Step aside, Oprah

I'm only writing this entry as a sort of warm-up for the "real" writing I intend to get to later tonight, my screenplay. I figure if the same principle applies to physical exercise, maybe it works with the brain too. (Sidenote: I have not started my physical exercise yet.)

Rolling Stone has yet to post their review of the new Eels album, but I am positive when they do it's a five star rating. The magazine rarely hands out such accolades, but when they do they are usually bang-on. (Save for that Mick Jagger solo album. If ever evidence is needed that monkeys can indeed formulate prose behind a typewriter, this is it.) Anyway, I picked this modern masterpiece up last week at the store which shall not be named, mostly because two discs for under 16 dollars is a deal by any calculation.

It's true, it's a heavy listen thematically, and should your iPod run out of batteries after only the first disc you may indeed wish to commit suicide, but stick around for the full show and you can see why it's the album of the year.

I also set up my nightstand with the pile of reading I intend to get through this summer. But before I could reach for those final pages of Johnathan Strange I found my half-finished copy of Michael Ondaatje's The Collected Works of Billy the Kid. I recalled I meant to bring this to Vancouver but it must have gotten lost in the packing blitz.

Naturally, I immediately rememebered how much I loved it. Ondaatje? Good. Poetry? Good. Western theme? Um, awesome? Reminds one of the other classic outlaw fiction written from the uneducated first person - go buy this book.

While you follow that link I'm going to silently bid adieu and get back to work. I expect a full book report next week. (And that doesn't just mean synopsis.)