What do you know? No, seriously, what do any of us really know? Tell you what: tell me one thing you know, so I can share it with everyone else. Send it to my glass house: passenger@vegaslounge.com. I'll start reprinting What You Know in the Postcards from Paradise newsletter (subscribe below, do it now! Obey! Obey!). Please don't send any Dirty Things You Know, because your grandma may be reading my newsletter, and we don't want to offend granny, do we?

Well, actually, go ahead and send your dirties. We'll pass them around the table during Department Lemur's cocktail hour and, you know, discuss them. Heh.
 

Oftentimes, the best artists are those who have no concept of artistic pretension; ordinary people that are struck by the light of the world and allow it to course through them. That's the state every artist wants to achieve when beginning a new work - no contemporaries, no critics, just the last hit you received and the path it landed you on. The Times Square Photography Project is art of this nature, created by the tenants of a New York supportive housing project. There are slice-of-life shots, some colorful abstracts and others that are something else entirely. Maria Roca's photo of her morning coffee boasts more muted pastels than a period film and Jack Sheedy's shot of a poem tersely scribed on someone's hand ("I cast dimes at the moon / Shiver at your coming") is peculiarly haunting. These, and more souls illuminated by the muse, make this site worth a long visit.
 

"And we said goodnight to Broadway, giving it our best regards..." Yeah, I could safely say that I miss the Pogues. Sure, they sound better the drunker you get and Shane MacGowan masks could be used to frighten small children; but, they were more earthy, more real and more flat-out fun than any working-joe talents that preceded or followed their boozy greatness - no matter how many pints those also-rans put down. Few have scratched the heights or plumbed the depths - set by "Thousands are Sailing." "Dirty Old Town" will stand forever as one of the bleakest boy-meets-girl stories ever told ("Will chop you down like an old dead tree"). And a song like "Fairytale of New York" - well, it only happens once in a generation. Ripe with imagery - the rivers of gold, the boys in the NYPD choir - "Fairytale" is a love story without peer, with a beautifully realized beginning and end; the Christmas angle is purely a bonus. If you missed the Pogues during their all-too-brief tenure, discover them In The Wake of the Medusa, a well-done tribute site. Then hit the music store and the liquor store, not necessarily in that order. Make your friend drive.
 

Sir Lawrence Olivier? Sure, pit him against an army of deathless zombies; that's a brilliant idea. Sir Alec Guinness? If he could emote with a chainsaw for an arm, I'd be inclined to raise a film festival around him. Fact of the matter is, only one actor can pull these stunts off and still look convincing - and that man is Mr. "Brisco County Jr." his own personal self, Sir Bruce Campbell of Detroit, Michigan. If he appeared in every single movie made - a Yankee, shotgun wielding Michael Caine - I'd move all my worldly belongings to the closest multiplex and reap the whirlwind. The master thespian's official page greets you humbly - "So, you've got nothing better to do, eh?" - and then hits you with double-barrels loaded with Campbell-riffic goodness. Delight in his classic, world-weary, two-fisted lingo ("lemme lay a load of hooey on ya"). Read his funny rants on "the autograph thing" and American-made cars. Dig his amusing anecdotes from the pit of Hollyweird. Take his advice, if you dare. As if you needed more evidence that Campbell, from the "Evil Dead" trilogy to his fast-talking turn in "The Hudsucker Proxy," is simply the greatest actor ever to walk God's green earth. That's right, baby.
 

Here, let me get you started. I know that Charlton Heston is made of wood - my lawyer told me so. Now it's your turn! Tell us what you know!