is constant these days. Reminds me of high school–summer almost over, that excited-yet-melancholic vibe, convincing yourself you’ve changed during the past three months. For the better, of course. Always for the better. How interesting that most yearbook directives are a plea for you to never change. Equally interesting is they get their wish. Have I changed since high school? Depends on what “change” entails. The “essential self” remains constant (I use quotations because of a discussion with Sean Maclean, the greatest philosopher you’ve never heard of, in which he denied the existence of an essential self, claiming, instead, that we occupy different roles according to our setting, and while I’m not entirely buying that claim it’s cast enough doubt to warrant quotation marks).
After much delay I finally picked up the first three volumes of Scott Pilgrim and yes, they rock. The movie? Eh. We walked out. Bloated first act. Lacked the hanging-out feel of the books. Michael Cera does his usual gazing off while speaking in quasi-falsetto, halting tones. Everyone sounds clever all the time. No statement goes un-pithed. ZZzzzzzz.
I’m enjoying the books so much that I didn’t want the movie to spoil anything. Worse than Predators? No. But if that’s the standard…
There is nothing profound in a wilted rose. Despite the urge to impose metaphor.
P.S.: Also on the finally list: A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again. Terrific.
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