The Teenage What

It's the OC out by the pool. I am not an outdoors person, mainly because I am so white I glow in the dark and fear instant immolation stepping outside. I went to go get a French Vanilla dirty Chai latte (I know, historically inaccurate imperialism: In a cup!) and caught something strange. No, not the bronzing good looking teenagers. When I was getting my coffee, the TV was on Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Inexplicably, it was the only episode I have ever seen. I mean, this weird phenomenon that I see the same episodes of a show years apart, and only that one episode. Most curious of this tale, it was weird alt verse where everyone in Sabrina land has heard of and likes the Violent Femmes. And the Violent Femmes are in the episode. Seriously... weird. But makes sense as to why I would remember it, and in keeping with a day where I read articles on Victorian bachelors, psychology reviews of bad mothers and discussed Grey Gardens (Ghey Hardons).

Too many saviors, not enough crosses

I'm pleased with this hazelnut cappuccino with an espresso shot. I also had a thought of Jesus being used as a salesman. Instead of happy meals, we could have Heaven Jumpers, saving money and souls everyday! Or pulpit smashers about Jesus not being obese (duh, he walked everywhere spreading his word and sensible shoes). Then I realize I dont care at all about whether or not Jesus would endorse this sandwich.

But I still am working on my main theme ideas:
Four Horsemen walk into an ad agency
and a suicide note found in a thrift store overcoat.

My Victorian Perversions, and You

In attempt to be less of crashing bore, and less withdrawn, and inspired by my fellow bloggers/RL friends, I am going to try to keep you updated with my cultural consumption and the inevitable droppings (via poop and bombs). The more I withdraw and consider my position in life, the more I realize my affection/loathing for Woody Allen, Baumbach, Anderson(s)(Paul Thomas and Wes) as showing me my own life as someone with education and emptiness in equal measure. The descendants of the tennis set and welfare checks combine to make one surly, and dimly hopeful. Cleverness is not going to save you, anymore than Christ. So I'll leave with you a witticism of my own devising: "These are the days when Christ gets you paid and Dylan gets you laid."


Cat's Cradle - (Did you know Vonnegut got a Master's degree in Anthropology for this?)
Spook- Mary Roach. Science and its shenanigans with the search for the soul.
Blind Assassin - Margaret Atwood. Phenom noir novel within novel. Great aphorisms.
Following the Sun - A Bicycle Pilgrimage from Andalusia to the Hebrides. Wow, I know I am kind of a douche, but in the best possible way. Same with this guy, biking with his old Peugeot from Spain to Scotland, from the Spring Equinox to the Summer Solstice.

21 Grams, Lost in Translation, Veronica Mars, Buffy, X-Files, A Serious Man, Broken Embraces and most importantly, Avatar: The Last Airbender.

I like my myths violent, my enlightenment self sufficient and my comedy understated.

Liking Emilíana Torrini, Anais Mitchell, twee and Paul Simon a lot right now.

Any suggestions will be taken into consideration, or at least reviewed.

Come On Over and (Trouble)Shoot the Shit

When I was young, my mom told me everyone remembered where they were when Kennedy was assassinated. In our love of democracy and the notion of some kind of equalizer, America was hit hard by the loss of their prince. The idea of a suave, beautiful, family to rule over us, our delusions of our distant Anglo Saxon ways was powerful. That and Vietnam, here is our disillusionment in a decade. Well, I suppose in my own way, Kurt Cobain's death was that. I was too young to feel it, but I can understand why it was so painful for the generation that precedes me in time and the one I feel culturally attached to. He died in the spring, 3 days ago sixteen years past, but found today. I remember in high school I brought cupcakes for his death, in with a macabre flair only celebrated by the young. I heard Smells Like Teen Spirit in a Nike store one time and couldn't help but think so this is suicide. The reluctant voice of a generation is what all the magazines said, but it is more than that. The American notion of being obsessed and repulsed by the spotlight and the shadows cast.

Bulk Singularity

The room fills with conditioned air. The stark white walls are great for projection. So this is "living the dream". I have an eternity of nothing to do, I should be writing. I should be happy. He is just doing what he is supposed to do. He got the degree, he got the job, he got the luxury apartment. But there was a time we used to drive for shows, liberate bullshit, have similar interests. The house contains silence along with the super cooled air. I could be wrong about everything. The days of youthful vegetarianism, recreational atheism and stylized misanthropy seem like they belonged to all the other teenagers, even though I wore them as proudly as I could nonchalantly get away with. Judge not on the content on my coffee mug, but the contents of my dirty mouth. I need a war to stand my ground, as it crumbles beneath my feet I can offer a belief. When meditating, you are supposed to relinquish worldly things. I don't meditate, but I remember working shitty jobs I could do the same thing. I would look at every person and think about them doing something mundane, like going grocery shopping, getting the mail and then less mundane, like getting their heart broken or putting a pet down. These things that are supposed to unite us: patriotism, shared sports team just offers a case for nihilism. Everyone is the same thing, but as they say, God is in the details. This Pepsi or Coke government, with a splinter cell of Fanta does not inspire me with confidence. The removal of the label of the vice is the closest we will get to understanding.

I was reading this book that mentioned the First Law of Thermodynamics applied to human thought. Naturally, the analogy of computers was made. Our unique humanity is analogous to a computer, filled with files and programs. And then one day, it will crash.

Lame

I have been watching more films than usual of late and felt the urge to share. Broken Embraces was such a beautiful film, the scenery with the vivid colors served as almost another character. The art in the homes, the layout of the homes, the bookshelves... I loved it. And then I started thinking about themes of films and the difference between being entertaining and being important to the genre/director/zeitgeist. The theme of the meta-reality of a failed/faded artist in the film. Affluent white people with their failures vs. the war film vs. the heist etc. I just like seeing the world someone else might see it, instead the way I see it. I suppose that's why people watch films.

No life vest, but I can swim

Things have been rough lately. I like to say rough so I can think of a sea storm, like I am weathering my mediocre middle class problems exacerbated by a simple rhyme scheme. I didnt feel well yesterday and had these strange dreams. In the dream, the narrator (I assume me, but that was never verified) was announcing this recent stranger who for some reason was sleeping with another version of himself in a blue sleeping bag, a Freudian noose. I also was thinking about nooses, graves, bloodshed and other dark terrible things that night. So I want to share this story of something that makes me happy. A Patronus memory, as it were.

When I hear the song Cecilia, I think of this amazing woman who I was friends with who later left her husband after 23 years of marriage to live in New Orleans. That divorce was worse for me than my own parents. But before they divorced, the song came on right before an acid trip in which me and several friends/housemates sang this song a Capella into her answering machine.

There are a few perfect moments, dancing with a tranny in Mexico to Nirvana, eating dinner at a friend's removed relatives house and playing family board games with someone else's family, being in a care with someone you love and doing anything from singing to smoking to drinking to drugs to roadside diners to a Dairy Queen in Indiana to giving your two year old nephew chocolate ice cream and watching the snow while everyone else sleeps. They go by fast, faster than growing up, faster than ashes from burned bridges. If you are lucky, you have so many of them, you can stand to give some away. But if are you like most of us, you cling to the good ones like Mrs. Havisham in a rotting wedding dress.

Yeah, somehow I managed to take a good thing and turn it dark and sour.

http://8tracks.com/obscenester/we-thrive-on-bones-without-them-there-d-be-no-stories