Synecdoche: syn⋅ec⋅do⋅che. Pronunciation [si-nek-duh-kee] –noun Rhetoric. A figure of speech in which a part is used for the whole (as hand for sailor), the whole for a part (as the law for police officer), the specific for the general (as cutthroat for assassin), the general for the specific (as thief for pickpocket), or the material for the thing made from it (as steel for sword).

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: funny how time works. One day it’s the 14th of November, and then you wake up and it’s the 20th, and I think — where did all that time go?

One day I wake up and I’m 24…and the next day I wake up and I’m 44, and I think — where did all that time go?

I haven’t blogged since the 20th, when I found out Mitch Mitchell died, and here it is, almost a week later, and I’ve got nothing much to say.

And those days passed like moments…

Oh sure, I could write about kooky porn girls and the even kookier porn dudes. I could write about Manojobs and glory holes and dick suckers, but you’re already familiar with that territory.

Or, I could talk about the great film I saw, so here goes:

I shelled out 11 clams (well, $22, cause I paid for my pal’s ticket) to see Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York. He’s the dude who wrote Being John Malkovich and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind — both of which I liked.

Here’s the funny part — by the middle of it, I thought Synecdoche, New York was a dog turd, and I was about to totally start hating on it, and I looked over at my friend and gave her the “If This Doesn’t Get Any Better In About 3 Minutes I’m Asking For My Money Back” eye…and then, sure enough, BAM.

The first time ever for such a 180 degree turn right in the middle of a flick.

How about that?

I’m serious — I was about to get up and walk out, but I gave Charlie Kaufman a few more minutes, and I’m really glad I did, cause by the end of that movie I was totally blown away.

If you decide to take Kaufman’s challenge — cause this is a dense, complex, surreal film where plot and linear time movement aren’t tops on Kaufman’s list of rules to adhere to — you’ll be super happy you did.

Or, you won’t get it, and you’ll disregard any future film advice I have for you…and that’s that.

Oh, by the way, Phillip Seymour Hoffman plays a hypochondriac playwright who’s married to a woman who paints miniature portraits. He wins a MacArthur genius grant about the same time his wife becomes recognized by the art world. She leaves him and takes their child to Berlin, Germany, where she becomes internationally famous, and he takes his grant money and begins work on his masterpiece.

And that’s when all the fun begins.