Words about Words

After discovering that movies are $6 at my local theater if the showing time is before noon, I’ve seen a shitload of movies in the last week. Out of Ponyo, Extract, 500 Days of Summer and Inglourious Basterds, I found the latter the most entertaining for a number of reasons, the most important of which being the quality of the dialogue.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed Ponyo: the animation was spectacular and the story was cute, but the dialogue felt weak. My limited experience with Japanese (one year in high school) leads me to believe that filming was faced with a-less-than-tip-top translation. But I have no information to confirm my suspicions, just a general impression caused by some choppy dialogue. There were parts where Soske—the main character no less—would say something that felt like he, in two sentences, had just addressed two different thoughts. Not in a list or anything, it just sounded like he couldn’t express his ideas effectively. I guess I’m also a little bitter because it’s a love story about eight year-olds and I was the only person there who wasn’t a kid or didn’t have a kid. (Definitely felt like a pedophile for watching that movie.)

On the other hand, when I saw Extract, I didn’t leave hiding my face, I left just feeling a little let down. I loved Office Space and the first ten minutes of Idiocracy, so I guess I went in with really high hopes for this movie. I also think I might be in a one-sided relationship with Kristen Wiig, but that’s neither here nor there. I hope this doesn’t spoil too much for you, but the movie starts the same way it ends. We have a character who owns an extract plant and at the end of the movie we have a character who has gone through a whole bunch of unfortunate events but has decided to continue owning an extract plant. Sure, he pays a gigolo to have sex with his wife, one of his employees loses a testicle to the great joy of just about everyone in the audience (Nut jokes! Extract! Huzzah!), but at the end of the day, he emerges from this movie as the same man from the beginning. For me, that outweighed great lines like, “Why is it that women always say they want a smart, funny man then they just go and laugh at all the things the dumb, attractive ones say?”

And then there was 500 Days of Summer, where the only thing that gave me any hope was the last two or three minutes. Seeing as I spent most of high school living the same way the main character did, it made me more than a little uncomfortable. I’m not really a fan of The Graduate or anything, but I definitely shared a large amount of his views on romance (there is only one woman for me) and treated women in a similar manner. I…just wanted to yell at him, “Don’t be a fucking idiot” the entire time. Then I would remember that everyone else in the theater also payed $6 to enjoy this movie so I didn’t want to ruin their viewing experience. Damn near every decision he made, I was came close to mumbling, “Listen to her, you asshole. LISTEN to her. She said she didn’t want anything serious. If she wants to, she’ll make it serious.” When he went on the blind date after Summer had broken up with him, all I could think was, “Dude, shut the fuck up. It’s entirely your fault. This girl doesn’t care about Summer. Shut the fuck up. Now she hates you. Shut the fuck up. Shut the fuck up.” The only thing that kept me from walking out was the general impression that the dialogue could still be solid beyond this point and that this kid could learn from his mistakes. Luckily, the end seems to imply that there is hope for douchebags like us.

Then, of course, none of these movies had shit on Inglourious Basterds. Sure, the preview gave everyone (myself included) the impression this movie would follow the Basterds around France as they beat the shit out of Nazis. Yet, I was pleasantly surprised to find a healthy mixture of All about Eve and Reservoir Dogs. I found this to be an incredibly oral imagining of vengeance that, in all 5 chapters, began with people talking in an increasingly tense environment leading to a climax of absurd amounts of violence. (Case in Point: “Chapter 4: Operation Kino.” Don’t even get me started on how fucking awesome that chapter is or how amazing Christopher Waltz is in this entire movie. 4 languages? Get the fuck out. Seriously. Get the fuck out.) It was like five intertwined vignettes that, in telling one story, all mirrored the importance of dialogue and violence to the movies while being about the movies. Thus, I see it as a hyper-violent All about Eve that the kids can love too, because Hitler’s face gets shot the fuck up, son! I really do mean that as a compliment: All about Eve just might be the best movie I’ve ever seen and all it is is dialogue about movies.

You should find yourself a nice theater, too. It’s totally worth it, I promise.

Emasculated

Sigh. Well, if you know me (highly unlikely), you probably know there’s a tiny little place in my heart reserved for chick flicks.

My Netflix account granted me the power to watch When Harry Met Sally on DVD and to promptly follow it with an internet rendition of Made of Honor. I feel like I’m taking crazy pills, but Made of Honor feels like it’s When Harry Met Sally + ADHD + Scotland.

