It’s that time of the year again. It’s time to break out your old shamrock-shaped glasses and your great-grandpa’s shillelagh, or as you may know it, the stick he used to hit you with if you didn’t bring him his “angry juice” quick enough.
First, a brief disclaimer. This post isn’t about basketball.
I’m willing to bet that you are not half as disappointed as I was when I found out “March Madness” didn’t refer to the perennial return of the Laughing Sickness brought about by the thawing of stagnant marsh waters in the spring.
Nothing beats watching Harrison Ford beat up Gary Oldman playing a fanatical Communist bent on returning to the glory days of Stalin’s Soviet Union. Nothing beats that. Unless of course, you watch the movie while wearing a dapper top hat, cummerbund and bow tie.
I offered him a guest drop-in spot at next Tuesday’s Performance Anxiety and it was to be his last set before he left Los Angeles for a little while. A few hours later, Josh and Angelo were driving and they were struck by a drunk driver. Josh is in the hospital and Angelo is no longer with us.
It’s a new year, which means… well, alright. Let’s admit it. It basically means nothing, except that now we have to remember to write the new year on your checks. Who am I kidding? Does anyone still use checks?
In case you missed it, here are my resolutions for the end of the world. It’s a little something to look forward to on your first day back to work. You can thank me by joining my army of desperate warriors.
So, I’m something like four or five days behind my Advent blogging. I’m not going to bother catching up.
Well, ‘tis the season. Nothing says Christmas like constant disappointment and a lingering sense that nothing, including yourself, will ever live up to your expectations, even though you’ve consistently and steadily lowered your expectations each year of your short life. Apparently, they are still too high for whatever scanty set of tools I’m you’re working with.
Look, I’ve got my fair share of issues, but I like to think that over the years, I’ve built up massive defenses of alternating layer of detached irony, arrogance and anger dealt with them. Like for instance, a conversation like this a few years ago would’ve stuck with me. It would’ve bounced around in my head, becoming louder and louder, like in an echo chamber. I would’ve overthought it, paced about it and talked about it a lot. Nowadays, I’d never do anything like that because I’m mature, confident and self-assured… right? RIGHT?!
So, because the three lordlings won’t play ball with him, Jesus straight-up ices the fools. The God of love and forgiveness leads three children to their death because they didn’t want to play with someone beneath their station.
I’d understand feeling empowered to express your beliefs if you grew up in a community that was openly hostile to them, but in Santa Monica (or Los Angeles) atheists haven’t ever been persecuted or constrained or otherwise oppressed. This city was founded on the principle of self-worship. We are a city on a hill, a shinning example of the cult of the ego. Even most believers are kind of nihilistic in this town, wearing God as a fashion accessory or tribal badge.
Like the inexorable march of these great conquerors, our tribute to them continues. Let us not squander any more of our precious mortal moments with trite prattle and delve straight to the matter that… well, matters.
People throw the word “conquer” around far too loosely nowadays. Any old accomplishment can just be flippantly referred to as “conquering.” People “conquer” obstacles, anxieties and massive plates of food. But what about those great conquerors of history who actually conquered people. Nay, civilizations!
When I said Pearl Harbor, all of you thought of the movie first, didn’t you? Oh, truly this is Caligula’s Rome! No, worse! Even then, as the Romans were wiping their chins after visiting the vomitoriums to go back to eating obscene amounts of food off the asses of their finest prostitutes, they were thinking of the defeat of Hannibal or the mighty triumvirate of Caesar who conquered Gaul.
Last week Thursday, the date was November 11, 2011. For those of you who weren’t paying attention, that’s 11/11/11 — something that happens only once every one hundred years. This was something that got quite a few people excited, because people’s lives are actually that boring.
Sometimes Voyager actually seems more like a parody of Star Trek than an actual continuation of the franchise. One of the most egregious examples of this happened when Voyager introduced the most terrifying Star Trek villain to date.
And, in the end, when whatever toxins I’ve imbibed in a desperate attempt to dull the steady sound of me disappointing myself have finally done me in, they will bury me under the floorboards, under the couch in the illegal addition to my dad’s house were I live, collecting bed sores and beer fat.
I live in a giant, sprawling city that was basically built in the fifties when they were practically giving away free cars and houses to everyone who fought in the war and their children. I have a bike and bus pass to navigate this post-suburban behemoth with its concrete tentacles that snake for miles in every direction. Getting from point A to point B can be an Odysseian feat… Bet you didn’t know Los Angeles has cyclops. He lives in Watts. He’s a cool guy, once you get to know him.
Tomorrow, it is back to the factory floor for this industrious, Christian family. Back to school for the children? Nonsense! What schooling do seven-year-olds need? With their sturdy, youthful backs, those delightful scamps will go far! Perhaps, one day, they will be strong enough to haul coal from the bounty’ous Earth or even the wond’rous new mineral Polonium discovered by the Pollack scientistress, Mrs. Pierre Curie.
I’ve been filling all of my free time recently with watching Star Trek. I’ve burned through all of the watchable Enterprise and now, I’m working on The Next Generation. For most normal people 178 hours of Star Trek would probably take them a few months to get through, but I have the viewing habits of a smack junkie, so I’ve watched a chunk of the first and second seasons already, though I’ve only been at it for about five days.
It’s hard not to get nostalgic thinking about the games we played as children. They are a welcome juxtaposition to the complications, and frequent public humiliations, of adult life. Then, as now, all we really needed to be happy was a clunky controller in our hands and a few bits of data on the screen in front of us. Questions of logic were irrelevant. Why is the giant lizard dude kidnapping a princess? And why, for that matter, is a fat, hairy plumber trying to rescue her? Isn’t she totally out of his league? No matter. We simply accepted the terms and set to work.
I submitted my article on the SUPER iam8bit art show last night around midnight. It will be up soon. Maybe tomorrow or maybe the day after. These things take time, you see. It’s not like you can just be put stuff up in a public forum instantly. We don’t have that kind of technology!
The biggest thing I’m doing this week is covering the I am 8 bit art show for none other than the premier adult cartoon website, adultswim.com. I don’t usually say positive things, but I’m enjoying this. Last night was the first night and, regardless of what you think about the theme of the art show, there was a lot of well-crafted works of art on display. And I got to talk to a number of rather talented and creative people.