Yesterday my lovely bride picked up The Player from the video store.
It’s an unusual film, in that it self-consciously bucks Hollywood
conventions, all the while making little jabs at the studio system and
California life, but featured more cameos from big name stars than just
about any film I’ve ever seen. My favorite part was watching Lyle Lovett
lurk around being creepy and odd, but ultimately it seems a bit too much
like a Hollywood in-joke to be totally enjoyable for the rest of the world.

One of the hightlights of last week’s "reading" in the car was the biography of Andy Kaufman, Lost in the Funhouse. I had never really been fully aware of Kaufman during the time he was making waves in comedic circles, but was nonetheless quite intrigued by this account of his rise to fame, his eccentric habits and relationships, and his early, tragic death (which some people still believe was faked). He was such a compulsive showman that many of his professional associates never got to know Andy as Andy, but only as one of the characters he played. Told with warmth and obvious affection, this one’s definitely worth a read. (And I’ve got Man in the Moon coming in the mail too, so expect more on Kaufman soon.)

When we moved in to the San Marcos house, the pool was a deep green color, courtesy of the vigorous one-celled flora that had made it their summer home. Our attempts at eviction had proven fruitless until last weekend’s fateful trip to The Pool Shop. From there I carted home a trunkful of chemicals, and Kathy and I have spend last weekend to this one shocking, chlorinating, testing, vacuuming, speaking lovingly to, scrubbing, and generally working to get that habitat cleaned up. On Tuesday, Kathy brought in a water sample after my overenthusiastic first application of chemicals, only to have the tester tell her “don’t let the kids stand downwind from your pool for a day or two.” Our efforts finally bore fruit, and today our water is cerulean once more, and I have adopted the title of Algicide.