I love lists of forthcoming releases and coming attractions, calendars of exciting new pleasures. I pore over them in a manner which can be described as masturbatory. Such lists locate happiness where it belongs, in the future. They provide a map of desire's frontier, where every potential delight is pristine, unmarked by disappointment and familiarity, sweeping vistas of virgin territory. I can't wait to see that, I can't wait for that to come out, it's going to be awesome I just know it, I've been waiting so long. Then the big day arrives and it's a minor or major letdown. Of course anytime you allow the future to become the present you're asking for trouble. Just go have a drink or take a nap until it becomes the past and then start over with the new list.