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Dan Carlson
Los Angeles, California

I'm a twentysomething white male with ambitions to be a professional film critic and generally spend my days getting paid to watch movies and write about it. I try not to think too hard about how I want to build my life around talking about other people's creations and not mine. A compulsive reader and stubborn cineaste, I take an often contrary stance to my more fundamentalist peers and upbringing by celebrating the pursuit of the good, and the Good, in life, love, art and film. If you watched enough episodes of a few TV shows ("The Hungry and the Hunted," "The Cut Man Cometh," "The Body," "The Zeppo," "Waiting in the Wings," "Out of Gas," "April is the Cruelest Month," "20 Hours in America," "Colonial Day," "An Echolls Family Christmas," and "Look Who's Stalking," for starters), you would understand me completely, and you'd also realize that much of my worldview and philosophical insights are heavily influenced by fictional works/programs, and many of the good things I've said in my life are just a regurgitation of someone else's imaginings. I guess I was made to be a film critic.

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October 2, 2006

The Buffers

By Dan Carlson

By overwhelming request (which means at least one person), I've created another category for the sidebar, wherein my various bathroom adventures and curiously rigid standards of urinal etiquette will be archived. Here are the quick links anyway:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

And now, on to newer matters:

The Buffers

The women's restroom is an orderly place, with a couch and a foyer and full-service deli. But life in the men's room is much more cutthroat. In addition to some of the various rules I've discussed here — e.g., don't speak to me while I'm doing the do — there's an even more basic set of guidelines I feel I should discuss. I speak, of course, of the buffers.

Buffers aren't always necessary: Some groups of urinals have walls separating the individual units, which I'm strongly in favor of, even if it does invite coworkers to stand next to you and start jabbering away. But sometimes I'll walk into a bathroom and see a row of five urinals, no walls between them, and that's when strategy comes into play.

• If possible, there should always be an empty urinal between the one you're using and the one the other guy is using. The empty urinal acts a buffer, ensuring the respect of personal space.

• If you're the only one in the bathroom, always take a urinal that would allow for a buffer if another man came in to use the facilities. For instance: If there are five urinals, you can take urinal 1, 3, or 5, since that would allow two more fellow urinators to have buffers. Taking urinal 2 or 4 is just dumb, man.

• If 1, 3, and 5 are occupied, it's okay to saddle up to 2 or 4, since there's nothing you can do about it. But if, say, only 1 and 3 are occupied, and you slide into the 2 spot, you're violating all kinds of unspoken moral and ethical codes. You should never stand next to a man with his junk exposed unless necessary.

I'm just saying, respect the rules.

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"The critic is the only independent source of information. The rest is advertising."
— Pauline Kael

"Film lovers are sick people."
— Francois Truffaut

"I hope I strike a blow for chubby bald men everywhere. I hope they rise like an army."
Paul Giamatti, quoted in the Los Angeles Times, 12/14/04

"Let others praise ancient times, I am glad I was born in these."
— Ovid

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the wisdom

Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.
— Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe

Conservatives are not necessarily stupid, but most stupid people are conservatives.
— John Stuart Mill

We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.
— G.K. Chesterton

We were, for the briefest of moments, something greater than the sum of our uncertain parts; we were youth itself, in all its painful glory and sharp joy.
— Me, Fall 2003

There is a time in the lives of most writers when they are vulnerable, when the vivid dreams and ambitions of childhood seem to pale in the harsh sunlight of what we call the real world. In short, there's a time when things can go either way.
— Stephen King

Los Angeles, give me some of you! Los Angeles come to me the way I came to you, my feet over your streets, you pretty town I loved you so much, you sad flower in the sand, you pretty town.
Ask the Dust, John Fante