4.1.11
5:36 pm
Ha.
Fooled you.
I don't have a boat.
You asshole April Fool.
You dickbag, pus-fucking April Fool.
You mungo-ass, diapizz April Fool.
LEARN TO LIVE WITH YOUR MISTAKES AND BECOME A BETTER PERSON.
I mean that.
Last night, as I am on a teeny tiny Oscar kick, I watched Winter's Bone (and plan on watching The Fighter this weekend).
Mother.
Fuck.
That s the most desolate, desperate, depressed, dingy movie I have seen since the letter "d" was invented and put at the front of so many awful and descriptive words.
Christ.
It wasn't even a downer per se...it was just so...pathetic?
But with a sense of pride?
Like stubborn, old school Mainer pride.
As in "never ask for what should be offered freely".
It looked like a combination of Year Zero, Fallout 3 and the artwork for the Ghosts album.
And it felt like a rainy day.
In the entire hour and forty minute film NO ONE SMILED.
At least not before doing crystal meth or threatening to kill someone with a double-barreled shotgun.
You know, the bad kind of smile.
These people have no hope, no future, no plan or idea or a future.
They live day to day and they wear several layers of clothing throughout the whole movie.
And there are dogs everywhere.
As in, the ratio of actors to dogs is 1:1.
At least the dogs look happy.
Those poor fools.
Okay, take the determined young girl from True Grit (2010 version) and drop her into the "everything is awful and people die horribly all the time" world of No Country For Old Men (but less deserty and more frozen swamplandy) and you have the basic feel of this thing.
Great movie.
To die while watching.
Flipping over to the "real world"...a memo came down from on high where I work that basically makes gossip a punishable offense.
In a nutshell, a member of security had some sort of involvement with a gun.
By the next day, people from EVERY department were talking about how he'd killed a cop, Obama etc. etc. etc.
It had gone from the lips of security to everyone else in the building.
And finally the big cheeses have a reason to be bothered by the constant foul smelling susurrus of gossip floating through this department like shit through a sewer.
See, the problem with these trogs is, the hardest part of their job is showing up, and so they have to think of things to keep themselves busy...scratch that, most of these folks don't think...they have to develop (as one would develop a canker sore or hemorrhoid) things to keep them busy.
Enter the tried and true High School Special...gossip.
Tasty or otherwise, true or otherwise, it helps them kill the hours, minutes and seconds each and every day.
And what goes hand in hand with gossip?
Yes, the ever-coveted Drama.
Gossip and Drama, together again.
I believe I've mentioned before (one or two...THOUSAND times...) that the people here have two volumes: loud, belligerent and uninformed or hissy, nasty and secretive.
One brings about the other which brings about the other which brings about the other and so on and so on, until someone gets fired or just takes a swing at someone else.
Anyway, gossip is not, basically, illegal here.
Ha.
I say again, ha.
Telling the folks working here that they can't gossip anymore is pretty much equivalent to telling fish not to swim, the sun not to shine and Tyler Perry to stop shitfucking the general public.*
It just can't happen.
But, what this hopefully means is that some of the larger loudmouths will get caught with both their hands, feet and a whole ham stuck in there and get fired.
Will they learn something from this?
Most likely not, but, hey, at least their filthy, slimy voicecocks will be withdrawn from my poor, ravaged earvage.
And, in the end, isn't that what really matters?
I wholeheartedly agree.
And finally, as a reward for wading this far through my septic tank of a mind, I'm a little over half way through the newest TV On The Radio album, Nine Types of Light, and it's amazing.
If you've never heard (of) these guys before, you're missing out on one of the best bands of the late 2000's/early 2010's.
They're sort of like...a barber shop quartet singing in front of a brothel that is also a church.
They're sacred, profane, melodic, dissonant, celebratory and sorrowful.
Their first album, Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes is unlike anything you've heard.
I promise you.
It's also the album that got Trent Reznor to line them up as openers for Nine Inch Nails, and yes, that's how I heard of them.***.
DYBTB is a bit inaccessible at times, but you finish it excited about what they're going to do next, where they're going to go from here.
Where they went was to record Return to Cookie Mountain, more accessible and varied that their first and including a guest appearance by one Mr. David Bowie, one of his last recordings to date.
In fact, if you are one of the two people that read this that received a copy of El Viaje De La Pesadilla, you might know that particular song, Province, from the "Climbing A Hill" segment.
After RTCM, they put out Dear Science, which, I'll admit, I haven't spent much time with although the critics seemed to dig it as well, giving it high marks across the board.
Then the lead singer, Dave Sitek, did a solo album which, apparently, wasn't all that great, then, their latest, Nine Types of Light, which is coming out in a few weeks or so.
Get it when it does, you'll enjoy it.
Now, I am going to order some dinner as I have been here since 4:30 and will continue to be here until 11.
Perhaps sushi.
Ha.
Got you again.
You fool.
You April Fool.
You shitfucking April Fool.
Ha.
*Yes, that is what you think it is, using a piece of shit as a phallus.**
**Don't get mad at me, he's the one who's doing it.
*** You can find the series of videos with Reznor, Peter Murphy and TV On The Radio doing Bauhaus, NIN and TVOTR songs on You Tube somewhere.
No comments:
Post a Comment