Saint Dexter

THE KILLOUGH CHRONICLES

by James Killough

Unless you get regular industry updates sent to your smartphone as I do, or you follow the cancellations and renewals of premium cable shows, it’s unlikely you noticed that Dexter, a show about the serial killer of serial killers, was renewed for another two seasons, bringing the total to eight.

Our Psychopath, who art in heaven.

This is a lot of bodies, lakes of blood.  Who knew that Miami, where the show takes place, was such a haven for the murderous sociopath.  I thought it was all Shriekin’ Ricans and Gloria Estefan’s rain-drenched, coke-fueled dream of a Tel Aviv serviced by Cubans.  Almost makes me glad to be making my exit on Wednesday back to LA.

Anatomy of a Dickhead

THE WEEK FROM MY VIEW

by James Killough

My Shriekin’ Rican, Willy, has been very excited about today for a couple of weeks now.  “Ju know,” he said the other day in the kitchen.  “It’s berry good to start anything on this day.  It’s once, once, once—eleben, eleben, eleben—which in numerology means…”

“Stop,” I interjected.  “That’s too much bullshit for my first cup of coffee.”

“Okay.  Anyway, we gonna have a pahty.”

Poutrel was in "Sarah's Key," which I panned earlier in the week. She does stand out despite the fact she has no lines and literally wades through the film. I found her mesmerizing.

I’m still trying to figure out if there’s some poetic meaning behind the Spanish spelling of eleven being ‘once’ and it being repeated three times today, but it just reads like a repetitious excerpt from a sentence in an early Hemingway novel.  It has no meaning symbolically any more than it does numerologically.  Still, we are launching this new segment of the blog on this auspicious day, 11.11.11, which is a sort of Week in Review the New York Times would never run, but which hopefully will be entirely inappropriate in an apropos PFC kinda way.