Here’s a thought: If Alan Parker hadn’t directed his 1991 film version of The Commitments, chances are good I would never have read Roddy Doyle’s 1987 novel of the same name. That would have been a shame. When I started the book, though, I knew I was going to have a slight problem. The film version of The Commitments is not only a fine movie, it’s also one of my favorites.
Can Jimmy and Kim make things work? Where’s Nacho? Who’s following Mike? What’s Chuck planning to do with that recording he made? What’s going on with Gene the Cinnabon manager? And most of all, why is Kim so worried about that damned semi-colon? These are just a few of the questions that had me wondering this past week, after the Monday return of AMC’s Better Call Saul. I’m pretty sure I know
Sometimes, when I’m tooling around town or driving to and from work, I enjoy wondering about the lives of my fellow drivers. Think about it: How many times have you pulled up behind someone at a traffic light and thought, ‘Gee, I wonder what that person is thinking? I wonder what they’re all about? What do they like or dislike?” Being the kind of person who speculates about nearly everything, I’ve
Tonight, after I polish my lesson plans, grade a few papers, and make a weekly call to my dad, I’ll settle down to my favorite Sunday evening activity, watching The Walking Dead. It’s one of the few shows I watch in real-time, and my routine is simple: I watch the latest episode, usually eating ice cream, and tweet spoiler-free commentary during the commercials. Tonight’s installment is especially significant because it’s
“Home is where you wear your hat.” – Lord John Whorfin, The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension During a recent drive home after work, I was listening to an NPR story on people’s feelings about our new president. As you might have noticed, some are happy about the whole situation, while others are a little concerned. Don’t worry, my purpose here isn’t to discuss presidents. I’ll leave
Two lesbians walked into a bar. They ordered drinks and gazed at the bartender intently, with a “let’s make babies” kind of look, a look my brother rarely got from women at a gay bar, but especially not from a lesbian couple. Something queer was going on. These women had sought my brother out. After spending far too much money on failed attempts from a sperm bank, they decided to