You're going to give me your money...

I'm sure this irony has struck many, many before me, but anyway:



Heather Mills doesn't still need him, she doesn't still feed him, now he's sixty-four...

On a less corny note, the £1 billion they're battling over equals U.S. $1.9077 billion. She alleges Sir Paul was violent during their marriage—a side of him I think we've all seen in the forty-three-minute ending of Hey Jude.

Shaka, brah!

I'm in the middle of my third try reading The Brothers Karamazov, a book I used to think I'd never be ready for. As Kate can testify, I'm plenty bright (for that matter, I also do a heckuva job), but I could never get into the prose. Then one day, last November, this New Yorker article came along and changed everything.

Let's hear it for Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, who made Bros. K-zov a hell of a lot easier to read. The Times London phrased this more elegantly, saying the translation is nothing less than "a miracle ... Every page of the new Karamazov [is] a permanent standard, and an inspiration."

To give you some idea, here's a sample toward the beginning:

“But why are you trembling? Let me tell you why. Your Dmitri may be honest (he is stupid, but honest) but he’s sensual. That’s the definition and inner essence of him. It’s your father who handed him on his low sensuality. Do you know, I wonder at you, Alyosha, how you can have kept your purity. You’re a Karamazov too, you know! In your family sensuality is carried to a disease. But now, these three sensualists are watching one another, with their knives in their belts. The three of them are knocking their heads together, and you may be the fourth.”

The newer, sexier translation goes like this:

“And why are you shaking all over? I’ll tell you one thing: granted he’s an honest man, Mitenka, I mean (he’s stupid but honest), still he’s a sensualist. That is his definition, and his whole inner essence. It’s his father who gave him his base sensuality. I’m really surprised at you, Alyosha: how can you be a virgin? You’re a Karamazov, too! In your family sensuality is carried to the point of fever. So these three sensualists are now eyeing each other with knives in their boots. The three of them are at loggerheads, and maybe you’re the fourth.”

This really makes a difference over 700-800 pages, and don't let anyone else tell you different. (In Mr. Jealousy, by the way, one of Dashiell's short stories is called The Sensualist. My theory: half coincidence, half conspiracy.)

Prince Precise: Bicoastal *and* Bipolar

As much as we at Prince Precise hate context, relevance, timeliness—the list goes on and on—it's worth mentioning that the Minneapolis half of this blog lives in Washington now, while the Washington half continues to live in Washington.

This no doubt confuses you. To clarify: I upped and moved it to Seattle. And it's

e x c i t i n g !

So exciting. Less than a week in, I can tell you that the music listings are much more absorbing than the classifieds, and the novel 8 oz. latte can stretch just as much time as a 12 oz. There is also, how do you say, aqua.

Our one and only Kate (who, if you bother to keep track, which I am, has not posted since February 1*) continues her adventures in the Nation's Capital... But did I mention I live in Seattle now? The top picture is the skyline view from my window.

One last note:

If you find yourself eating a continental breakfast at the EconoLodge in Miles City, Montana, pay this autographed picture of Barry Corbin, aka Our Main Man Maurice, a visit.



*Isn't it funny how a newer Woody Allen film has come out since she last posted about the new Woody Allen film? Oh, I think it is.

Grace Under Fire

As William Goldman was driving to Beverly Hills with his young daughters some 40 years ago, he asked what they wanted to hear a story about. One replied "princesses," while the other said, "brides." This is how Faces of Death was born.

OK, it was The Princess Bride.

Anyway, today I began rooting around his many, many works to learn more about the book (and movie), and have already found reams of plain hilarious Goldman narrative. Screenplay, novel, personal essay, anything—it's seriously hilarious. Example: An inconceivably funny moment during Bride's filming.

The worst thing I've ever done was on The Princess Bride. During the swamp sequence.
For those of you who don't know, and how dare you not, Buttercup and Westley are being pursued by her fiance, Prince Humperdinck. They are forced to go through the Fire Swamp, not easy—no one has ever come out of it alive.

One of the dangers of the Fire Swamp is the flame spurts.

These unexpected streaks of flame happen there and when I wrote the novel, well, Buttercup and Westley are making their way through the place, and suddenly flames—her dress is on fire.

Westley saves her.

In all the endless screenplay versions, same deal. Buttercup and Westley are making their way through the place, and suddenly flames—her dress is on fire.

Okay. Pinewood Studios. The glorious Norman Garwood Fire Swamp set. This is my dream come true, watching this baby happen, and you can bet I am tense, but for me, kind of almost happy.

Okay. Roll of drums please.

Rob Reiner says "Action" and now here comes Cary Elwes as Westley leading my beloved Robin Wright as Buttercup into the Fire Swamp and they are making their way through the place—

—and suddenly flames—

—and I scream out loud, "Her dress is on fire!"

Whasssuuup?

Yoni Wolf may have wordlessly, heartlessly dismissed my friendship proposal on MySpace (he's tallied at 1,205 friends in case you're wondering), but this YouTube gem makes me feel just like one of the homeboys.

Setting: The North Hollywood Police Station
Time of Day: Afterschool
Country: America
Year: 2003

The song is only 1:19, but it's my personal theory that they defied time and space (which, afterall, are very East Coast) to physically make this video in 17 seconds' time.

She was obnoxious, anyway

Here's a picture of the most beloved Doseone. When a tiny, dreadlocked young woman climbs on stage, prepares to dive, and allofasudden hesitates, he steps forward and gently pushes her off with his right foot.

Something blue

I just couldn't help it; this is too funny.