I think Made of Honor just might be When Harry Met Sally written for our generation. Two smart people meet in college. (Pardon the massive digression, but one of the smartest kids I’ve met got accepted to U. of Chicago and didn’t go, while Cornell is an Ivy League school so you kind of have to assume that everyone who goes there is brilliant. Yet, I don’t remember anyone from my high school’s graduating class going there. I remember kids going to Yale, Annapolis, Harvard, Grinnell and Rice. And somehow, the smartest kids I knew {personally} went to Denison, Case Western and–as mentioned–not U. of Chicago.) They tolerate (hate?) each other and then all the important stuff happens once we get to the ten-year reunion of their meeting. They kiss. They realize they love one another. They don’t talk about it. They face the facts: best friendship between a man and a woman just might mean they should spend the rest of their lives together.

The only exceptions might be that: 1) When Harry Met Sally is kind of awesome, 2) Billy Crystal’s “I love you because…” speech is far better than…well…I guess I’ll get back to you because it might be better than any other “I love you” speech I’ve heard.

Fucking Die!!!!1!

I think I have a theory that just might explain why everything is undead right now.

Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. True Blood is a critical success. Twilight has teenage girls fawning over men way too old for them. Cirque du Freak: The Vampire’s Assistant has previews out before quality movies like District 9 (where everyone except some of the peripheral characters and the three main characters die–no spoiler alert necessary unless you don’t understand basic story structure). You know it’s a dying trend when The CW hops on the train too; they’ll be releasing The Vampire Diaries next month.

And if you think it stops with vampires, you are horrendously mistaken. The main antagonist in the Harry Potter movies will apparently take eight movies (and already took seven books) to die. The preview for Bruce Willis’ upcoming Surrogates seems to imply that technology will one day enable us to live our lives from our couch and not die. Well, that seems to be the case until they introduce the plot and someone starts killing surrogates and, oddly, the surrogates’ controllers start dying too. The preview for Sorority Row seems to imply that the girl who gets killed comes back to kill her friends for letting her get killed. But then, it’s a horror movie–which I hate–and all my basic horror movie structure training leads me believe that the killer is the guy who was tricked into killing her or the girl’s mother. But I digress. Pandorum looks like it’s about zombies in space. Terminator: Salvation was about a dude who thought he was a dude but was really a robot. Everyone went to see Funny People because they wanted to see Adam Sandler die–then he didn’t.

There are some more prerequisites to get out of the way before we get to the theory itself. People have always loved escapism. I’ve always loved escapism. Without it, Hollywood probably wouldn’t exist. Theaters couldn’t get away with charging $13 a ticket and people wouldn’t just download them if they didn’t provide hours of entertainment. However, escapism has skyrocketed recently. Everyone remembers hearing that almost a year ago video game purchases and movie ticket sales skyrocketed. It’s a recession and it makes perfect sense that everyone would start paying to get away from the usual news of assorted cardinal sins PLUS heightened job insecurity. Yet here’s the clincher–we want not only the escapism but to imagine escaping ourselves.

In the preview for Cirque du [Piece of Shit], the protagonist’s adventure begins when he starts yelling about how bored he is. He then goes to a circus where he decides that his life will be fun if he becomes undead (yet, for some reason, the villains want to kill him. He’s fucking undead). So life for this kid can only be fun if he’s immortal. And I think that’s what we all want, too.

It’s fun to imagine we’re invulnerable. That’s why I’ve always loved First-Person Shooter video games and yet always been terrified of actual guns. Guns kill people but when my avatar gets killed in Fall Out 3 I just reload. Infinitely enjoyable without the fear of death. Also, Fall Out 3 has become uncomfortably like the map in my head. The only parts of the map that I’m comfortable going to are areas where I’ve already been. The new places require extensive research and sometimes scouting missions–because I am afraid of dying. That may be an exaggeration; what I mean is, the ultimate fear when I travel is death, but all the intermediate fears–is this the right stop (how do I get home), is this the right day (is it light out, i.e, safe to travel), will I catch the transfer (are there feral ghouls in this subway), am I going to get to eat some chocolate (radroach meat) to calm my nerves (bring my AP back up), etc–are just tiny little fragments that remind me that I’m alive.

The goal, apparently, with these movies is to remind you that you’re alive without any of the fear of death. You can witness their undead-ness and enjoy your life. I mean, you probably don’t want to live vicariously through He-who-must-not-be-named but, when it is the villain who can’t die, it makes it exciting as well because you know that he will, ultimately die. Archetypes have trained you to believe that good will triumph and that the undead will go back to what they are supposed to be: FUCKING DEAD.

