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Barton Fink, along with The Man Who Wasn't There and Miller's Crossing, is my favorite Coen film. Barton Fink is somewhat the Arturo Bandini of Ask the Dust, a bit of Cesare Pavese. As soon as Turturro ages, they keep on... the Coen's word.

"Populism is yours, not mine. You argue endlessly, I state my opinion and put a period at the end." There you go, this is the indifference. Come on, put in a little effort!

But did the oral exam end with a gag? Come on, life goes on, exams never really end.

Ah nice, but do you know who The Basketball Diaries are by??? By Jim Carroll, you get me??? The Catholic Boy. The one with "I feel like the ceiling of a bombed church"... yeah, the scene where he slams the two is great, but if you think that Rosario Dawson was waiting for him at home... I mean, no, yes, well... Rosario Dawson! I've seen almost everything by Spike Lee... everything I could find. I like him because he's a Neapolitan born in New York. Anyway, if you haven't seen it, I recommend She Hate Me... it has nothing to do with basketball, but it's good and no one cares about it.

But yes, grunge could very well exist and as Bruce Pavitt said: "Grunge is the sound of the underground making money" ...then it's hard to understand what the hell the Pearl Jam (yes yes, Green River and blah blah blah) or Alice in Chains have to do with the underground. If Nirvana, Mudhoney, Tad, and all the unfortunate young punks from the country are grunge, there's no way Pearl Jam can be grunge. Anyway, let's settle the sociological dispute by adding that Grunge is whoever does Grunge, whoever wears striped shirts, All-Stars, and smells like two-week-old dirt... and here comes the stereotype. :) But have you seen the videos from "Ten"??? Holy God, Pearl Jam, with Ament and that crappy bass, look like they just walked out of an episode of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Nooo, they aren't Grunge. Too Kitsch to be Grunge. Those guys would even look in the mirror; if they just tried, the mirror would spit in their faces, God lizard.

Uh, Ken... "Ken, is that you..." I must have watched him until I was nine. Then, at ten, when I turned on the TV to watch cartoons, my grandpa would turn it off, telling me to go downstairs and touch girls' butts. I'll never know how it ends...

The book is one of the pillars of my childhood, the movie sucks on a Brunetta scale of 5 to 1, the soundtrack was somewhat to my liking, but Bowie never goes beyond simply decent... like all the craftsmen.