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April 26, 2008



Hello from Paris, Dave! Yes, it's me, 'Da Prof, logged in as 'ryannon' (don't ask me why, you don't want to know).

Unlike W.C. Fields, I'm certain that on the whole, you'd rather not be in Philadelphia. But air travel just isn't what it used to be, n'est pas? With the price of jet fuel what it is these days, you should be thankful that they managed to get you off the ground and in the general direction of the States. I'll bet you're the kind of guy who always asks the flight attendants for a second bag of salted peanuts, right? Never content, always finding fault.

Philadelphia: Mmmm, Cheese Steaks!

It's Saturday Night Dead here, and I'm wondering how Dr. Carlos is making out with the Three Graces (or should I say 'Garces' - meaning bitches - from the Closerie. By the way, the joint is called "La Closerie des Lilas"....

I'm still miffed that they pointedly avoided inviting us to their sex and drug orgy, but given your wedding ring and my general decrepitude, I'm amazed they even deigned to talk to us. Well, fuck them.

Unfortunately, I won't be the guy who does, but you can't win them all.

I'm back in my little unheated garret, listening to some fantastic Lounge mixes interspersed with amazing crap like Meathead and Bonnie Tyler singing 'Loving You's A Dirty Job' (But Somebody's Got To Do It), staring at my ingrown toenails and wishing that I could be riding shotgun in Jay Leno's Tank Car as we wooosh! down the Santa Monica Freeway.

Do you hear me, Edvaaaard Munchkins?

To hell with it: I've seen so many better days that I no longer need to sleep at night.

Music is the only thing that gets me through: things like Dylan's 'Working Man's Blues:'


and Cliff Martinez's sublime theme from Steven Soderbergh's film, 'Solaris':


Which very logically brings me to the subject of cinema.

Dave ol' friend, when I scanned your neurons as you were emerging from the Edgar Quinet Metro station with Dr. Carlos, I immediately noticed huge holes in the film area of your brain. Now that you've got a home theater system and a corn popper and some of that good Iowa-made crank, you owe it to yourself to learn how to steal flicks from the Net and settle down into a few days and nights of viewing pleasure. Here's the dirty little secret of how to bankrupt Hollywood:


If you can do things as complicated as turning a doorknob or flushing a toilet, you'll soon understand how to grab just about any film you've ever heard about off the Net.

In terms of the lacunes in the cinema-neuron part of your head, why not start with one of the ten best (of a thousand other ten best) films of all time: a great Francois Truffaut film called 'Shoot the Piano Player'.

If you've ever contemplated capping yourself just for the beauty of it, this is the film to be watching when you do it: a marvellous New Wave vision of Paris in the late 50s with Charles Aznavour in the role of a once-celebrated concert pianist hiding from his past in a miserable piano-bar in a seedy neighborhood of Paris.

It is one of the most beautiful stories you will ever see coming out of your video projector, and there's even more: the next time you're out getting sloshed with your Mexican low-rider pals in Juarez and some fool pulls a gun and shoves the muzzle up your right nostril, just look him in the eye and say: 'Hey amigo, don't shoot the piano player, ok?" This internationally recognized phrase will instantly cause the said fool to remove his piece from your nostril while shedding hot tears of contrition as he takes you in his arms like a long lost Honorary Mexican Brother!

As the Indian mechanic dude in Fargo would say, 'I can vouch for this.'

Your wife will love it, your kids will love it, The Coupe of Justice will love it, and you will love me for turning you onto it.

No, don't thank me - as you already know, that's just the kind of guy I am.

So keep on truckin' bro, and just remember to check in the next time you come through these here parts....

Hasta Luego, Luigi....

Da Prof.


Kind Monsieur Professeur:

I WILL thank you, and quite effusively, because that's just the kind of guy I am. And I will check in with the good doctor today to learn the vicarious details of Saturday night. Who knows? The streets of Montparnasse might soon be teeming with diminutive freckled Austro-Spanish-French-Turkish-Russian urchin beggars, so keep your eyes peeled.

And also a big Merci for that cinema info. Piracy ho!

Hope to see you in Paris later this year,

Yr Fthfl Svt, etc

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