While last weekend's maladies de l'âme kept me from writing, this weekend's physical ailments (of the nasal persuasion) have prevented me from the same. Assuming I'll wake up tomorrow with improved health, you can expect a number of entries for the Decade List to start unraveling. Until then, I can say Jarmusch's The Limits of Control is the best thing he's done in the past 10 years, even if its coldness has turned off most people. And that I've watched the season finale of 30 Rock at least five times since Thursday. Is it the cold medicine? Maybe.
Another Set-Back
While last weekend's maladies de l'âme kept me from writing, this weekend's physical ailments (of the nasal persuasion) have prevented me from the same. Assuming I'll wake up tomorrow with improved health, you can expect a number of entries for the Decade List to start unraveling. Until then, I can say Jarmusch's The Limits of Control is the best thing he's done in the past 10 years, even if its coldness has turned off most people. And that I've watched the season finale of 30 Rock at least five times since Thursday. Is it the cold medicine? Maybe.
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