Wired Mesh

A. O. Scott: Not as Cool as Three Little Fonzies

I will now relieve my mind of some random information before I wander home for a Friday afternoon nap.

* Last night I bought plane tickets for Josiah and I: We'll be flying to Pittsburgh next Sunday for a free Wilco show. (We might have driven, but I need to attend a certain office party and I'm getting more than a little sick of ten-hour road trips.) In honor of this impending journey, please enjoy this ridiculously fine Michael Chabon essay about the Pittsburgh of his childhood and the other Pittsburgh of his imagination -- a city of Clemente and Sanguillen, a city on "that high hill, where a race of intelligent, talking squirrels were going to be my friends."

* Since we're on the subject of garrulous animals, Francis offers a truly heartbreaking song by Jonathan Coulton about oceanic self-loathing. That is, if you can find a giant squid heartbreaking, which I grant you is a stretch. "Did the stars come out?" the mollusk sings. "Did the world spin round? Does it matter that much when you're ten miles down?"

* You know, Tony, if someone had tried to steal Elvis Mitchell's laptop and passport at Cannes, he so would have ambushed them, explained to them that they "happened to pull this shit while I'm in a transitional period so I don't wanna kill you, I wanna help you," and gotten his laptop back. (It would have been the one that said "Bad Motherf**ker" on the case.) You know this would have happened. Elvis just has that certain Jules vibe. I don't think anyone can dispute this.

* I'm all moved into the Coptix offices. E-mail's going to be mildly finicky for a few weeks, but that aside, I'm already settled comfortably. So comfortably, in fact, that I'm going to go take that nap now.