Getting eight and 1/2 hours (as opposed to the usual five or six) does wonders for your basic outlook upon life. It’s almost Halloween, November is just around the corner, and it feels like July here. The sky is radiant blue and everyone I see seems to be in a great or at least an easy mellow mood. I had the car washed this morning, and as I drove out of the lot it seemed as if all of West Hollywood was just as gleaming and squeaky clean. Ridley Scott‘s Blade Runner milieu, a portrait of a poisoned Los Angeles in 2019, was absolute bullshit. Blade Runner 2049 is, of course, a prophecy of ecological run to come, and that’s where we’re definitely heading with criminals like Scott Pruitt running the EPA, but BR49‘s idea of what Los Angeles will look like 32 years hence is almost surely just as ludicrous as Scott’s.


Is she in the shower? What’s she doing, snapping her fingers or snorting cocaine out of a small spoon that we can’t see? One of the two.


My Airbnb response to Sheri, the Dachau commandant who nearly evicted me from my Telluride Film Festival dwelling a day before the festival began.  She attempted this because I told her I wasn’t very impressed with the place I was renting, which was just some ratty room inside the Mountainside Inn. Here’s the original piece.