Posts tagged I am Pointless!
Posts tagged I am Pointless!
When did all the bacon become “applewood bacon?” What’s that about? The Applewood family must be rolling in the dough— they must be a cruel and Ming-like dynasty. House Applewood. The bacon must flow… I don’t know. We’re all so fucking impressed with ourselves.
Just No Sleep Till Brooklyn. Needed to hear that— felt like sharin’. Sharin’ and carin’, yep. Sharin’ … and … carin’… That’s the name of the creepy nursery school I’m going to open when I become a Nightmare on Elm Street style child murderer. Slow zoom in on a dilapidated nursery school sign where the g’s have all fallen off and a single high-pitched piano key plays repetitively and maybe there’s a pig squealing sound buried in the mix somewhere…? That kind of thing? (I shouldn’t even joke about that— not the child murder part; Freddy. I don’t want to have Freddy dreams by accident. Freddy used to scare the crap out of me when I was a little kid — you know, looking back, I think a lot of it was that fucking striped sweater he would wear. Say what you will about finger-knives and burnt skin and everything, but man, that was one scary article of clothing, at least pre-grunge… Was grunge about ambitious Seattle youths trying to out-Kreuger one another? Who’s to say? I guess we’ll never know. ”Cosby vs. Freddy: The Post-Colonial Dialectic of the 80’s as Reflected in Sweater Choices" was the title of my thesis, back at the academy. I don’t know— grown man wearing a sweater like that? Off-putting fashion choice, child-murderer Freddy Kreuger. Also he said bitch a lot, and you know… that kind of attitudes towards women is pretty scary, too, you guys… In a way, the patriarchy is the scariest nightmare there is on Elm Street, if you think about it… then again, I think there were some moms in that crowd that burnt Freddy alive so I don’t know, maybe that’s unfair to … wes craven or johnny depp or whoever… Robert Englund was on V and that show had that crazy lizard lady eating those rats or whatever— she was pretty bad-ass (Diane? Diana?). So, yeah, in conclusion: the 1980’s…a confusing time for our country… the loss of innocence… summer becoming spring becoming autumn… Regrets becoming love becoming infatuation… Let’s never fall asleep again as a country, on the way to our own personal Brooklyn’s… Goddamn, is it too late to get a job as an Apprentice Braveheart? This just feels right. Oh whoops I never ended the parentheses).
I was feeling stuck in a rut musically (same old music means same old thinking), so this last go round, I burned a CD of classic heavy metal, country and soul music. I’ve liked a reasonable but probably limited quantity of metal over the years; I like Kris Kristofferson and some Johnny Cash; I liked the Jackie Brown soundtrack or whatever. But you know, stuff I just don’t normally go to, not stuff completely out of my comfort zone (not world music) but just a little bit outside my norm.
Anyways, I’ve had a very long day and I’m working late so I just thought I’d take a moment during my break here, something that’s been bugging me that… I don’t know— the weird thing about switching between classic metal, country and soul is just how I associate certain sounds with certain shit, for no reason. Like, twingly-twang-twang-twang is the Official Sound of the Woes of the Regrettably Impoverished Caucasian…? Why? That’s just kind of weird, right? Or Ch-ch-ch-ch-DRRRR-DRRRRM is the sound of dudes who are into hearing about pentagrams or ancient Tolkein-novel dwarven races or something…? Why did ch-ch-ch-ch-DRRR-DRRRRM end up being the official sound of pentagrams, instead of being the sound of African American Ladies Demanding Respect from the World??
(Granted, if that’s what I heard in my head when African American ladies demanded respect, it would be terrifying. They would be the scariest broads there ever was. R-e-s-p-e-c-t, Satan).
If we were to have you listen to Motorhead and Willie Nelson back-to-back, and have you draw what went through your head when you heard each, I would be willing to bet at least $10 which of those drawings would have an exhaust pipe or a dead wooly mammoth or a skeleton waving a sword at Mordor or whatever drawn in them. Why? Why is that? It’s just sounds. When did sounds get assigned like that? Granted, both drawings would have some overly-sexualized drawings of ladies in cut-off jeans and “smoke weed every day” written on them in crayon somewhere. I guess the greater point is that you’re really a lousy artist…? Or we’re all part of some big human family. I don’t know— maybe it’s all in my head… Probably it’s all in my head…?
More importantly: “I have a bandanna exactly like the one willie is wearing in this video” — more important is my slow awakening to the fact that I haven’t spent nearly enough time reading youtube comments to country music songs. Time to add a lucky #6 to my Regret List!
