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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. 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 certain TV shows — for starters, "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," "Look Who's Stalking," "The Garage Door," "Charlie Gets Crippled," "Wind Sprints," and "Corner Boys" — 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, or at any rate a heartfelt attempt to interpret them. I guess I was made to be a film critic.

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August 21, 2007

Music Video Of The Week — 12

By Dan Carlson

I've been terribly negligent in posting music videos, which is a shame, especially when you consider it's an easy and reliable source of content. But the return of the feature, however regular it manages to be, is dedicated to The Sis, who's currently trapped in a horrible, muddy, cricket-ridden town in West Texas. They've had torrential downpours, a scare about the germs in their water supply that meant residents actually had to boil water if they wanted to use it, and other general unpleasantries. Sis, keep your head up, and enjoy the song:

"Texas Flood," by Stevie Ray Vaughan.

Comments: 2

ryan English

thanks for that danno, it went nicely with my up of coffee on this slow morning

Aug 21, 2007 7:34 AM

Sis

Thanks -- I needed that. :)

Aug 21, 2007 1:50 PM

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— Francois Truffaut

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— Paul Giamatti, quoted in the Los Angeles Times, 12/14/04

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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.
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