"What's that?"
"A letter from Jane."
"What does she say?"
"Nothin' to speak of."
- Wes Anderson & Noah Baumbach, The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

"Nothing to Speak of"
I have written paragraphs about answering the telephone that make it seem like this is a feat right up there with slaying dragons. I have dissected the intimate details of a weekend in DC. I have blown up a fairly simple toilet clogging into legend.

And yet, when it comes to the topic of my first encounter with Erin Tuttle in this two thousand and fifth year of our lord, I'm at a lost. You'd think I could squeeze an entire essay out of this -- most likely entitled something nuts and derivative like "Margot Tenenbaum and the Amazing Spider-Man Fistfight in Jersey" -- but no. I got nothing so venomous.

I will say that I had two shots of vodka with a pickle chaser. Proof positive that I will do anything a cute Russian tells me to with little to no exception.

"The Bunnies on the Bus Go On and On"
Last Thursday, despite the fact that I had earbuds in my ears and a book in my hand, I was -- to my horror -- forced to engage with a fellow bus passenger. She was a 51-year-old self-proclaimed former Playboy Bunny who gave me a lot of unsolicited romantic advice despite the fact that she herself was currently getting the brush off from the married man she was having an affair with. I had to help her dial her cell phone because she was drunk and possibly high on cocaine.

I had a book and a walkman. I should have been impenetrable.

As it stands, I've had a certain weariness when boarding the bus since that day. It took Jack, Johnnie, and Mr. Turkey to get me out of the basement and onto the 780 just so I could make it to Hank's Highland Park party on Saturday.

"You Ever Read the Bible, Wookie? Well There's this Passage I Got Memorized..."
Granny went off and saw Star Wars without me today.

This wouldn't usually bother me, because I kind of like going to movies by myself, but Star Wars is an exception. What am I going to do? Make sarcastic comments to strangers?

Is it me, or is Ewan McGregor the only actor in these movies who seems to say, "Yeah, I'm in a Star Wars flick, but you know what? I'm not going to speak every line like it's scripture, 'cause it's almost as if I'm an actor"?

You know, for as geeky as I am, the Wars have never wowed me. Not even the ones from the 70's everyone feels some need to pretend are so much better than the prequels. I've just never been one of those "soulless freak abominations who can't seem to recognize that what passes for a plot is just the most hackneyed premises of lowbrow fiction genre."

(Prewitt, can you believe I've still got that shit memorized? Jim McLauchlin, we hardly knew you.)

That said, I still have this strange urge to play the new video game. Who knew you could throw a light saber?

"Say a Word for Hobie Brown"
I've gotten word from my man at Marvel, and it turns out that the Prowler will not be making his triumphant but low-key return to the Marvel Universe in the pages of Spider-Man Unlimited.

Oh sweet Prowler. He ain't got nothing at all. Not the cape right off his back. Took his silly purple Prowler boots right off his feet... or something or other...

Turns out, however, that my man at Marvel will no longer be an assistant editor on the title. He's dropping the ass. part. Like he's in charge. He wants a page by page breakdown of one of my "Unsold Tales of Spider-Man" -- which is rapidly looking to become a bit of a misnomer -- and a writing sample to look over.

(Any suggestions on this? Make them quick. And keep in mind, I have no stick figure stories with me...)

Yeah. I'm dizzy from me, too.

But I swear to God, I'll be back for you, Brown.

NEXT:
"Decalogue"