However, if you are taking joy living vicariously through the undead protagonist then, although I share your enthusiasm, we should probably stop this. We both know we’re not immortal and that we will never be undead. Perhaps the only way to be undead is to write something that people read even after you’re dead. In the mean time, once we get out of the theater, let’s continue the business of life–the recession will go away and, like my grandma says, “things’ll fall into place.” Also, I kind of just want vampire movies to go away–they’re not all that cool.

(Hey grand kids! I’m FUCKING DEAD. Hahaha.)

New Favorite Christmas Movie

Trading Places.

Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy? Done. Jamie Lee Curtis’ boobies unnecessarily shown half of the scenes she’s in? Yes, please. Al Franken high? Sold. Jim Belushi as a monkey? Acceptable. Paul Gleeson as a huge dick? Typcasting but necessary typecasting.

All told…fantastic.

Nomination

Roger Moore for Worst Acting Post-Cutaway-From-Stunt-Double in 1983’s Octopussy.
Key Scenes: Pretty much from the car chase scene until Bond jumps off the train. I mean, honestly, Roger Moore had more wrinkles than Maggie Smith in all of the Harry Potter movies combined. Like he’s jumping from train car to train car…more like…jumping from tanning bed to beach resort. OooooooohhhhhhH!!!!!! Got ‘ems!!!!!

Melanoma is serious.

Asshole.

Good, Evil, Brain Cells and Mufasa

A couple of days ago I went out and bought the Book of Allusions-or, as most people know it, The Bible. I’m still not converting, I just figured it was time I finally started catching and understanding the allusions that seem to run abound (N.B. Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner; “Cattle & The Creeping Things” by The Hold Steady; The Quick and the Dead; Revelations by Audioslave, etc.). In fact, I’m not even out of Genesis yet and I’ve already found something that makes me all the more convinced that I should remain a Buddhist.

I actually had to call my college roommate to make sure I bought the right Bible-I wanted the most scholarly copy available-so I own a copy called the NRSV. Hopefully that explains why the quote below doesn’t quite match up with what the snake says in your copy of the PQRST.

Right before Eve commits the Original Sin, the snake says, “You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” Thus, according to both your version of LMNOP and my version of the NRSV, the greatest mistake humans ever made in the past five thousand years was finally deciding to understand the difference between good and evil. Also, we made a terrible mistake deciding to become more like God, but that straight up doesn’t make any sense because we’ve become less God-like since then. Or so you think-follow me on this one.

Right after the Original Sin is made, Adam, Eve and their descendants live for fewer and fewer years with each generation. That is, as time goes on, instead of “coming to know their wives” around age 145, all the kids start making kids at an earlier age. Life expectancy decreased as time went on, but if we look at what has been happening in the past hundred years or so, there has been a sharp increase in life expectancies (nearly) worldwide. This would suggest, within the definitions provided by your copy of the ABCDE, that the world we live in-contrary to what your television pastor says-is actually the most Godly world that has existed in quite some time; perhaps the Godliest since the cavemen.

If this is indeed the Godliest time to be alive, then how do good and evil fit into that world? I feel like that knowledge has become pretty much essential to our existence and to our progress. What’s bad? Cancer. Aids. Syphilis. Polio. Advice. Freedomland. Terrorism. What’s good? A healthy diet. Clean (and Running) Water. Books. Advice. Music. Laughter. Amoxicillin. The Departed. Patriotism. Even with in my definitions of good and evil, there’s a gray area that continues to define life. One person’s patriotism may be another person’s terrorism but at the end of the day, we have the ability to make conscious decisions as to who we want to be.

I will admit, although we seem to be making some kind of progress, I don’t ever want to become immortal and I never want to go to heaven. If heaven is some kind of huge playground where there’s no good or evil (and thus, no decisions), how am I supposed to enjoy myself? Heaven sounds like a bland, brainless existence where Reality TV is always on, meals are always soggy Oatmeal and my shirts are always bathed in drool. If I wanted that, I’d already have quit my job and attempted to rack up some sweet bed sores.

