got to pay the bills somehow -- every September we have to swallow this sour pill, oh well. Even The New Yorker runs a fashion issue, though there's is at least readable. If pages upon pages of fashion ads and spreads is the price for Kevin Fedarko's High In Hell, well, I'll gladly pay. This is the story of the Djibouti, a tiny African country between Ethiopia and Yemen, and its citizen's mass adiction to khat, a plant which serves as a mild stimulant when you chew its leaves. But enough from me--read the article and don't throw out your Esquire so quickly next time.

EDIT: I've written a tad more about Esq. here.

Gas prices drop three months before the election?

A few things gleaned from the internets:

1) The first review of David Lynch's new film
2) David Foster Wallace on Roger Federer
3) My favorite ever sketch by The State

Should I Admit I Had to Look Up 'Pecuniary'?

I love that part of the reason you like Deadwood so much is that you can see yourself living in that hellhole and loving it. That you have this Calvinesque fantasy of being a frumpy deliveryman in the Wild West is something that truly gives me great joy. I hope that we can both find a sliver of humor in this because otherwise I am – always and forever – an ass. Unfortunately, I have to reject the idea, which is interesting because I’m suggesting that your opinion is wrong, but hear me out. I say you’re wrong partially because no matter how much anyone wanted to live inside the show Baywatch that never made the show any better. Also, because the second season will make Deadwood less desirable but you won't like it any less. More importantly though, were I living in Deadwood (specifically the TV show, because somehow it seems more plausible that we would live inside a fictional television show set in the past than in the actual past) I would want to be the Sol Starr type but I know that I unfortunately fall more in line with the irritating newsmonger, A. W. Merrick (and nothing good can come from seeing myself in a character played by a sex offender).

Why’s Deadwood so good? (And it is so good that it boldly drops actors from the cast in the second season with barely an explanation and brings other actors back as different characters and you don’t care because it is that good.) The acting and the writing get all the attention because they are undeniably top-notch. I think Elisabeth Shue’s husband might be a big part of it as well. Davis Guggenheim’s name was everywhere I looked this summer. From an early episode of Alias that was so visually arresting I rewound it to see who was directing it, to all the plaudits for the Al Gore doc An Inconvenient Truth (which I’ve not seen), to Deadwood. You link the quality of Deadwood (loosely) to nailing Joanie Stubbs. I suspect it’s got more to do with nailing Elisabeth Shue.

All titles in the form of questions?

Broder, it's an understatement to say I agree with what you wrote below. I'm afraid you may be somehow stealing my brain space like it's WiFi -- I've been actively thinking about all the same things. Soul black with the pursuit of money? Check. Don't immerse myself in pop culture like I used to? Check. Tastes much more refined than they were back in high school? Whoa, man, back'er up.

I know what you mean: if we can dig up some of those columns, I think we'll find most of it cringe-worthy. (I used to blather on about how Dylan was washed out and had a horrible voice -- not sure if I even put that gem in print -- and the true shame is that it wasn't even my own opinion. I hadn't listened to a single record. I was repeating Dennis Miller who was the epitome of the avant garde from my point of view in 1996. A year later, Dylan would release Time Out of Mind, one of the best albums of the '90s. I wouldn't hop on the bandwagon for another couple years.) I fear that looking back on this blog in ten years will be just as embarassing, if only because this time we're specifically aiming for earnest and well-informed which might make the whole thing even more unintentionally hillarious than the original. But the fear of failure is paralyzing so lets keep moving forward -- this nostalgia trip is getting me down anyways.

Have you heard the newish Paul Simon record produced by Brian Eno? They played "How Can You Live In The Northeast" on All Songs Considered the other day. It was good enough for me to consider buying the record despite my decade-long aversion to new records by '60s legends.

Ten Years Later

The first column, ten years back, was -- I think -- about MTV VeeJays. Either that or Oasis. Now I don't have cable, MTV doesn't have VeeJays and Oasis is all but forgotten. This will surely be enlightening.