Former Governor Jesse the Body Ventura. Had a panic thing at 11:30 about a work thing I wasn’t sure if I’d forgotten or if it was a next week thing (and my iphone calendar’s on the fritz)(I had it in my head as a next week thing but I had that voice go “wait, what if I got it wrong” just as I was going to bed, which I knew would keep me up) so I went back to the office— turns out it’s a next week thing, so… victory is mine…? Anyways, bonus to the whole thing: finding out that the Body’s dropping truth bombs on the AM Dial at midnight. I mean, I imagine he taped it earlier and that he’s not burning the midnight oil, talking about Kennedy and the media or whatever. (That’s nearer to an exact quote than the last quote— after he said that I stopped at a light and repeated what he said into my iPhone. Self-Improvement!)
Lady called in asking whether it was okay that all her neighbors who are growing pot are growing during a drought. Jesse set her straight. Then, the host of whatever show this was (who I think referred to himself as “the boy who died and then lived” which… is that a Harry Potter thing??? Is Jesse Ventura lighting up the AM Dial talking to Harry Potter? I hope so!) asked him why he wouldn’t run for President like the American people want. (Actual answer: because Jesse can’t help himself but tell the american people the truth, and sometimes the President has to lie… I thought it was well-reasoned). (I’ve never wanted to call into a radio show in my life— I wonder if radio producers ever stare at comment sections below Huffington Post articles or whatever, and are like “You stole all our callers, you Greek robot Skynet sons of bitches! Person of Interest is right!" Probably.) In conclusion: Speciiiiiiaaaaaal mommmmeeennnnnts in all of our lives…
I can’t promise this is word-for-word what I just heard a deep-voiced DJ say as I was parking my car after a long day, but it’s as close as I can remember it— the lady with him saying “Hm hm” all sassy after every sentence was definitely named Tammy, and the part about the Man Cave and the Batman symbol are nearly verbatim (though 5th annual I’m not sure) and I’m pretty sure he referred to the change over to lovesongs to be an “evening massage.” This is what it all sounded like in my brain, at least. It was totally worth writing down. This… needed memorializing…
(I don’t really listen to the radio much anymore, but…. I used to drive around for … maybe years (?) and when a certain kind of song would come on my radio I’d start saying this thing of… “A lot of you out there are saying Drums and Bass is dead, but … you’re wrong"— I heard a Eurotrash-sounding KCRW DJ with like a German accent yell that out one night all angry— angry! but like also exhausted with humanity for thinking that drums and bass might be dead…?— during the KCRW Drums and Bass Hour of Power or whatever. Like a Zoolander character. I mean, I wouldn’t just say that line— it turned into this whole thing about … “A lot of you say drums and bass are dead, but it’s not dead— your hearts are dead, and the innocence of the children inside of you are dead. But drums and bass is alive— ALIVE inside of you" in something that didn’t sound at all like a German accent but was as good as I could do. I would do this on long drives for like… fifteen minutes at a time… things.. things got pretty weird… it wasn’t even funny; it was just weird. I’m sure you have your weird shit too though, so, and yours are probably pretty creepy, like Halloween creepy, so…)
Weird Thing about Getting Old, Episode a Billion: I don’t really know what words people use anymore. Maybe that’s not a getting old thing— maybe that’s just a being a lame person and not talking to regular folks enough thing, though. But I was listening to a rap song the other day, and I thought, “heavens to betsy, the rapping in this rap song is indubitably wack" and then I thought, wait a minute— do people (like… the young people) still say wack? And I … I don’t really know. They should though— wack was a good word.
There’s a whole list of “90’s slang" over here and, like— it’s not a perfect list. At least, I don’t remember anyone saying "dip" or "let’s dip" — there was a rap song that went, like, "put your hand upon my hip you dip I dip we dip" — it was a real prom theme, a real anthem for the 90’s, but I don’t remember dip being a thing. So maybe it’s not the most trustworthy list in the world…
But… “just bring it with” is 90’s slang? Do people not say that anymore? ”All that”— all that wasn’t that bad an expression— it had a charm. Rachel Leigh Cook was All That, like, officially…? She was the official winner of All That, in North America and parts of Western Europe. It was quite an honor at the time. Or “back in the day”— back in the day is great; it’s such a great, evocative phrase. Back in the days when I was young I’m not a kid anymore….? Are future people going to hear that song and be like “What is … what is back in the day? Does not compute here in future— does not compute does not compute what … what does it mean to love, hu-man?" I reject your future dystopia where man has been replaced by the robot and Ahmad has been forgotten!! That’s like some Cormac McCarthy’s The Road shit.
Or Blazed? Blazed was okay— it made getting stoned and watching Scooby Doo sound a lot more heroic than maybe it was (depends on the episode; some of those episodes are pretty scary, so). Boo-ya (didn’t know what this meant then, don’t know what it means now, but people should keep saying it so I continue to feel forever young)? Chill out? It’s cashed (what replaced that??)? The Po Po? Shady? I don’t know. Maybe people still say this stuff— I don’t really know because all I talk about most days is lawsuits. Also, apparently, I don’t do enough drugs anymore— I think that’s sort of the corollary to all this I’m picking up on; I need to sharpen up my drug game. What do the kids today call it when you cough into a bong and bong-water get everywhere? Does that have a new name? Asking for a friend.
