-Last week, in the middle of Utah, somewhere on I-80 heading east toward Denver, we stopped at a weathered Conoco to gas up. One guy behind the counter. Does he live at the store? there’s seemingly nothing else around for miles. Shelves sporadically spotted with non-perishables of dubious chemical infrastructures. The sign in the bathroom, held up with a band-aid, read: “Don’t Drink the Water!” Playing over the tinny store speakers: Dreamweaver. I find myself oddly moved. The guy behind the counter doesn’t look up from his paper as I’m momentarily swept up amongst the tundra rot and plumbing impurities and lulled by the gentle arena rock harmonies of Reo Speedwagon. “I need this beautiful song,” I think.

-There’s a new documentary coming out soon about the great Italian film director, Federico Fellini. Stunned by the fact that it’s been almost a decade since he became such things as dreams are made of. Fellini was one of the first ‘foreign’ directors (i.e., a film with subtitles) I ever checked out. Probably couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to “World Cinema.” Joe, Will, Mike and I would occasionally rent one out. I think we were probably savvy enough to know that he had a reputation as one of the world’s great directors, but his real appeal to us then was how phantasmagoric his films were. I remember, in particular, watching “City of Women,” a film whose penchant for the weird (and the man had a genuine fondness for the bizarre) seemed especially tailored for us at the time. I need more "Fellini Moments" in my life.