Personally, this disappoints me on many levels, particularly when it comes to the variety of curses. So many good words left off the list. Who is teaching kids how to swear these days? Has the public school system failed us yet again?
“This is a line I’ve repeated so many times throughout my career: I don’t think I am special. I think other people are not taking their job seriously. My job is songwriter. That’s what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, right? So how many months are there in a year? Is it really asking too much of me to write one a month? If I were a brick layer and I laid one brick a month, I’d be fired by the end of my first week on the job. So I think asking a songwriter to write two songs a month… at that point you should have 24 songs a year, and 10 of them should be good. I am productive, but I think everybody should be as productive as me if they really cherish the ability to do it. … I wake up, make a pot of coffee, have a bowl of cereal and then maybe I read something and then I’ll flip open a notebook and say, ‘Oh, that’s pretty good.’ But I don’t write every day. Sometimes I put myself into resting mode because I think that’s how you grow. Then when you come back you have to relearn, and every time you learn things change.”—The Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle Talks ‘All Eternals Deck,’ Merge | Billboard.com
If I’m going to be honest, Buck Rogers was my porn growing up. Each episode was a parade of nubile woman wrapped up in futuristic satin and spandex, playing over-the-top seductive to Gil Gerard’s dopey double entendres. And even the tame episodes always had Erin Gray in them. Personally, I gravitated to the girl-next-door types on the show—like Gray, Markie Post and Anne Lockhart—but I have to admit that Pamela Hensley broke that rule pretty handily.
Since the dawn of time, and perhaps even before, there was a silent order who were tasked with a mission. They held their secret tightly. On may 3rd the HOT SAUCE COMMITTEE PART TWO will be unleashed on the general public. Hold fast ye heathens.
There’s something beautiful about watching a film like Danger: Diabolik where you realize that it is not a good movie, but that the filmmakers behind it clearly are imbued with some supernatural brilliance that borders on insanity that you can’t help but want to see more. I’d rather have a million Danger: Diaboliks in this world—a million flawed shards of fevered genius—over all the Crashs and American Beautys.