I get the impression that the closest I will ever get to my own personal heaven (nirvana, etc.) on this earth is music, quite possibly from a little-heard-of genre called the blues. The blues are the most primal, instinctual and basic building blocks of every good genre of music, if not every modern genre (take that, classical lovers). There are pretty much three narratives you can write-x loves y, x loves y but y does not love x back, or x loves inanimate object c (perhaps the most creative mode since it allows for metaphors, etc.)-and all three were pioneered and perfected by blues and copied and rearranged by every other genre. Except maybe classical because it has no lyrics and country because it shouldn’t have lyrics and is just whiny singing accompanied by music stolen from folk which is stolen from blues. Rock at least assimilated (N.B. Eric Clapton, Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Chuck Berry, et al). Sometimes there’s nothing left to do but to dig down to that place where you feel like nothing but an absolute and complete piece of shit to understand the times when the world is yours. You can have your Hakuna Matata moment off at the oasis, it’s just…you have to get over the fact that you didn’t kill Mufasa. But country music did.

If we’re supposed to live without that, to live without a moral compass or without even a simple understanding of basic ethics, then I have no idea how to live my life. An Oscar-winning movie once said, “Death is easy. Life is hard.” With that in mind, if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll live another 50 years and the last thing I want to do is live it perfectly. I already know I can’t-why else would I decorate my room with books?-but I know I have to listen to myself more.

So maybe someday 75 years in the future I’ll be able to look back and say two things: “Holy shit! I’m still alive? I’m 97! I can’t feel anything below my waist!” and “Thank [Universal Being? Basic Physics? Jimmy Neutron?] I read the NSRV (instead of the HIJK) and embraced my life and, in my later years, started to take a bunch of drugs that have kept me alive, but now that I’ve seen my great-grandkids and spoiled the shit out of my sister’s kids, I can probably die fulfilled. I’ve lived a good life. I’ll be back soon, hopefully not as a grasshopper. Anything but a grasshopper-I don’t want to get squashed on a windshield in Idaho when I’m a day old.”

Until I can say those things, thank you, all of sophomore year in college; the 20 or so girls I’ve dated or attempted to date, but mostly the brain cells I’ve lost after you all uttered, “Let’s just be friends;” night I told my parents I’d had drinks before I was of age; pornography, video games and White Russians. Thank you for helping me understand the pure, unadulterated awesome of things like watching my sister make or be near art, headphones, chatting with my grandmother, literature, Gibson SGs, making jokes with my Mom and having cynic sessions with my Dad. Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping me understand what it means to be alive and why I want to continue to be alive.

But in the meantime, Evil, a favor-can you just kill me at age 97 with a simple, quick, Grade 6 Cerebral Aneurysm? Alzheimer’s is kind of number one on my “Scariest Ways to Die” list because it leaves me with no memory of how good it was to be alive.

My life, as performed by my favorite bands

The whole truth and nothing but the truth–stop me if you’ve heard this one before. ¹ Sucka MCs check tha footnotes, ya’ll.²

Since I’m clearly working chronologically, let’s start at the beginning: Umbilical cord’s wrapped around my neck. I’m seein’ my death and I ain’t even took my first step. I made it out, I’m bringin’ mad joy, the doctor looked and said, “He’s gonna be a Bad Boy.”³

Now that that’s out of the way, I submit my incentive is romance…you make me wanna pick up a guitar.⁴ Need a woman that’s gonna hold my hand, tell me no lies, make me a happy man.⁵ She got the goods and she got that ass? I got to look—sorry⁶ Just about every time I meet a girl I think, “I wonder if I could date her.” But, realistically, I know I’m not that into every girl I know and, also, I just don’t trust myself with lovin’ you. ⁷ I mean, I know we just met, but are you afraid of being alone? Because I am.⁸ Jesus Christ, that’s a pretty face. ⁹ I’ll never let your head hit the bed without my hand behind it.¹⁰ When your eyes are closed I hope I’m the man you see, ’cause if not—I want you to know—tonight I plan to be.¹¹ It’s alright to tell me what you think about me. I won’t try to argue or hold it against you.¹² I don’t want to do what I’m supposed to–I just want someone to be close to.¹³ If you’d call me now, baby, I’d come a-runnin’.¹⁴ I thought I was a fool for no one, but oooh baby, I’m a fool for you.¹⁵ I feel for you. You doin’ things that you don’t have to. He doesn’t love ya; I can tell by his charms, you should just lay in my arms.¹⁶ I’d have to walk a thousand miles, just to find the ground deserving of your feet. You could throw me down and walk on me.¹⁷

Of course it never helps that I’m always the last to know: One boy calls while the other texts; she’s got boys on board and boys on deck. Second dates and lipstick tissues. New York gets pretty heavy, girl I hope it doesn’t crush you.¹⁸ It’s girls like you that make me think I’m better off home on a Saturday night with all my doors locked up tight. I won’t be thinking about you, baby. ¹⁹ I just wanted to hold you in my arms. ²⁰