I don’t say it enough though, but seriously, word to all of your mothers, guys. That’s from the heart.
I was looking at the movie news to clear my head, and there’s this article about a movie Will Smith wants to make— “ In a world where one percent of all children are born as “brilliants,” Will Smith plays federal agent Nick Cooper, a fellow brilliant who’s especially gifted at hunting down terrorists” — blah blah blah. Usual bullshit— Will Smith is terrible. But they superimposed Wild Wild West’s face onto an ad for the book this nonsense is based on— check out the ad quotes, the one from CBS Sunday Morning.
"This is how immortality gets started." This is how IMMORTALITY gets started. This is how immortality gets STARTED. This is how immortality gets started. I’ve never heard of Marcus Sakey or read anything he’s written, but luckily I have from now to the END OF TIME ITSELF to catch up because his immortality has already gotten started, as it turns out. He puts it on his website, even— can you imagine putting that on your own website?? ”Hey, guys— turns out my immortality has been started. So I’ve got that going for me which is nice." Somebody’s mom put too many of his drawings on his fridge. This is how immortality gets started!!
Am I starting the morning ranting about a pull quote for an author I’ve never heard of and will probably never read, in connection with a movie I don’t want to see, starring an actor I don’t like (whose raps I also think are bad)? Yes. Proud moment? Maybe not the proudest, but— let’s not pretend I have a bunch of prouder moments to choose from. On the other hand, I’m also gifted at hunting down terrorists. Or, well, I’m gifted at hunting down good gifts for terrorists. Which is different, but same basic thing. Those guys who blew up that one embassy? I know exactly where to buy them chocolate. It’s a gift. Some would call it a curse, but then I’d buy them a gift and they’d be like, “No, this isn’t a curse at all. I love this scarf! I will treasure this scarf always and remember you long after you’re dead." And I like to think that’s how my immortality will get started. Awwwww.
Dumb Question Dept.: Do you think when Steve Martin passes away, we’re all going to be, like, “Oh, we should’ve taken a break from saying nice things about Bill Murray to mention Steve Martin more." Are we going to all have like a retroactive Tito Puente moment with Steve Martin? Granted, Steve Martin thought he was the Pink Panther there for a while, but Bill Murray thought he was Garfield plus I don’t think he can play the banjo. Murray’s into golf and sports, and I don’t really care about either of those things, but Martin’s… probably into fancy paintings or acting snooty or something, so I get why Murray’s the one you’d want to be around. But when Steve Martin sees everyone rubbing their nipples over Bill Murray, like what’s that like? Martin didn’t make Groundhog Day or Ghostbusters or Rushmore, or even Quick Change or Stripes or Caddyshack, but the Jerk’s pretty good, Planes Trains & Automobiles, Dirty Rotten Scoundrel is about con men, a good amount of LA Story (bad memory, there; it’s been a while), My Blue Heaven is an all-time favorite thing with me, Father of the Bride is actually a pretty good movie for its target audience (e.g/i.e. fathers of brides), the Spanish Prisoner, Bowfinger’s got some stuff. I know Martin would rather write for the New Yorker than run into college kid parties, but … so would I because I’m a grown-ass man…? I just don’t write good and/or give that much of a shit about New York because I’m not into i-banking.
I don’t know. Lately, I’ve just been feeling like we’re all Tito Puente-ing Steve Martin… (Murray’s right about Tito Puente in that movie, incidentally— Tito Puente’s great. FYI).
This was totally worth typing out. I regret nothing.
The tricky thing about having a little bit of the ol’ self-loathing going for background music is when I start to accidentally have a nice little moment, watching that just get all weird and messy. I had to work today, but I came home and I had a really nice last hour or two doing my this and that, tinkering around on my projects. And I got a little soft because I’m a softie, feeling like “Oh, I’m glad 10 years ago, I decided to ___ because that lead me to ____ and ___, and then somehow here I am.” All the little tiny decisions that make a little moment happens, all the little steps you have to take that all end up being what your life was. Just a nice little moment— could just enjoy it and then put on some music and enjoyed a warm, nostalgic evening of contentment.
But no, instead, within 5 seconds all that horseshit gets replaced with, “Then again, if I hadn’t of done those things, maybe I’d have found some other way to use that time.” 10 seconds after that: “Maybe I’d be a married astronaut right now. I’d have kids and a house by a lake. There’s no way to know.”
