My time at work today was taxing, it was vexing, and most of all, it was slower than a stream of molasses going uphill. Not that the day was bad, things just seemed to crawl along at a snail's pace.
Things that kept my sanity intact while working today:
1) Roxy Music and The B-52s occasionally surfacing on our Magical Randomizing Disc Player. Few things are as joyous as being able to listen to "Virginia Plain" and "Love Shack" at work. Alas, the B-52s disc doesn't have "Rock Lobster" on it, so I am denied ascension to music geek nirvana.
2) Getting to contemplate the continuing (and utterly baffling) saga of U.H. (aka Useless Hippie). Dude still keeps coming in, still keeps watching after his unattended bike outside like a combat sniper focusing on his target. My theory is that the day he actually saunters over to the counter and buys something is the day that California will finally fall into the sea, and we Phoenicians shall rejoice surfing and sailing in our newly formed Arizona Bay (as prophesied to us by the Holy Prophet Bill Hicks).
3) Freaky-deaky wackjobs coming in to sell their shit. Never stops being an endless source of amusement. Case in point: an old man trying to sell a collection of microwave cookbooks (made in 1980), a messload of scarred and thrashed vinyl records, and he even tried talking me into buying a phone. Homeboy Creaky-Bones couldn't believe it when I offered him next to nothing for his stuff. Apparently, he fails to grasp that in a capitalist society, one does not traditionally PAY for garbage (unless said garbage is produced by Michael Bay). Then there is the usual assortment of garage sale leftovers, twitchy tweakers, and the Harlequin queens (ladies who sell us boxes full of useless, so so useless old Harlequin romance novels).
4) I shouldn't rag on Harlequin books too much. As much as I despise them for being the worst kind of pandering trash, they are an endless source of amusement. Whenever I see one on the buy counter, I always make a point of reading the plot synopsis on the back of the book, which always proves to be a source of instant comedy. The best part of Harlequin books are the absolutely ridiculious names of the characters. Some of my favorites include such meticulously crafted names like Jack Blade, Caitlin St. James, Joe Durango, Bandera Valdez, Richard Noir, Amanda Avonberry... I wish I was making these names up, but sadly they are genuine Harlequin creations. Joe Durango? Jesus fuck. Side note: Harlequin books really creep me out, especially the "baby" books (which look to be like standard romance/softcore porn trash, with the exception that the brooding macho-man and professional-and-tough-but-always-submissive lady get all sweaty because a baby brings them together). It isn't as creepy as the bizarre literary subgenre of cats that solve crimes. For those not in the book business reading this: seriously, I'm not making this up. Its one thing for a writer like Rita Mae Brown (who gives her cat Sneaky Pie a co-author credit; admittedly, Sneaky Pie is a great name for a cat) to do this kind of thing, but the fact that at least six other writers have come to my attention dabble in the same sort of thing. Why the hell does this have an audience? Cats Sherlocking left and right. I just don't see the appeal. In a genre like this, would that make Cujo Professor Moriarty?
Aside from that, the last day was an uneventful one. The weather is slowly but surely getting better. Its not so hot out now that walking outside is unpleasant; I've started doing jaunts here and there, playing Pavement and TV On The Radio's "Return To Cookie Mountain" to give my ears some sound candy while I plant my big feet all over the place.
Last thing of relatively minor (as in no) importance: watched SLC Punk a couple of hours ago. Saw it a few years ago on IFC and I really dug it at the time. So when I saw it on sale last week at Borders, I thought why the hell not? After watching it, I can say two things: I don't regret purchasing the DVD, and it isn't quite as good as I remember it. The great: the soundtrack, the fact that the main characters are D&D playing poseurs who spend the entire film raving against poseurs, and a lot of great supporting characters. Characters like Mark, Mike, John the Mod, Trish, and Jennifer and her goth-philosopher brother really make the movie. My beef with SLC lies in two places: first off, the two acid trip sequences are really fucking annoying. While the first one is the logical conclusion of a funny anecdote (Sean and his pants full of acid), the second adds nothing to the story and is just pretentious, doomy, wanky drivel. It was embarassing to watch, frankly. And Matthew Lilliard really overacts in this film. Yeah, he overacts in most of his films and pretty much plays the same character over and over again, but I've seen him do subtler work in the past. There are some scenes here where he almost hits Shatnerian levels of scene-chewing. Luckily, the supporting cast are competent enough and interesting enough to neutralize his going over the top style. I do disagree with the usual critique levelled against this film: that it reduces the punk scene into a violent cliche, that it makes anarchism out to be an insipid philosophy, that the whole thing is a call to selling out. The way I see it, the silly punk scene in SLC and Steve-O's 7th grade understanding of anarchy fits the story perfectly. Its destructive and anti-intellectual and goofy because the people in the scene have nothing else to do, and don't know how to go about doing anything else. Sure, a lot of Steve-O's monologues and epiphanies are trite, but that's the point of the story: in spite of all his posturing, Steve-O is just as trite as everyone else. A fun movie, funny in parts, and I just can't talk too much trash about a film that has Minor Threat, Roxy Music, and The Specials all on the same soundtrack.
On that note, readers:
I'm out like a light. I'm about to count more sheep than a sheepfucker organizing an orgy.