Which brings us to the real issue at hand: New York’s the greatest if you can get someone to pay the rent.²¹ I’ve only lived here a couple months but it already feels like every time I close my lids I can still see the borough, I can still see the Bridge.²² It’s a hell of a town. The Bronx is up and I’m Brooklyn down…I quit my job, I cut my hair–I cut my boss ’cause I don’t care [more on my employment to come in this post]…I ride around town because my ride is fly. I shot a man in Brooklyn (just to watch him die).²³ I represent BK to tha fullest.²⁴ I’m in the lab all day–I scrabble all night. I got a bedazzler so my outfit’s tight. When it comes to panache, I can’t be beat; I got the most style from below 14th street.²⁵

Thoughts of the lab bring me to my recording career: I’m strictly rhythm. I don’t want to make [my guitar] cry or sing.²⁶ Also, let me tell you one lesson I’ve learned; If you wanna reach something in life, you ain’t gonna get it unless you give a little bit of sacrifice. Ooooh, sometimes you’ve got to cry before ya smile. You need a heart that’s filled with music; If you use it you can fly.²⁷ Well, I hope we’re not too messianic or a trifle too satanic. We love to play the blues.^28. And I don’t believe in filler, baby. If I could I’d sit this out. This is a lesson in procrastination; I kill myself because I’m so frustrated and every single second that I put it off means another lonely night I’ve got to race the clock. What say we go and crash your car? Every time I leave, you go and lock the door. So I walk myself back picking at the chip on my shoulder. I’m another day late and another year older: I’m out of everything. But no one sleeps ’til we get this shit on the shelves.²⁹ No sleep, that is, ’till Brooklyn.³⁰ Violence in all hands–embrace it if need be. Livin’ been warfare, I press it to CD.³¹ Off in the night while you live it up, I’m off to sleep. Wagin’ wars to shake the poet and the beat. I hope it’s going to make you notice, I hope it’s going to make you notice… someone like me.³² At any rate, raise a toast to St. Joe Strummer–I think he might have been our only decent teacher.³³

Which, of course, brings me to my social life: Me and all my friends are like, “Double Whiskey Coke, no ice.”³⁴ You can be mean…and I…I’ll drink all the time.³⁵ Here’s to the kids out there smokin’ in the streets–they’re way too young but I’m way too old to preach.³⁶ Talk to me now that I’m older. Your friend told you ’cause I told her. Friday nights have been lonely, change your plans and then phone me. We could go and get 40s—fuck goin’ to that party.³⁷ Tell me your name, tell me your story; ’cause I’m into it. [I've been] running through life like a misfit.³⁸ My stupid mouth has got me in trouble; I said too much again…Oh, another social casualty–score one more for me. How could I forget? Mama said, “Think before speaking.” No filter in my head, oh, what’s a boy to do? I just wanna be liked, I just wanna be funny.³⁹ I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints; the Sinners are much more fun.⁴⁰ (I got the devil in me, babe)⁴¹ Anything for a lover, anything for a friend. I only wanna see you happy—baby, can we pretend? I’d give anything to see you dance, I’d give anything to see you smile.⁴² And when we go to the dance floor, you know we move, yes we move, yes we like our dancing.⁴³ Ah, come on! Take a chance! You’re old enough to dance the night away.⁴⁴ I’m the one that won that dance contest ’cause you know I dance the best.⁴⁵ But all this didn’t come without practice: I’ve been beat up. I’ve been thrown out. But I’m not down–No!–I ‘m not down.⁴⁶ In fact, this weekend you can meet me out in front of the Rainbow Foods. I got a brown paper bag and black buckle shoes. If anything seems weird, just cruise.⁴⁷ I’m happy–things are lookin’ good now. I feel so alive, I’m on overdrive. I’m killing it, I’m killing it.⁴⁸

It wasn’t always this way–back in the days, our parents used to take care of us, look at ‘em now, they even fuckin’ scared of us. Callin’ the city for help because they can’t maintain; Damn, shit done changed.⁴⁹ It’s like the game ain’t the same–got younger [expletive] pullin’ the triggers bringing fame to they name…I got so many rhymes I don’t think I’m too sane; life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain…I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death.⁵⁰ Now things have changed (it ain’t so simple)–now life is a musical.⁵¹ And sometimes I think my life’s a movie. Play it all back.⁵² And you know on movie nights I brought butter for the popcorn, dips for the chips.⁵³ See, people they don’t understand. No, girlfriends, they can’t understand. Your grandsons, they won’t understand. On top of this, I ain’t ever gonna understand…⁵⁴ However, what I can tell you is this: restless soul, enjoy your youth. Like Muhammad, it’s the truth. Can’t escape from the common rule: If you hate something, don’t you do it too.⁵⁵