I just Sliding-Doors myself-ed, and now I’m basically all mad that I’m not Astronaut Mike Dexter. What the hell is that? I don’t even want to live by a stupid lake— there are flies and stuff, right? And what if you have to run from CHUDs or home invaders?? Can’t run on a stupid lake, Dexter. Mike-Dexter-me might be smart enough to go into space, but he’s got shitty tastes in housing and/or defending himself from CHUDs. My life, I don’t own a house but you see any CHUDs around? Answer: no. So who came out ahead?? Which of us won??
Goddammit, it’s going to be a long week.
Came home from a long day of work to a black Santa Claus I’d forgotten I bought myself at 3 in the morning one night when I couldn’t sleep and I was fucking around on the internet, like, “Capital idea— let my stupid future-self figure out what the hell to do with this. Haha, good luck, future-me! Adventure!" I have to say— Santa Claus is really pretty jolly though, and I think he’s going to add some coziness to this bookshelf that maybe was missing before.
And thanks wherever she is to Megyn Kylly! Every letter of your name is a Y, you crazy Fox news weirdo fascist valkyrie, but now I own a Santa Claus figure thanks to you and maybe … maybe Christmas cheer is exactly what I’ve been missing this entire time. <Cue: Bill Murray’s speech from end of Scrooged>.
“The very worst place to lose your keys is your own back pocket,” I said for maybe the 5th or 6th time in my life. Why do I even have back pockets?? I don’t blame being absent-minded— I blame the history of inefficient tailoring! It probably had something to do with— in the medieval times, having back pocket meant that you were loyal to the King. Stupid feudal monarchs and their stupid back-pockets where I lose my keys.
Yesterday, I was watching Wolf of Wall Street and being like, “Man, maybe I should’ve been a rich degenerate that looks pretty fun I bet there’s a lot of lobster involved that lobster stuff’s pretty tasty" and today I can’t find my goddamn keys… Life and pants just always go out of their way to keep a person humble.
Do you ever wonder if Paul McCartney thinks a lot about how dictators probably know the words to all his songs? Like, the worst, most oppressive scum this Earth will create going forward, they’ll be doing Hey Jude karaoke in their bunker or girl dungeon or wherever. I mean, just think about how many times awful, obnoxious douchebags have probably gone up to Paul McCartney and been like, “Your music changed my life” and he’s had to keep from going “Omg, what were you like Before??" At some point in that, it stands to reason he stopped and thought about, like, Gaddafi or whoever. I don’t know. I’m just eating my lunch and wondering how McCartney does the math on that. I’d settle to find out about how Ringo feels about it, though, I mean, I guess.
I hate ties. I like owning suits and being a person who owns suits and has purchased suits because that’s all roughly congruent with “how a grown-ass man should be” platitudes that I guess I’ve received and subscribe to on whatever level. I’ve bought more than one issue of Esquire magazine in my life, or whatever, so there’s all kinds of that gunk between my ears. Especially in this city where the way some guys dress, you look at them and wonder, “How are you 40? You’re 40 years old and now I know what your favorite band is! Do you have a photo of a Lamborghini above your bed, too, big guy? Those are the fastest cars! Zoom zoom!" But the ties! I turn into Professor Wadded-Panties and start pontificating about "This is an archaic relic probably from a medieval era where ties signified a man’s fealty to a feudal hierarchy and mores that are outdated Oh no my pocket protector Where did I leave my copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses?" They’re snazzy and they can improve the suit, but just having to take that 5 seconds to put one on, I always get all whiny and turn into Paul Rudd throwing away the trash in Wet Hot American Summer. I always feel like I lost some big game, like if I were more successful, I’d be able to force people to accept that I’m not wearing a tie, using my author-itah. (Which is irrational because powerful people all wear suits with ties). I don’t know. I just dislike them. I dislike ties. Go into your day now armed with that knowledge, young Christian warriors! Wage war into the deepst depths of hell now steeled by knowing of my mild distaste for elementary haberdashery!
Man, I’m enjoying this photo a bunch right now, but later, not tonight but later, I’m going to be at a grocery store. And I’m not even going to be buying food— I’m going to buying laundry detergent or garbage bags— I’m going to be buying tolilet paper. And then there’ll be that moment where I stop and remember that while I’m buying paper to help me wipe the butt-stuff from out my ass, so I smell less like butt, other people are living Addams Family lives filled with all kinds of Halloween glamour— scaring kids, taunting horses, attending waltzes inside exclusive mausoleums, just living it up all kinds of weird. That’s a moment that’s going to happen that I have to be ready for. That’s in my future. That and waking up in the middle of the night and seeing these two standing at the foot of my bed, laughing and laughing, and there’s a grisly green light coming from below them lighting them from below and Roy Orbison’s “In Dreams" is playing from somewhere that’s both far away and close by. That probably in my future, too— safe bet.