I'd be lying to you if I said that my all KRTH 101 all of the time experiment was still going strong. I had a revelation last weekend during a drive down to San Diego, which should have been 2 1/2 hours of pure, oldies torment:

One thing on this planet I cannot handle is shitty art, 100% of the time.

Certainly, there was that time in my early-to-mid 20s, as we've all had, where I thought liking crap - pure shit - ironically was fun, hell, something to be revelled in and celebrated! So you stock up on trashy soundtracks, or load up your VCR with D-rated action movies and cavort with your friends about how amazing they are, which is something Quentin Tarantino needs to get over already. Isn't he 67 years old? Oh, and I should take this chance to offer a message to Quentin:

ALL OF THE OLD, TRASHY MOVIES YOU CALL "CLASSICS" SUCK ASS, QUENTIN.

NO: Old Kung Fu movies with 15 minute-long fight scenes and zero plot are NOT entertaining to adults. NO: Movies about girls on motorcycles chasing one another through the desert and getting into switchblade fights are NOT good filmmaking to anyone who has graduated from college. And finally NO: You do not remember what made you a great writer/director, so perhaps consider opening a video store in the Valley where you can jerk off with your film-grad buddies over the latest release of the entire Kirisawa (allow me to be the first to say it: OVERRATED) library.

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh, the oldies experiment: On the drive down to SD, I told Dara I wouldn't torture her with KRTH, so I popped in the soundtrack to "O Brother, Where Are Thou?" and we cruised down I-5 to the soothing strands of bluegrass picking and tight, sweet harmonies.

The deal was sealed, experiment failed. Or was it?