Sigh…the burden of contradicting myself constantly; that is to say, the burden of thought and thinking is a terrible weight that sometimes I truly hate. And this is my mind; it goes over and over the same old lines. And this is my brain; its torturous analytical thoughts make me go insane…And I’m singin’ “Uh oh” on a Friday night. And I hope that everything’s gonna be alright.⁵⁶ I don’t wanna think, I wanna feel.⁵⁷ I’m like a trash can, holding all the information.⁵⁸ Spaceships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors—they dip.⁵⁹ So I’m going to live in this moment and not live in the past–it’s the best I can do.

Now when it comes to my employment, if it don’t make dollars then it don’t make sense.⁶⁰ Cut the check. Give it here. Don’t say nothin’.⁶¹ So git down wit UGK, Pimp C, B-U-N-B. Easy as A-B-C, simple as 1-2-3. ‘Cause what’s a ho with no pimp and what’s a pimp with no ho? Don’t be a lame, you know the game and how it goes; we tryin’ to get yours.⁶²

Looking back from my old age, I wouldn’t trade one stupid decision for another five years of life.⁶³ But I’m getting so tired of people cutting my wires. Life’s just far too short for miscommunication.⁶⁴ When I grow up, it might be cool to be like my sister; don’t give a fuck.⁶⁵ In the mean time, shit, goddamn. I’m a man, I’m a man.⁶⁶ Swear to God, don’t get it fucked up.⁶⁷

Back to this G shit, now that’s how you let the beat build…biiiitch.⁶⁸

1. “Miami” by Taking Back Sunday
2. “Oh Word?” by The Beastie Boys
3. “Respect” by Notorious B.I.G.
4. “Slowhands” by Interpol
5. “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin
6. “Good Life (Feat. some giant asshole named T-Pain)” by Kanye West
7. “I Don’t Trust Myself (With Loving You)” by John Mayer
8. “I’m Lost Without You” by Blink 182
9. “Jesus” by Brand New
10. “Your Body is a Wonderland” by John Mayer
11. “The Way She Dance” by N.E.R.D.
12. “Dammit” by Blink 182
13. “(I Used to Couldn’t Dance) Tight Pants” by The Eagles of Death Metal
14. “On Call” by Kings of Leon
15. “Supermassive Black Hole” by Muse
16. “Senorita” by Justin Timberlake
17. “Nightingale” by Saves the Day
18. “Magazines” by The Hold Steady
19. “Last Chance to Lose Your Keys” by Brand New
20. “Starlight” by Muse
21. “North American Scum” by LCD Soundsystem
22. “Hero” by Nas
23. “Hello Brooklyn” by The Beastie Boys
24. “Unbelievable” by Notorious B.I.G.
25. “Shazam!” by The Beastie Boys
26. “Sultans of Swing” by Dire Straights
27. “Sacrifice” by The Roots
28. “Monkey Man” by The Rolling Stones
29. “Failure by Design” by Brand New
30. “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” by The Beastie Boys
31. “New Millennium Homes” by Rage Against the Machine
32. “Use Somebody” by Kings of Leon
33. “Constructive Summer” by The Hold Steady
34. “Constructive Summer” by The Hold Steady
35. “Heroes” by David Bowie
36. “Ragoo” by Kings of Leon
37. “12:51” by The Strokes
38. “Misfit” by Elefant
39. “My Stupid Mouth” by John Mayer
40. “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel
41. “John the Baptist” by The Afghan Whigs
42. “John the Baptist” by The Afghan Whigs
43. “I like to Move in the Night” by The Eagles of Death Metal
44. “Dance the Night Away” by Van Halen
45. “All Lifestyles” by The Beastie Boys
46. “I’m Not Down” by The Clash
47. “Southtown Girls” by the Hold Steady
48. “Happy” by N.E.R.D.
49. “Things Done Changed” by Notorious B.I.G.
50. “N.Y. State of Mind” by Nas
51. “Life is like a Musical” by Outkast
52. “Life is a Movie” by GZA
53. “Alphabets” by GZA
54. “Last Nite” by The Strokes
55. “Not for You” by Pearl Jam
56. “Mouthwash” by Kate Nash
57. “Hail, Hail” by Pearl Jam
58. “Salute Your Solution” by The Raconteurs
59. “Int’l Player’s Anthem (I Choose You)” by UGK
60. “Mouths to Feed” by Ludacris
61. “Don’t Say Nothin” by The Roots
62. “Int’l Player’s Anthem (I Choose You)” by UGK
63. “All My Friends” by LCD Soundsystem
64. “Down to the Market” by The Kooks
65. “Barely Legal,” The Strokes
66. “Whorehoppin’ (Shit, Goddamn)” by The Eagles of Death Metal
67. “Can’t Knock the Hustle” by Jay-Z
68. “Let the Beat Build” by Lil’ Wayne

