I want to write a book about how language has slipped its moorings and become much more loosey-goosey as a result of technological ultramegachange. I want to write about how language itself is a kind of technology that itself must innovate in order to keep pace (at the very least) with broader socio-technological vicissitudes. I want to title it What We’re Talking About When We Talk About Talking About What We Talk About. The book itself will be the sawblade that snaps the last strand on the last tether binding word to meaning to thing. Language will metastasize in …

I’ve been delighted with several things lately, and the alphabetized compendium of Roger Ebert’s reviews of crappy movies, Your Movie Sucks, is high on that list. It’s been rocket ride of a five-star tour-de-force you won’t want to stop. He’s a great writer, with a fiendish sense of the wry. So far my favorite bit is this, the last paragraph of his review of M. Night Shyamalan’s excruciating The Village:

Eventually the secret…is revealed. To call it a climax would be an insult not only to climaxes but to prefixes. It’s a crummy secret, about one step …

Wow, I wish I’d thought of that. That’s hysterical. I hope he took the criticism well.

It’s not that I’m failing at keeping you informed of the goings-onses in my life so much as it is that there are so few such goings-onses. Oh there’ve been a couple of big deals here and there, but you don’t want to hear about all that. Pfft. So boring. Ok, well there was this incident that happened while I was modeling in Caracas, but that was a one-time thing, and anyway I have a wide stance, is all. Some guys do, I totally swear.

Ok, and there was the teensy fact that two of my very …