I'm thinking this evening of two films that I listed at Facebook as "guilty pleasures"--- "Tart" and "Intern". Both with Dominique Swain, the former with Mischa Barton as well. I'm not sure why they should be Guilty Pleasures, mind you. They're both rather fun little comedies. Nothing spectacular, but certainly watchable on late-summer evenings with a glass of wine. A couple of years ago, Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo noted that it had been ten years since "Lolita", and she wrote a small elegy for 1997 and the young Dominique Swain. Miss Ginny would've been...thirteen? fourteen? when "Lolita" appeared; I do wonder what she thought of it on first viewing. And I do wonder what Miss Ginny was like in 2001 or 2002, when she was posting obsessively at communities devoted to "Lolita" and Ms. Swain. Nonetheless--- "Tart" really is funny. Ms. Swain is there, and the young Ms. Barton, both as Good Bad Girls, and Bijou Philips is there as the Bad Bad Girl. "Intern" is fun as well--- I suppose Brittany Murphy would be playing the role now. Guilty Pleasures if you'd like--- but like Ms. Murphy's own little comedies, worth watching on soft summer nights with a bottle of wine opened there by the couch.

I have "Control" on the way from Netflix, by the way--- a film about Ian Curtis of Joy Division. I'm looking forward to it. It's a recommendation that came in last night from someone unexpected. "Control" and "Adventureland"--- two recommendations from a source I value very, very much...but remain wary and gun-shy around.

I'm thinking this evening, too, about Alexander Csóma de Körös--- though no one else is anywhere. Alexander Csóma de Körös was the Peregrinating Magyar, the strange and reclusive and obsessed Hungarian scholar who walked from Budapest to Bhutan (Transylvania to Tibet?) in the 1830s in search of the ancestral homeland of the Magyars. He never found it, but he did open up Tibetan culture and history to the West. One of those figures we've lost over the last century or so. There's a decent little book about him--- Edward Fox's "The Hungarian Who Walked To Heaven" (London, 2001). There's also a wonderfully eerie and beautiful animated Hungarian-made film about him, too--- "A Guest of Life". Worth finding--- something I offer up to Miss Ginny at ginny_mccoo and Artemis at artemislives. They're both in Montreal; they'll have access to foreign films on a level I don't here in the Deepest South. I'll recommend it to Hannah at likeagirlshould in Berlin as well. If anyone sees it--- let me know what you think.

Today is 1. September of the Year Nine--- summer's ending. Well, a cool, clear, dry day. Much better than last year. Last year was Hurricane Gustav--- a week without electricity, living here in a darkened and abandoned apartment complex. I remember the sheer relief when power began to go on downtown. I sat in the food court at the big parking complex and used their wi-fi and sent messages back and forth to Lissy at emigree. When the lights came back on in my office building, I slept there in air-conditioned cool. Libet called me there on my keitai--- my first phone call from Russia. No hurricanes this year, though the news says one is about to slam into Mexique somewhere in Baja.

Next Monday is Labour Day. A long weekend, then. I'll lay in a supply of white wine and steaks and Asian beer and drift through the holiday. Off to a movie or two, I suppose. Some time at the coffeeshop. No plans, really. Though I'm always open to late night Voices on the aether. I'm always open to lovely clever wicked girls calling--- drunk-dialing or not ---out of the night. I'm always one for long late-night conversations.

I do hope that Stella at stelladellasera and Caitlin at kissmecaitlin are having a lovely holiday. They're both dear friends, and they've been supportive and kind these last three years. They always have my best wishes.

I do make a point of always doing entries on the first day of the month. I print off and bind my journal entries at three-month intervals. It's important always to have entries on the first and last days of a month, just as it's seriously important always to have entries on 22. November, 25. December, 31. December, and 1. January.

Back at the start of July, the Other Melissa at kraftig_bewegt wrote at Facebook about a night on the Skinny Island:

Behind closed doors and warmly-lit rooms all over Manhattan, pleasure is taking place-- some spontaneous, some planned, and yes, some paid for. And tonight's... tonight's is strictly invitation only. Sometimes I get paid to do the things I've always wanted to do.

Miss Lissy at emigree left a note there for her Downtown Twin to say that she had no idea what that mean, but that it was sexy. I had to grin. Lissy had no idea what it meant, but I did know. And it's something that I do admire the Other Melissa for.

Samuel Barber's "Knoxville, Summer of 1915" is playing. A piece Miss Ginny recommended to me long ago. A song that reminded her of going with family to Signal Mtn. in Tennessee in the summer and finding the air so humid and heavy that she could almost put her hand out the car window and scoop it up by the handful. I will get Miss Ginny to Savannah with me. Just as I will take her somewhere autumnal, where she can walk barefoot in a zippered hoodie and tiny shorts along a late-afternoon dock and drink pinot gris and pass Gauloises and joints back and forth with me. Miss Ginny and I are both in love with liminal seasons. (With Claire Danes, too, I think. And Mandy Moore)

There are places in the world that have a kind of mythic significance. For me--- that park bench there just above the Met in Central Park, there along the running track. I will have to ask lovely clever wicked girls where their own mythic places are.

Well, there's a chance I might get to Whole Foods for Persian ice cream this weekend. That would be a small victory.

I still need Miss Ginny to tell me whether I need the Lonely Planet Iran guide. I am going to finally buy Mono's "Formica" CD. And there's a new Sleepthief CD just out. I need to save money--- for that future MacBook. To pay off my car repairs. To have money in case a girl really does want to see me in Manhattan or Montreal or Savannah.

Well, late summer of the Year Nine. Autumn is usually my best season. I do hope it'll be something in the Year Nine that I'll remember fondly later.