Tuesday, May 29, 2007

I hear the bells...

Music: "Let It Be... Naked" - The Beatles



Scrubs has been a very important part of my last three or four years. There have been many weeks' weekends spent watching full seasons in consecutive hours- exposing new viewers and sometimes just to satisfy a personal need or create an escape.

This season continued Scrubs' trend in running directly parallel with life's misfortunes. John Dorian's pregnancy related issues, along with Elliott's marriage and the effects these character's issues have on one another has been all too easy to relate to. The difference? These characters are doctors, these characters are thirty years old. My position contains a few more problems as pertains to having children and getting married.

That's what really gets me. How serious was I?

It is a bit frightening to think about how close I came.

Now, make no mistake about it- marriage is never the correct decision. That is a belief I will forever stand behind, now with complete confidence. Feminists should really take a look at the marriage laws before they go complaining and not wearing bras over their rights. Hell, they might want to read over the entire justice system. It's a woman's court-room. You want the workplace? Well, for one, you already got it. But in return lets give the other gender equal rights, legally. The prenuptial agreement exists for a reason- and it's all we have, and remains the only thing that might get me to walk the aisle.

Have I ever loved? The above paragraph would lead anyone to believe I have never experienced the feeling. I don't believe I have. I've been engaged.

The entire concept of 'not enough time passing' works both ways, as feelings continue to exist on each extreme side of the emotional spectrum. However, even living through it, even saying the words... the doubt was there. Depending on who you talk to that could be completely natural, especially given the age. Given the age the words might mean that much more, as they are said against the powerful current that is everyone else's opinion (which may even be the reason behind the doubt). It can be interpreted any number of ways.

I do know that it would have been a mistake. This is not to say I have any regrets.

It also depends on what time you ask me, or what journal you read. I've felt enough pain to say I've loved, but I'm not sure I've experienced enough love to say it. I also have an oddly scientific belief that love cannot exist without reciprocation- as an electric current cannot exist without two sources. You really need to be given love (notice I didn't say 'accept') to feel, return it (the 'accepting' is part of the giving).

I really am full of excitement as pertains to this subject, it's not all "fuck marriage, blahhblah". I anticipate the future because of this subject. I cannot wait to meet new people, to ruin some lives and have my life left in shambles once again. This is why we're alive. Everyone should spend time in jail, and everyone should cheat on a significant other with that lucky person's best friend or sibling.

Just live your life, pick one out of the bunch, and die drinking a glass of chai tea they made for you.

Oh, and laugh a little bit.




Saturday, May 26, 2007

Woody Allen directed my birthday get together.

Music: Nuggets


The martini glasses shown bright (in black and white), the T.M.N.T discussion was brewing, and the whole room revolved around us in the corner. We had our pseudo-intellectual debates, but masked them in such topics as "Horror Movies" so that we could criticize pseudo-intellectuals moments later. We didn't need dates or drugs- but that's not to say those nights aren't just as exciting.

My drink theme, as per usual, consisted of the two I knew from television and film. The John Dorian Appletini (easy on the 'tini), the Lebowski White Russian- then a collection of feminine shots between glasses of Light beer. My drink count for the night was a staggering number, not quite hitting the teens but lingering in the double digits. I have to say- that 'Wet Pussy' has an incredible flavor.

The names in attendance were Brian Garcia, Jake Sprague, Casey Andreen, Anthony Saunders, Josh Wood, and we Scampoli brothers- with cameos by Carlos, DDP, Corey, and my nameless lookalike. People with cameos don't get last names.

Of course as the night grows older the drinks begin to spill and voices travel farther. We all managed to leave at reasonable AM hours without harm. The final bill was close to $250, divided between two servers- birthday boy drinks for free.

Everybody is in good health, and great humor. They haven't missed a beat in the lost five months. It's great to get my face back into the mix after the lengthy separation. I've missed these men.

