Love and Relationships , , , , 3 Comments

Klosterman on Cusack

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Readability Index: Highly readable (thanks to most of it being written by someone else)

I don’t know how much is legal to quote from a book, so if I’m doing something illegal let me know. Shit I’m not making any money of this so…should be fine. As long as there’s no money involved people don’t usually care.

But I read a blog post about Soul Mates last night on The Sensitive Storm and it made me think of this essay from Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.

Here is a key passage. It’s worth reading the whole book, for sure. I read the whole thing on a bus to NYC. I didn’t plan on it, but couldn’t stop myself.

“It appears that countless women born between the years of 1965 and 1978 are in love with John Cusack. I cannot fathom how he isn’t the number-one box-office star in America, because every straight girl I know would sell her soul to share a milkshake with that motherfucker. For upwardly mobile women in their twenties and thirties, John Cusack is the neo-Elvis. But here’s what none of these upwardly mobile women seem to realize: They don’t love John Cusack. They love Lloyd Dobler. When they see Mr. Cusack, they are still seeing the optimistic, charmingly loquacious teenager he played in Say Anything, a movie that came out more than a decade ago.”

…

“And these upwardly mobile women are not alone. We all convince ourselves of things like this–not necessarily about Say Anything, but about any fictionalized portrayals of romance that happen to hit us in the right place, at the right time. This is why I will never be completely satisfied by a woman, and this is why the kind of woman I tend to find attractive will never be satisfied by me. We will both measure our relationship against the prospect of fake love.”

Yeah that’s some true shit. I had to restrain myself from quoting the whole essay as it’s pretty bad ass the whole way through.

Ah but I can’t leave this out. He starts talking about Coldplay and how they, like Cusack’s movies, promote ‘fake love’:

“What matters is that Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs, and that’s all this woman heard. “For you I bleed myself dry,” sang their blockhead vocalist, brilliantly informing us that the stars in the sky are, in fact, yellow. How am I going to compete with that shit?”

 

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Rules One and Two

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Readability Index: Readable

1. While writing a post I will not look anything up online. I either have to remember a reference or look it up in a book if I’m really desperate.

2. I will denote which posts are meant to be read as a courtesy to any interested readers. How I’m going to do this…I was trying to do it with categories but I just looked at my blog and the categories aren’t super obvious, so some hapless bastard could end up five minutes in to some meaningless diatribe and never see that it wasn’t meant to be read by the unprepared. So I’ll have to put it in the title. I don’t want to fuck with the title though, they look so cool and I don’t want to crowd them up. Ok the first line of each post will estimate readability. I’d like to have a system, like green means read, orange means shit I don’t know, and red means only if you have thirty minutes to kill. But of course then you’d have to know the system to benefit and the real benefit is aimed toward the uninitiated. I really wanted to use the word uninitiated somewhere in this post. Nailed it.

Morning Warm-Ups, Not Fit for Public Consumption , , , , , Leave a comment

Bastards Downstairs

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God damn I can’t tell if these mother fuckers downstairs are purposely trying to get me out of bed or what. They rolled in here at 8 AM. It’s funny too because he’s the landlord, and he kicked the last people out for being too loud, and I thought they were too loud, too, but when he’s down there he’s louder than all of them! Jesus God.

But I had some interesting things to say, I thought of them all last night in bed and now I can’t remember shit. I can’t remember anything.

It’s become weird, because some people actually read my blog yesterday and I never expected that to happen, and now I’m worried that if I publish some stupid shit about people downstairs it won’t be any good. The other stuff wasn’t very good either, shit, I just threw stuff out there, but now I’m feeling the pressure. Maybe it’s just the hangover.

Last night I went out for a beer with my boss after work. That beer was banging! Bangin like a storm door. Drop dead awesome as shit. Hell yeah. This morning I ate some Puffins. This is the first time I consciously put the “get the blood flowing” theory to work on the old hangover. Usually I would try to sleep it off but I never got that that didn’t even work at all. WordPress wants me to use the tag “storm door” on this post. Fuck it, I might as well. Maybe I’ll get some salesmen.

Met this wine salesman the other day and shit went all awry. I couldn’t keep up with the bastard. I had no idea what was going on, I think he stole some money with the old Kansas City Shuffle. That right there is a hot mess. Kansas City Shuffle. I mean that’s from Lucky Number Slevin and reminds me about what djmatticus was writing about, movie quotes that you can apply to real life. I looked up movie quotes yesterday and saw something I figured was profound before I saw it there but as soon as I saw it there I completely discredited it. Oh shit this Zenmata thing is crazy. I don’t even know what it is. But it’s telling me that there really is a Kansas City Shuffle.

Fuck it might as well throw it on there.

