courtesy of MGM

Greetings and salutations,* my summer pretties. The nasty rumor stemming from today's Page Six is true, Murphy “Big Shot” Hooker, San Francisco’s own legendary Filmic Freedom Fighter, the Bay Area’s own Indie Skywalker, Malibu’s own Murph The Serf Hooker, Key West’s own Poppa H., St. John’s own Dread Pirate Hooker, Boulder, Colorado’s own Captain Toque, theUniverse’s own Cinematic Master of Disaster is … still … on voluntary hiatus.

But boy does my tan look good—George Hamilton good.

Taking a page from some of my favorite road movies, I’m traveling the countryside with a family band for the rest of July hoping to: a) dig up Dom; b) get discovered by a honkey-tonk producer in Nashville; and c) get into semi-profound adventures like David Carradine in Kung-Fu.

What does this mean for my loyal readers? Well … it means this is a fine opportunity to check out some of Hooker’s Reel’s Greatest Hits. What’s that? It’s the archives stupid, on the left side of the page.

Since there’s absolutely nothing relevant going on in the SF film scene (or any scene that isn’t covered in sand, sun, tanning oil and/or glitter), this is a primo chance to re-read some of my classic (stellar) entries from weeks past that you didn’t have the brain capacity to fully comprehend the first time around.

I’m on vacation. Until we meet again, try soaking up some of my archived esoteric film juice with a biscuit. I should be able to smuggle myself back into the country in a Samsonite suitcase by the end of July, wherein I will bravely return to my curmudgeonly post as the most over-worked and under-appreciated psychotic ombudsman the digital age has ever seen.

I know, I know. … You can’t wait for my shimmering return where I will no doubt (once again) amaze you with my literary magic tricks, my refined cinematic erudition and my oh-so-sharp verbal swashbuckling skills—but for now, I’m going for a dip with the Swedish Bikini Team, who appears to be without bikinis and on Nitrous Oxide.
 
Damn, life is good … George Hamilton good … until we meet again, be very bad and get into lots and lots of trouble, baby.