Fun with Microsoft Word

This is what happens when you AutoSummarize a Hamlet soliloquy and feed it through Bill Gates' thesaurus.

Amid the lobs and arroyos of unpleasant affluence
To kick the bucket, to snooze--
'Tis an accomplishment
To give up the ghost, to siesta--
To forty winks--conceivably to hallucinate: ay, there's the massage,
There's the regard.

The teaser’s damage, the overconfident man's noise
The twinge of insufferable tenderness, the formula’s stoppage,
That tolerant pro of the disreputable procuress,
Who would diminish his stomach,
To grumble and be on pins and needles under a sleepy existence,
The adequate Ophelia!: Brownie, in thy tears.


For those about to read, we salute you!

Everything from the 40th anniversary issue of the New York Review of Books is available free online at www.nybooks.com. If you've never had either the time, or money, or the tolerance for pretentious intellecutalism, to read the New York Review, you've been missing a lot of great, if inessential stuff, as well as a lot of crap. In the great category, check out Joan Didion's piece on Bush II.

Also, I promise more on Kill Bill soon.


Kill Bill: Ill, Spilled, or Triumph of the Will? (Beginnings of a review)

There are three types of bad movie: bad bad (Maid to Order), so-bad-it's-good (To Grandmother's House We Go), and, beyond that, so-bad-it's-fascinating. "Kill Bill," ostentatiously, well, billed as "The 4th Film By Quentin Tarantino," transgresses these boundaries, as well as many others. At times, it's just awful. At other times, it's fantastic. Ultimately, however, both the ridiculous and the sublimely ridiculous are transcended by the sheer fascination of the thing: Fuck "Cremaster," "Kill Bill" may well be, unintentionally, the single most avant-garde piece of cinema ever committed to celluloid.

On this more later.