One topic that came up last night was the state of film- the times of The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Secret Of The Ooze vs. the times of T.M.N.T. A conversation sparked by a group of people bringing up and arguing over T.M.N.T, who had in turn never ever seen it (yes I was part of that no holds barred debate).


The typical stance was 'everything is a remake, nothings original anymore!' The Scampoli stance was- film has become more intelligent since that late 80s period, and overall better films are made now, you just have to look a little harder, etc. It was all wrapped up in a turtle bow- "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles may not have been a remake, but it was based on a comic book and was still awful,"- with a Vanilla Ice exclamation point coming later.

By no means were any of us claiming that these Turtles films defined this or that era, it was just an easy assessment, and we had green martinis on the table. There was also a sub-argument over which Turtles film was less credible as far as it being made solely for commercial reasons- queue Vanilla Ice exclamation point.

We all came to terms with the fact that Shaun Of The Dead and Squid & The Whale are just a couple of examples of intelligent, modern, great film making. It was obviously not a disagreement over box office mojo- more of an acknowledgment that great film and television still exist. Most people are too busy complaining over the reality shows or the summer popcorn flicks to find the incredible achievements which have been buried beneath it all. Meanwhile we're losing whatever Veronica Mars' are left in this world.

It all came to an end when the unfocused "everything is remakes!" side forgot their argument and began to bring up great films from the late 90s (Fight Club, The Big Lebowski). Both sides agreed on the grey area, and a toast was made.

Though this blog doesn't really attract a wide reader base outside of the five people who have the link, I'm interested in reading some comments on this topic. Favorite film era? Favorite films?

The more I thought about this after the fact, I realized Raging Bull, Star Wars, Annie Hall, Manhattan and a wide array of great films came from that late 70s to late 80s decade. I still stand firmly behind the point that today's great films were made then, but the future's great films are being produced now. Time will separate them.

That is one example of the night's bizarre conversation. I'll get into the blasphemous Vince Young Madden cover another time.

For those wondering, I think I was able to recapture Sweet Jane- at least as a behind-the-wheel song. There is an indescribable emotion that can only exist after hearing this:

And, everyone who ever had a heart
They wouldn't turn around and break it
And anyone who ever played a part

Oh wouldn't turn around and hate it!

Sweet Jane! Whoa-oh-oh!

After the barroom shenanigans we grabbed some food (nothing makes me hungrier than alcohol) and I finally watched the latest Office. The decision to increase the show to an hour is great, in my opinion. If they can make the jump from an Undeclared to a Freaks & Geeks, then it has some serious potential to shatter the UK Office. Reading that statement now, I laugh. Anything is possible I guess.


Today is a day off with no plans. I count on a Sweet Jane drive and possibly a movie showing.


In closing, I recommend everybody find a way to listen to Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From The First Psychedelic Era. It is a four disc set of underground 60's band's one hit wonders and lesser known tracks. There's a lot of fuzzy organ and Mick Jagger impersonating- though I get more enjoyment out of this than any Rolling Stones release. A lot of the songs are instantly recognizable, a lot are covers, and all of them offer something. I've already stumbled across a handful of groups I will seek out the full albums of.

One group, Mouse, in particular, are said to do "Highway 61 Revisited Era Bob Dylan" better than the man himself.

I discovered this due to the words of Phil Wilcox. Check out his ramblings, he's got the most entertaining entries on Livejournal.

Five Thousand.

Friday, May 25, 2007

'Sylvia Plath... what a cunt.'

Satellite Of Love may be lost to me, but I am not giving up Sweet Jane without a fight.

There are certain songs that will be laced with a specific period in my life, whether it be until the end of it or until a future season warrants more nostalgia. I'm sure that most people can relate to this dilemma. I can already predict which tracks will queue the feeling of this Logan Echolls-esque Spring of my 2007:

Babe - Glassjaw
Rocking Horse Road - Elvis Costello
Only The Noble - Debracadabra
Lawyers Guns & Money - Warren Zevon
Whispering Reef - The Rondo Brothers feat. Daryl Palumbo

I am trying to add Sweet Jane to that list, thus removing it from the dreadful Winter of early 2007 set (alongside the lost Satellite Of Love). The journey began by listening to it six straight times while driving this morning.

