Went last night to the Pleasant St. Theater and saw The Royal
Tenenbaums on M’s recommendation. Anyway, it was enjoyable, much as reading Sartre or Pound in a bus station with the cold smell of dirt, stale coffee, and old cigarettes is fun, I suppose. It was uplifting, a tale of redemption, etc.
Walked home amid snow flurries, past the yellowish, much-coveted Metropolis poster (ein Film von Fritz Lang), across the iridescence and cornstarch creaking of dry snow, and was lazy enough to take the elevator instead of the stairs. Then I fell asleep over The Banquet Years (on pre-WWI France), which my mother has been politely encouraging me to read for the past five years, though only now have I been able to find a copy…