I think this might be the first time with this column that I like the song mentioned. Oh well.

"I'm not Bill, I'm Lenore."

Let me preface this by saying that I loved The Big Rewind. LOVED IT. I recommended it to a number of people. But this one I found…problematic. Nathan seemed to be writing in a voice that didn't sound terribly natural to him, and it lacked the sense of humor that I really love about his work. I accept that Insane Clown…

I read Nabin's new book. That's all I'm going to say.

I knew from the first trailer I saw, and Sandra Bullock making a joke about wearing Spanx, that this was going to be a big old pile of suck. It'd be nice to see Melissa McCarthy play a role where's she not made to appear frumpy or mannish.

I really wish Neil LaBute would take some time off from writing and get the psychological help he so desperately needs.

Every time I hear Johnny Depp talk in that stilted "the white men came at dawn and chopped the squaws to pieces" mystical Native American voice, I just cringe. CRINGE.

Norwegian Wood or Sputnik Sweetheart. They're less surreal than his other books, but absolutely heart-rendingly beautiful.

I just finished Tennessee Williams Journals, an exhaustively researched, annotated collection of his journals and diaries over a 30 year time period. Incredibly fascinating. Next on the docket: well, what do you know, it's Nathan Rabin's newest book, which I'm saving to read on my Kindle during a 5 hour flight…

Eh, no.

I enjoy Weird Al Yankovic's polka cover of this song, but that's about it. Third Eye Blind just sort of melds together with Matchbox Twenty, the Gin Blossoms, Goo Goo Dolls, and Better Than Ezra to form a mid-90s light rock-pop version of The Thing.

Saturday night Master Sporks and I saw a Shakespeare in the Park production of "The Comedy of Errors," and it was defuckinglightful, it really was. They moved the setting up to 1940s upstate New York, and the costume porn was glorious.

Yeah, that theater is a blight on what is generally a really nice neighborhood. Cobble Hill Cinemas right down the street is way nicer, and about $4 cheaper for tickets.

My dad would have to be played by Tommy Chong, weed included.

Christopher Guest and Harry Shearer are supposed to be two of the biggest, most self-serious assholes in comedy, and McKean is supposed to be one of the nicest human beings you'll ever meet. Wonder how often that's created conflict in collaboration.

I saw the revival of this with Daniel Radcliffe and John Larroquette in 2011, and it was goddamn delightful.

Oh, now you've got me started.

I'm reading the collected journals of Tennessee Williams. It's 800 pages long, but ridiculous readable. The editor must have spent years annotating them, and it's really fascinating stuff.

So we should probably expect to see this on the left side of the tolerability index in about a month, right?

As horrifying as it is in most ways, Princesses is actually obsessively watchable