Sneakers

I started my day feeling great, which should always be a bad sign. I matched my sweater with my favorite pair of sneakers, my shirt with my tie, my briefcase with my pants, my book with my eyeballs, my iPod with my ears, etc, etc, etc. Just straight feeling amazing, listening to awesome music, goin’ to work. I get into work, get a couple complements, see the boss, realize she’s not doing so well (probably because the CEO kinda wrecked her yesterday). I’m not going to let it get to me this morning because, as usual, I’ve done what was required. I’ve met deadlines, I’ve always conducted my research as specified before she changed her mind and got angry at me. In fact, I’m fairly sure I did very well in the meeting; I remembered information off the top of my head, made jokes and so on.

I sat down at my desk and started doing what I do 50% of the time I’m at work: gchat. A friend of mine was talking about how she fucked up by getting a plane ticket wrong for her boss. She was even scared that she might get fired. I was like, I don’t know, your boss got the ticket fixed, showed up on time and won’t be back in town for a while. I think you’re set. I’ve also heard a rumor that humans, by nature, make mistakes. I even heard some rumor about some dude dying about 2000 years ago so we could make mistakes, even though I’m not sure I subscribe to it.

So then I went to get a better idea of what one of my coworkers needed from me. Then my boss came in and reminded us that we couldn’t wear sneakers. I was all like, “Say what? I remember making jokes with the HR person about how the rules only specify that you have to wear socks.” And then my boss was all like, “Well, that may be the case but you can’t wear sneakers.” So I agreed and said it wouldn’t happen again.

Later I was walking to get a TPS Report or a printout and I saw one of the HR ladies. I was like, “Hey, does the dress code have stuff about sneakers on it?” She was nice at this point and said, “Yeah, you can’t wear sneakers and you have to wear business attire appropriate shoes.” When I said, “Right, but I don’t remember seeing anything on the dress code I signed about shoes, so I’ll be up later to look at the stuff I’ve signed.” I guess she heard, “Hey, I’m a fucking retard,” because she rolls her eyes and goes, “No, you can’t wear sneakers.” Of course I was like, “Yeah, no, I understand, I was just hoping to see my paperwork when I’m done for the day.” So we parted ways and I tried to figure out why she looked like I’d chopped up dead fish and left them on her desk (i.e., why she looked so disgusted). I guess she heard “Hey pretty lady, I’mma come harass you in a sexual manner later because I’m looking for a way out of this shit job where I’m constantly fighting my boss about whether or not I get to wear sneakers.”

Next thing I know, my boss is calling me into her office because the Head HR lady wants to have a meeting. I mean, I’m sure you understand what happened–blah blah blah can’t wear blah blah blah won’t happen again blah blah blah oh yeah, you did say business shoes blah blah blah…etc–but the thing that, in retrospect, shocked me the most was that my boss made a point to specifically disassociate herself from me. The HR lady was even like, “Ok, I have to go now” and my boss still took time to scold me again and shift any possible blame that could land on her onto me.

