Last night, Sticky and I attended a screening of Orsen Welles’ Touch of Evil which was stunning on the big screen. It’s a delight to watch a particularly corpulent Welles stumble about in this darkest of noir and the film precedes Psycho by two years as an example of how things can go south when Janet Leigh checks into a motel room. It was amidst this backdrop that we were unexpectedly mesmerized by an amazing backpack bottle of Mondeuse from André and Michel Quenard.
Earlier this week when the weather was really nice, I was out of doors imbibing kombucha, the brewing of which is a recently-acquired hobby of my wife. I was completely absorbed by a shocking book on the history of punk music called Please Kill Me and its unsettling effect isn't indicative of naivete on my part - I've read Marquis de Sade extensively, but this is real.