I went on a pilgrimage today, like some kind of punk rock Wife of Bath. Only the Wife of Bath is already pretty punk rock to begin with. And I definitely haven't had five housbondes at chirche dore. And instead of going to Canterbury I went to Cleveland. But I totally could have worn a kirtle.
I took a bus and then a train and then a trolley to get to the closest movie theater in my area that is playing Me and You and Everyone We Know. The turnout was pretty robust considering the heavy competition from penguins and ballroom-dancing youths. I did an okay job of keeping the snob reflex in check, even when the woman behind me said to her companion, "This is her first film, you know." I did not overreact and turn around and point out, "Well actually, this is only her first full-length. Miranda July did not just emerge fully formed out of the seafoam of Sundance and Cannes. This movie, like her other art, has a context and a history and a resonance with things outside itself. It has a past and an evolution and a milieu and a long personal chronology of struggle and development and influence and all of that good stuff, so please get yr facts straight or go to KRS or EMP Live or something."
Meanwhile, back in the lady ghetto, Sarah Dougher has started a new record label and no one seems to care ('cept Neumu and Julianne Shepherd). It's releasing her new record--you know, the one that was supposed to be based on the Odyssey?--and Sara Jaffe's extra-Errata solo rocker, too.