To My Three (or so) Regular Readers,
I am not dead, merely out of a job. (Huzzah for unemployment.)
I'll be back shortly with a rundown of all the pop culture goodness that I've been ingesting lately. I leave you with bits from Armond White's latest valentine to Woody Allen:
Why doesn’t Woody Allen just quit? He craps out movies (six already this millennium) as if Vincent Canby were still at the Times dictating New York’s cultural taste. It’s hard to deny that Allen’s artistic stature owes less to skill or vision than to his cemented media caché—all the ineptitude that’s fit to praise. This hometown boy phenomenon is made clear by Allen’s recent fish-out-of-water relocation to England for Match Point, a vile drama, and his not-so-different, lamentable new comedy, Scoop. Outside Manhattan, Woody’s movies have no justification. [snip] To humiliate [Scarlett] Johansson any further, Allen would have to ... literally take a dump on her.