Then my boss and I had a big meeting where I had to explain why I decided to ask HR about HR things. (I guess she thought I went over her head to make her look bad, even though I just really wanted to make sure I hadn’t forgotten any other rules, maybe something like “Employees must wear underwear. Going commando is strictly–STRICTLY–prohibited.”) Also, she revealed that the main HR lady had initially come down to “release” me. Because I guess when you work freelance, they can “release” you at their will. I mean, I may not help sell words for a living, but “release” is really only helping the conscience of the person doing the firing. Then Victoria’s Secret prevented an aneurysm by forcing the meeting to end so I could finish my work for the day and so I could leave the office. I took particular pleasure in relaxing while folding panties to reflect and I’d like to share some valuable lessons I learned with you:

When I run the magazine industry, I will:
1. Stand up for the people who make me look good–even and especially when they fuck up. We know they fucked up. They know they fucked up. Shit has to go on, otherwise we’re going to fuck up more.
2. Will hire as few freelancers as possible. Because when you’re a freelancer, you can get fired for messing up just one time. So freelancers are supposed to be robots. And I don’t like robots (because perfection is not human). Unless they’re Daft Punk.
3. Double-check the work of my subordinates, but still respect them.
4. Repeat myself as little as possible because I know how annoying it is not to be trusted by your boss.
5. Organize everything. Everything.
6. Allow sweet fucking sneakers at work.

The classic comedy, the self-aggrandizing and the immaturity

I was watching Superbad last night and I realized there are a multitude of reasons why that movie is great. Allow me to indulge myself.

I think it is, in essence, a classic comedy because it contains elements of both New and Old comedy (in the Grecian sense), all appropriate for our generation and our time. Old comedy tends to revolve around phallus jokes while New comedy tends be best characterized by farces related to identity crises. The phallus jokes are pretty extensive in Superbad just as my own identity crisis is fully represented. The identity crisis of those two is fairly obvious as well: two young men, seemingly outcast, become ladies men after finding liquor. Liqour becomes a magic recipe that transforms them, only the magic doesn’t last the whole night.

I didn’t even have to finish the whole movie to conclude that I am half Seth and half Evan. I curse like a misanthropic comedian with Tourrette’s and constantly and openly discuss inappropriate things just as as often as Seth does, but I can also be just as witty as Even (though less modest, apparently) and have the same inordinate amount of respect for women (“…here’s to…here’s to respect…to the respect of women”). That is to say, as Groucho Marx once said, “I don’t care to belong to a club that accepts people like me as members,” and I’ve had the same level of distrust roughly since high school (c.f, colleges, clubs, extracurricular activities, etc). Years of training has taught me that if a girl decides she’s into me, it’s probably because she’s consumed absurd amounts of alcohol or other judgment-altering drugs. To hook up with her or even attempt to date her would be inconsiderate because she wasn’t in a clear state of mind when she decided she liked me. I have to respectfully decline because I don’t want to ruin her life. I also think a part of me wants to maintain the current status of my lovelife (D.O.A.) in order to write lyrics and play guitar like John Mayer. But I digest.

The movie itself constantly gives me hope, even in the face of absurd belief systems about belonging, ridiculous plans to capture girlfriends (“…we could be that mistake!”), and races against self-constructed and yet somehow nonexistent deadlines (“…by then I’ll be the Iron Chef of pounding Vajj”). They both seem to get the girl at the end and the movie presents some kind of endorsement for dating and hanging out with girls over hookups fueled by obscene amounts of cheap liqour. Thus, this movie acts as a constant source of optimism as well as a source of quality comedy harkening back to the comedy of yore all while firmly establishing itself as a model of the present.

But you don’t have to like it because I do; your maturity may have already graduated from high school. Congratulations, let’s meet back here and discuss in a couple of years.

The Good, The Bad, and the Dynamite

Has anyone else seen Duck you Sucker, nee A Fistful of Dynamite, and gotten the impression that this movie kind of didn’t make any sense? Sure, James Coburn was a complete and utter badass, but what the deuce was that final flashback about? Why the hell was Coburn’s friend kissing his main bitch? If I was a) more Irish, b) alive in the late 1800s and c) great with dynamite, why in the hell would I share my girlfriend with my friend? If he came near my woman, I’d blow him the hell up. That kind of bothers me too–he shot his boy because the dude was a rat? Not because of the woman thing? On top of that, he shot him in the mole? Was that mole supposed to act as foreshadowing? I want to see another movie where one of the character’s death is foreshadowed by a noncancerous mole. The character doesn’t have to get shot in the mole, it just has to be oddly colored enough that you go, hey, maybe this dude’s gonna die. That mole looks highly detrimental to his health in some form. (Insert your own “marked man” joke here)

Also, rape? Necessary? I get it, the dude needs more kids so he can bring in more money/proud of his d, but still–rape? Then the dude who rapes a chick in the first ten minutes becomes the hero? And in those ten minutes we have like 200 extreme close-ups of people chewing of food? Not for me.

To be honest, I did really like everything that happened every time someone said, “Duck, you sucker.” Consistently the best parts of the movie.