I was thinking I would save this as a draft and then figure out how to separate it into a few more meaningful posts and maybe one rambling bullshit one, but fuck it. I think one thing I’m trying to get from this blog thing is my thought process on paper with dates and shit like that, so I’m just going to publish everything and edit after that.

Some posts I’d like to write before work today:

Rules of the blog, of which I have thought of one

Shout out post, to the cool people I connected with yesterday. Fucking awesome that people can just all the sudden have read what you’re writing and respond to it. I never knew it was possible. I’m straight out of the stone age with this shit.

Something about religious debate, I had a thought yesterday

Some Chuck Klosterman type shit about soul mates

Some Blues People type shit

Some shit about how it’s freezing up in this bitch! Better stand up and walk around.

On using a timer

On bartending

On drinking redeyes

Hoo shit I can’t be posting all that! I’d better just make it one post so I don’t blow away my new followers with all kinds of shit inundating the mailbox. I just wanted to use the word inundating there I kind of jammed it in. Dang Chuck Klosterman’s got this shit on lockdown. He has like a thousand essays just chilling on his website.

Ah fuck it. I’m not Chuck Klosterman that’s for damn sure. I got to do me! And me is posting a bunch of fucking posts all over the damn place like a crazy person and not worrying about the consequences. Fuck the consequences. Came in here with nothing I’ll leave with nothing. Try to act like this shit is going viral out this motherfucker. What is happening.

One thing I don’t like is that this time is in like California time or some shit. Need some EST around here.

Well, fuck it, I’ve done 728 words now. Looking at the word count means it’s time to stop writing, means your brains warmed up.

Message for myself and anyone who read this far – I promise to label all the posts that are worth reading. That’s kind of a rule right there.

But fuck it, I might as well get these fingers started, get them in motion, get the mother fucking timer started. Figure some shit out. Ten minutes to ten out here on the East coast.

Oh and I wanted to write about the god damn super bowl. Never saw that shit coming I’ll tell you what.

But yeah got to roll to work around two so that gives me about four hours of bullshitting. No actually it doesn’t because I got to do some cleaning.

My girlfriend and I are hosting our first AirBnB guest on Saturday night so got to get the room cleaned and all that.

Ah shit I got my paycheck last night and didn’t even look at it yet. Yet I had time to fuck around and comment on some posts and eat Broccoli Soup that my girl made but I thought it was cucumber so I ate it cold. I knew some shit was wrong. I just couldn’t place it.

Oh shit I got paid big time! Not that I can keep any of it of course, got to pay the mother fucking piper and his seventeen brothers that’s for sure. But good to see that anyway. Means I’ll be out of the whole in six years or so. Ah but what was I going to say…I don’t even know. Shit seems to be going alright.

Man, I started looking at these links to see what’s up…they’re pretty damn useful. I just learned about Bennie Moten and the real Kansas City Shuffle. I just used that shit from Lucky Number Slevin never once knowing what the hell it was. Turns out that shit is mad interesting. And it’s funny too because I’m reading this book, Blues People, by LeRoi Jones and he talks about Bennie Moten, who apparently wrote the song “Kansas City Shuffle.” Man shit just gets connected everywhere you go.

Ha, these links want me to link the phrase “fuck it” to Amazon where you can buy Eamon’s single of the same name.

Has a Funny Part at the End About Smallpox Blankets, Random Bullshit , , , , 3 Comments

Forgetting to Eat

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Ah shit. Everything looks cool in blog form. Fuck it I’m just going to type on here all the time. Good God what time is it. I am feeling weird. I have been sitting for over three hours. Shit. I never do that. I need some coffee. I’ve had to piss for most of those three hours I think, and I turned the god damn heat on for no reason. I thought I was going to go into the office where it’s usually cold but when you turn on the heat it feels great but anyway I’m just sitting here at the dining room table.

Hoo dang. Going to go make some cocktails. Well, another morning of not feeling accomplished. Just what the fuck do I have to do to feel good about shit. Idleness is the ultimate sin. Or is it just the garden of sin. Idleness is the fertile soil in which sin is rooted. Ah fuck me I have to wash the dishes before I go, too. Christ.

When’s the next bus coming? What’s important in life? Well, obviously nothing at all, since if there’s any other civilization in the universe that knows how to travel from galaxy to galaxy they’ll show up here by tomorrow afternoon and use us all for energy so that they can…just keep doing that to someone else. And they’ll all be like, ah shit, here we go again destroying another planet. Fuck this shit. And we have to wash the dishes before we get there.

And if there aren’t any other civilizations trying to do that, well all of our children’s children’s children will just be consumed by the sun anyway. Or they’ll escape and become a civilization that goes around looking for other civilizations so they can give them smallpox blankets.

I’ve got recommended links now and they are three: shit, God, and Christ, in that order. Well…shit.

