I just wanna fuh! I just wanna fuh! I just wanna fuh-get you!

Happy Self-Referential Day, everyone! It's September 30, which means music exists again. Autumn's coming through this year with some serious dreariness, and thus there is some hankering for Mazzy Star and old Beck (although the old Beck is also triggered by the need to remember the word "libertine," which I first learned from "We Live Again," from Mutations, because I was looking for the word that perfectly described my opinion of Other when he came home from the grocery store soon after we started dating with whipped cream cheese. Whipped. Talk about (I thought at the time) crazy luxury. Follow the bouncing ball: I was reminded of this when the damn grocery store was out of all shapes and forms of Philly cream cheese other than whipped, and I bought it.) Also enjoying some Radiohead, Wilco, and a random mix of stuff available on the network, much of which isn't even named, but sounds a lot like Jane's Addiction.

I haven't stopped talking about The Illusionist yet, which gives Other ample opportunity to skewer my uhm, interest, in Edward Norton*, as well as pass on some good links to me. If you care, check out this very nice essay by Jonathan Rosenbaum (spoilers abound).

Finished Aloft, by Chang-Rae Lee yesterday, and very much enjoyed it. The problem with reading books, though, is that I tend not to look up while I'm walking or do anything else (quilt, knit, sleep) while engrossed in one. I suspect I'll lose much of next week to A Gesture Life.

*va-va-voom!