George Reeves’ Superman costume, 1952-1958 (Taken with instagram)
» Curio City
Which is also known on the tubes as CurioCity.org. Here you'll find the flotsam and jetsam from the collisions between my interests and the Internet, a bit of cosmic debris, and the small, crunchy bits that collect in the gutters of my mind. If you like what you find, you may also like the longer original works at Hidden City. On the other hand, if you are interested in the person behind this collection, you can find out more than you need to know here, or find my on seemingly numberless services as mkhall. And if you are the person who likes to do such things, you can leave me a message at 786/664-7070.
Badfoot (l) and Magellan (r), together they are almost 40 pounds of feline fun. Lethargic fun, yes, but still fun. (Taken with instagram)
Waiting for the show to start, feigning sufficient arrogance to blend in with the toffs. (Taken with instagram)
As a kid I absolutely loved the Alfred Hitchcock Presents the Three Investigators series. How I’ve managed to hold on to my copies for so long is a mystery in its own right. (Taken with instagram)
Coming soon, to a theater near you. Well, near some of you, anyway. (Taken with instagram)
Seth Thomas 8-Day Clock, Model 298A, circa 1885 (Taken with instagram)
Magellan and Badfoot (Taken with instagram)
Swamp Thing in a pensive moment, late 1973 (Taken with instagram)
“ I think for a lot of people who don’t read pulp growing up, there’s a real surprise that the particular kind of Pulp Modernism of a certain kind of lush purple prose isn’t necessarily a failure or a mistake, but is part of the fabric of the story and what makes it weird. There’s a big default notion that “spare,” or “precise” prose is somehow better. I keep insisting to them that while such prose is completely legitimate, it’s in no way intrinsically more accurate, more relevant, or better than lush prose. That adjective “precise,” for example, needs unpicking. If a “minimalist” writer describes a table, and a metaphor-ridden adjective-heavy weird fictioneer describes a table, they are very different, but the former is in absolutely no way closer to the material reality than the latter. Both of them are radically different from that reality. They’re just words. A table is a big wooden thing with my tea on it.
This film, Sound Of My Voice, has been getting a lot of buzz. Watching this clip of the first twelve minutes, it reminds me a lot of Primer.
(Source: soundofmyvoicemovie.com)
(Source: criterioncollection)
Here is evidence that the Illuminati own Netflix. Which, since I know a couple of people who work for Netflix, means that I know more members of the Illuminati than I previously thought.
Ignatius J. Reilly, A Confederacy of Dunces, John Kennedy Toole
A green hunting cap squeezed the top of the fleshy balloon of a head. The green earflaps, full of large ears and uncut hair and the fine bristles that grew in the ears themselves, stuck out on either side like turn signals indicating two directions at once. Full, pursed lips protruded beneath the bushy black moustache and, at their corners, sank into little folds filled with disapproval and potato chip crumbs. In the shadow under the green visor of the cap Ignatius J. Reilly’s supercilious blue and yellow eyes looked down upon the other people waiting under the clock at the D.H. Holmes department store, studying the crowd of people for signs of bad taste in dress. (Multiple suggestions )
Whoa. I think he needs to be LOTS fatter.
But anyway, this is VERY IMPORTANT: this drawing of Ignatius, done via police sketch technology based on descriptions from the book, looks a lot like the real life John C. Reilly. Anybody else see it??
Salyut-9 (by povorot)
“What might a soviet orbital laser have actually looked like? And what if one had actually been secretly launched in the late eighties?”
(via warrenellis)