PS: WordPress also now it recommends ‘Television” as a tag. Don’t understand that at all.

Not Worth Reading All the Way Through, Random Bullshit , , , 5 Comments

Free Morning

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What does it mean when you have a free morning? Well for me it means that I don’t go to work until night time. Around two PM or so. I think I don’t write before then because I feel like I should do something productive, and that doesn’t feel productive, and so then I usually give up on doing something productive and don’t write either…I usually clean something and then watch porn jerk off and watch a movie. So in the end I didn’t do anything productive anyway. Nothing to distinguish this day from the myriad days before it. Usually these kinds of days I only feel good when I’m eating. I don’t feel good then either.

“The universal demand for happiness and the widespread unhappiness in our society (and they are but two sides of the same coin) are among the most persuasive signs that we have begun to live in a labor society which lacks enough laboring to keep it contented. For only the animal labors, and neither the craftsman nor the man of action, has ever demanded to be ‘happy’ or thought that mortal man could be happy.”

Hannah Arendt said that. She was apparently a German philosopher or politician or both. I don’t know, shit I just saw the quote somewhere and it made sense to me at the time.

DH Lawrence said, “Work is the best, and a certain numbness, a merciful numbness.” I think that’s quoted right. Some other French guy said something about work being the only way to distract yourself from the fact that you are going to die, or you are dying, or something like that.

Yeah shit I feel that shit like a motherfucker. God damn. If I’m not at work I’m wondering what the fuck I am doing. And I don’t sit around wanting to go to work either. I feel like Milo in The Phantom Tollbooth. When I’m at school I want to be at home and when I’m at home I want to be at school.

Hoo shit. I think I’ll change this theme. I think it’s a wedding theme right now.

The funny thing about life is that last week I slept until twelve every day so to be up right now well shit I’m already at it. Fuck it. I think I just need some chemicals, and nothing crazy either, just a lot of caffeine or a lot of alcohol and I’m all good, wait for death in a peaceable way.

Damn but it’s cold up in this mother fucker and yesterday well…it’s not so much cold but my fingers are cold and I don’t know how to cure that and it’s the most annoying thing.

But I was thinking we are so removed from inconvenience in our modern world. Cold outside? Fuck it, come inside. We all got houses. Hungry? Fuck it, eat. Cut yourself shaving? Son of a bitch. If you were shivering in the cold trying to hunt a wallaby and that shit came after you in a horde of em like they were going to wash over you like a flood when the levee broke well you wouldn’t be shaving anyway.

Fuck it.

Not Worth Reading All the Way Through, Random Bullshit , , , , , Leave a comment

Rum and the Philippines

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This picture shows some graffiti in Brooklyn, New York

I like this wall


Shit. Maybe this has nothing to do with rum or the Philippines. But anyway fuck it. I’m going all out on this one and calling up Rumpelstiltskin and the gang. That’s what I told myself an hour ago, but I’m still here, just me, drinking this beer and scratching my eye lids.

About four hours ago I had a redeye, or a shot-in-the-dark, or a brewski, a coffee with espresso in it however you’d like to say it. Won’t be able to sleep for a while and that’s how I like it. I’ve listened to the song Anyone’s Ghost by The National 9 times in a row since I sat down a minute ago. Or an hour ago. No an hour ago I danced around the kitchen and did the dishes. Fuck it.

Yeah so I was reading about rum and the Philippines. This one rum called Don Papa named after a hero of the Philippines. Someone who apparently helped liberate the island of Negros from Spanish rule. Now is it Negros the island…or is there an island called Negros Occidental…or is that a town? I don’t know. Shit I could find out but I’ll save it for later. Something I don’t know.

God damn I am in shape. How did I get this way? I don’t know. For dinner I ate a pound and a half of elbow macaroni. Did I say dinner because I meant I ate that around dinner time. Then later I ate leftover Chinese food, enough that it could be considered dinner, too. Fuck it.

Shit, Rumpelstiltskin is not spelled Rumplestiltskin. Rumple is a word, though. My brain feels rumply right now. Hoo shit it looks like Rumply is a word, too.

Fuck it.

Anyway I’m thinking about going to the Philippines. And they drink a lot of rum there. Apparently, Tom Brown and I have read the same book. He’s sticking loggerheads into rum and sugar concoctions and calling it flip, and well he should since I have just read a book that talked about doing just that and calling it flip back in the days when the states were just colonies. That book was …And a Bottle of Rum. Which apparently was one of the lines of the old school version of a Katy Perry song.

But shit, what’s the point? To any of it or all of it. Fuck it, I don’t know. I really don’t. The whole thing smells funny in a metaphorical way. I wish I knew what a metaphor really was, but it’s hard to pin those fuckers down.

I think I’ll go around and comment on some people’s blog posts.

Fuck it.