The above songs will carry a strand of this Spring that'll cause a feeling of sickness every time I hear them for a very long time. But right now, they're relaxing. It's worth the trade.

Tonight is the night I rejoin the group of friends I lost last Christmas. We will all be meeting to celebrate my birthday, giving us a reason to drink and reminisce and slap that martini glass down as we argue over Daryl Palumbo's voice. I almost verbed these bouts a 'debate', but 'argue' is much more accurate.

I will hopefully have a number of pictures tomorrow, along with a helluva headache and an ugly woman sleeping in my bed.



In devastating news- Veronica Mars is gone. The last good show left on the CW (after Gilmores announced their exit) is canceled.
The final few episodes were some of the best, the characters were at their peak.
The show had such an original style to it, with varying shades of green in every scene.
A lot of the actors outside of the main cast were awful, and I think that only highlighted the humor of the show. Part of the fun of watching it was awaiting the next Big Lebowski reference.

It was incredible while it lasted. You don't get good mystery on television- at all. It's "whose going to suffer a voting off this week?" or some other punishment that an identical reality show character had suffered the week before. The Lilly Cain mystery of season one is unparalleled, and was executed perfectly. Season two's bus crash proved that the show was no fluke. Compared to the brilliance of these first 44 episodes, season three could be considered unfocused. But, once again, the last few hours could have been the best of all.

Good writing is even rarer, and a character like Logan Echolls comes once every four hundred seasons in television.

What's left? Wrestling, I guess.
One things for sure- Tuesdays are lost forever.

Thursday, May 24, 2007

When Mighty Horse rocks he rocks the fat ass.

Music: Imperial Bedroom + Ron & Fez



Twenty one years old, what a milestone!

I typically don't buy into the whole "new year, empty slate" gimmick when it comes to focusing on the future. I'm more of a "year in review" type of person, where I'll look back and judge the music, the films, and occasionally savor the memories. I will not, however, set goals for a new year, or drive the streets pretending that the sun in my eyes means any less harm than it did the week before.

The sun will always be my annoying, 4.5 billion year old sibling, regardless of the date.
`
But, I think I'm going to turn cheese for my 21st birthday. There's just something about the number- legally, socially, and someday nostalgically. I want this year to mean something, more than the previous 20. I want to tell my future daughter about how I got my act together in 2007-2008, and finally began my life at the age of 21 (despite the fact that she'll be three years into her tenure as an outspoken Yale scholar). I'm not going to sit here and act like this age carries more responsibility than the others for any other reason than the importance I am personally placing on it. But I've always considered ambition of the self-driven variety to be the proudest, and most rewarding.

There were a lot of life changing mistakes I made last year. I like to think that I have learned from them. From my experiences and the people I've met at my current workplace- there is a clear vision of the life I don't want. I believe that's enough for me to accomplish the long term goals of the life I deserve.
The problems faced in my 20th year will bleed over, possibly into the next seven ages to come. I believe in myself... for once. I'm capable of overcoming this, and I will not allow it to alter me in a negative light. Regardless of the pain or the outcome, I will not turn into an awful person, even if I'm labeled as one. Goddamn I'd make a good Jedi.

Anyway, let the cheese begin now. Lets set some goals for age 21.
- Drink alcohol.
- Consume drugs.
- Have sex.
- Listen to Rock N' Roll.
- Go back to s c h o o l .

It helps to set the bar high. For me to put this itinerary to use I am going to need to meet the right people. I can't drink with just anybody, fuck just anybody, expose just anybody to Elvis Costello.

Nor can I major in just anything.

This year will be my On The Road, only with slightly less traveling.

I will reacquaint with my life's most important accomplices, and stay up all night with my life's future convicts. None of us are patsies.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Welcome.

Welcome to Literary Slumber.

 
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