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Gordon, quietly contemplating his existence.

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Apparently I’m not the only one who desperately wants a picture of Patrick Stewart holding a pug in Dune.

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doug:

Dune

Here’s most of the things I know about Dune (the 1984 movie):

• David Lynch’s surf-wave hair directed it
• It stars Kyle MacLachlan’s swoopy hair, Sting’s bright red ‘punk’ hair, and Patrick Stewart’s lack of hair
• It was filmed in Mexico
• The characters wear black
• The characters want spice(?)
• Sting has a curvy knife and is trying to stab Kyle MacLachlan*
• I don’t think it was well-regarded

It’s playing at the Metro 11PM tomorrow night, and I’ll be there. You should be there, too. With the huge knowledge gap (see above) I’m mostly going into it pretending it’s a film about Los Emos, and I think that’ll be a lot of fun.

Mike has a great idea with three simple rules:

• Drink every time spice is mentioned
• Drink every time you’d rather be watching Blue Velvet
• Finish your drink if (someone who reads this) shows up

That’s right, in case you forgot, this is a theatre that sells beer.

*(I learned this from the photo above)

I was planning on going to this anyways, but that last sentence just ensured I won’t decide to just simply go to bed instead.

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For reference.

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My sister knows a dealbreaker when she sees one.

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You call that a rose, Portland? Pfft!

Portland: Home of Matt Groening.

There’s a Quimby, but the streets are in alphabetical order and if you do the math that’s another uhh… I guess it was only five blocks away. But I was really tired, so.

This is some movie-poster-grade amazing right here.

Which gives me an idea: If the heist itself falls through, we could always turn it into an indie comedy about a couple of nerdy Douglas Adams fans (and their motley heist crew) who try to steal his autograph from Powell’s Books. I bet it would go over really well at SXSW.

(Source: doug)

There’s an H.P. Lovecraft story* about a man who dreams of a spectacular, breathtaking city. A city born in the depths of his subconscious that echoes every childhood dream, memory and hope that ever entered his mind. A city so incredible that he completely gives up on his day-to-day life, finding reality too mundane and unbearable in comparison. He foregoes work and relationships and even eating in order to keep dreaming of this city and when the normal methods of sleep fail him, he turns to drugs to help bring him back. Eventually, homeless and penniless, he succumbs to the eternal sleep, where he is finally welcomed into this dream world for all eternity.

I’m not saying that city was Portland. But I’m pretty sure it was Portland.

*Celephaïs, 1920.

Douglas Adams signed a pillar at Powell’s Books and we have big plans to make it ours.

I’d like to revise the heist’s name, however: Powell’s 11. That rolls a little better off the tongue.

(For reference: Bagpipe Unicycle Darth Vader. Do yourself a favour and click that link.)