Things that kept my sanity intact while working today:
1) Roxy Music and The B-52s occasionally surfacing on our Magical Randomizing Disc Player. Few things are as joyous as being able to listen to "Virginia Plain" and "Love Shack" at work. Alas, the B-52s disc doesn't have "Rock Lobster" on it, so I am denied ascension to music geek nirvana.
2) Getting to contemplate the continuing (and utterly baffling) saga of U.H. (aka Useless Hippie). Dude still keeps coming in, still keeps watching after his unattended bike outside like a combat sniper focusing on his target. My theory is that the day he actually saunters over to the counter and buys something is the day that California will finally fall into the sea, and we Phoenicians shall rejoice surfing and sailing in our newly formed Arizona Bay (as prophesied to us by the Holy Prophet Bill Hicks).
3) Freaky-deaky wackjobs coming in to sell their shit. Never stops being an endless source of amusement. Case in point: an old man trying to sell a collection of microwave cookbooks (made in 1980), a messload of scarred and thrashed vinyl records, and he even tried talking me into buying a phone. Homeboy Creaky-Bones couldn't believe it when I offered him next to nothing for his stuff. Apparently, he fails to grasp that in a capitalist society, one does not traditionally PAY for garbage (unless said garbage is produced by Michael Bay). Then there is the usual assortment of garage sale leftovers, twitchy tweakers, and the Harlequin queens (ladies who sell us boxes full of useless, so so useless old Harlequin romance novels).
4) I shouldn't rag on Harlequin books too much. As much as I despise them for being the worst kind of pandering trash, they are an endless source of amusement. Whenever I see one on the buy counter, I always make a point of reading the plot synopsis on the back of the book, which always proves to be a source of instant comedy. The best part of Harlequin books are the absolutely ridiculious names of the characters. Some of my favorites include such meticulously crafted names like Jack Blade, Caitlin St. James, Joe Durango, Bandera Valdez, Richard Noir, Amanda Avonberry... I wish I was making these names up, but sadly they are genuine Harlequin creations. Joe Durango? Jesus fuck. Side note: Harlequin books really creep me out, especially the "baby" books (which look to be like standard romance/softcore porn trash, with the exception that the brooding macho-man and professional-and-tough-but-always-submissive lady get all sweaty because a baby brings them together). It isn't as creepy as the bizarre literary subgenre of cats that solve crimes. For those not in the book business reading this: seriously, I'm not making this up. Its one thing for a writer like Rita Mae Brown (who gives her cat Sneaky Pie a co-author credit; admittedly, Sneaky Pie is a great name for a cat) to do this kind of thing, but the fact that at least six other writers have come to my attention dabble in the same sort of thing. Why the hell does this have an audience? Cats Sherlocking left and right. I just don't see the appeal. In a genre like this, would that make Cujo Professor Moriarty?
Aside from that, the last day was an uneventful one. The weather is slowly but surely getting better. Its not so hot out now that walking outside is unpleasant; I've started doing jaunts here and there, playing Pavement and TV On The Radio's "Return To Cookie Mountain" to give my ears some sound candy while I plant my big feet all over the place.
Last thing of relatively minor (as in no) importance: watched SLC Punk a couple of hours ago. Saw it a few years ago on IFC and I really dug it at the time. So when I saw it on sale last week at Borders, I thought why the hell not? After watching it, I can say two things: I don't regret purchasing the DVD, and it isn't quite as good as I remember it. The great: the soundtrack, the fact that the main characters are D&D playing poseurs who spend the entire film raving against poseurs, and a lot of great supporting characters. Characters like Mark, Mike, John the Mod, Trish, and Jennifer and her goth-philosopher brother really make the movie. My beef with SLC lies in two places: first off, the two acid trip sequences are really fucking annoying. While the first one is the logical conclusion of a funny anecdote (Sean and his pants full of acid), the second adds nothing to the story and is just pretentious, doomy, wanky drivel. It was embarassing to watch, frankly. And Matthew Lilliard really overacts in this film. Yeah, he overacts in most of his films and pretty much plays the same character over and over again, but I've seen him do subtler work in the past. There are some scenes here where he almost hits Shatnerian levels of scene-chewing. Luckily, the supporting cast are competent enough and interesting enough to neutralize his going over the top style. I do disagree with the usual critique levelled against this film: that it reduces the punk scene into a violent cliche, that it makes anarchism out to be an insipid philosophy, that the whole thing is a call to selling out. The way I see it, the silly punk scene in SLC and Steve-O's 7th grade understanding of anarchy fits the story perfectly. Its destructive and anti-intellectual and goofy because the people in the scene have nothing else to do, and don't know how to go about doing anything else. Sure, a lot of Steve-O's monologues and epiphanies are trite, but that's the point of the story: in spite of all his posturing, Steve-O is just as trite as everyone else. A fun movie, funny in parts, and I just can't talk too much trash about a film that has Minor Threat, Roxy Music, and The Specials all on the same soundtrack.
On that note, readers:
I'm out like a light. I'm about to count more sheep than a sheepfucker organizing an orgy.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
Cat people terrify me.
Roxy Music is a band I've heard very little of but have always intended to hear more of.
2.) You've actually swayed me the other way. Now that I've considered the idea of "Mr. Whisker's Complaint", I have to support the cat people until that novel is written. I must must must read it.
3.) Thanks for the suggestions. I'm a relatively big Eno fan, (which is how I got interested in Roxy to begin with) so I'll follow your advice and try the early stuff first.
So are you primarily a punk/new wave fan now? Or was the SLC punk thing misleading?