What’s wrong with me? I never watched The Office. Yesterday i was procrastinating and still hung over from many many cocktails at Modest Mouse and needed something to take me away. Much like Calgon, but i don’t have a bath tub, so cable and internet are my blanket of choice to whisk me away from the pains of my head, body and soul. That being said, i was sucked in to a marathon of The Office that has stretched on for way to many hours. It’s like crack. Just one more show, just one more hit. Ill do work after one more. Fuck Fuck Fuck. Sometimes being OCD can be counter productive when it is applied to access of multiple seasons of a kick ass television show.
I can not seem to stay put the past couple of months. I do enough work to not feel bad and just enough work not to piss off the people i do work with. I don’t want to take that cheese of the trap and get wacked in the neck if you know what i mean.
i leave as much as possible. Any excuse, any band, any DJ, any anywhere. As long as they are the shit that is. I do have amazing taste. It started with Radiohead, then Vampire Weekend and today i am jetting to go see Modest Mouse. Escapcism with good music is an instant band-aid to hide from actual life. Plus i am digging finding expesive hotel rooms that are super shiek with nice sheets and large bathrooms.
Here is some modest mouse for your enjoyment
Next month I am going to Minneapolis for the UFC. Another aweome escape with brutal violnce and bad ass mohter fuckers and shitty beer.
I first remember seeing George Carlin when i was a kid and brutally obsessed with Bill and Teds Excellent Adventure. He played Rufus, Bill and Teds guide from the future. Even then his dry sense of humor and character struck a cord with me and before i knew it i was renting VHS copies of his stand up. He was my first look in to what true comedy is. He was political, self deprecating and he had balls. Everything he said came from the heart and he would back it up to the death with giggles and honesty
Thank you Mr. Carlin for a life that was true, heartfelt and funny as hell. He was a warrior for many people, many beliefs and he did it all by making us think and laugh. Have fun up stairs buddy. Thank you for everything. Your shoes will never be filled and you will be sorely missed.
Watching this program makes me want to make more films, it makes me want to make them this good. This is what programming on television should be. This American Life on Showtime is the best show on television. I’m not sure when it’s on, I have my tivo set up for it, so every once in a while I come home to a treat. In a world of cynicism reality, pipe dream contests and sophomoric humor, this show sticks out with its head high above the standards we have set for ourselves for entertainment. It’s something special
I sit here now watching the latest episode about people named John Smith. They follow 4 different Johns off all different age groups, backgrounds and economic situations. The remarkable thing of this show is the way it takes us in. It shows us how people think, live and love and how similar we all are. These Johns ages 7, 35, 50, 70 have much more in common than their names. Everyone’s fears, goals, relationships, minds and love are all very similar at there core. It’s the kind of thing that can give you chills realizing how very much the same we all are.
The show does an amazing job of humanizing the hardest thing to humanize, humans. It strips down the camouflage, glitter, glam and bullshit everyone at all age’s puts up. I find myself reminded of Charles Karalt on CBS Sunday morning. It’s real and touching and it feels like home.
Thanks for making this show happen Showtime. You give me faith in television. Your so good I can not even make fun of you, nor do I want to.
See it for yourself. It warmed my cold crusty heart for a minute.
I could really use a butler. An old school one, tall, British and crass. One that keeps secrets, ignores drug use and quietly sends unsightly girls out the back door before an important business meeting or my mother coming to visit. Of course he would wear a black suit with tails, a turn of the century bow tie and be balding. The tea would always be perfect and he could bring me in a rotary phone on a tray. Mmmm butler.
I lay here in bed with thoughts of a lovely breakfast being brought to me, alas all i have is my dog looking at me wondering when i will take her for her morning walk, aka “big poopy time.” I wonder if my dog thinks of me as her butler? After all, i bath her, feed her, scratch her ass and pick up her poop. All she has to do is lay i my bed, wag her tail and smile when i come home. She is such a bitch. lucky dog.
After an afternoon in south beach with friends, several cocktails, some ill advised pot brownies, running in to my favorite Amsterdamnian bartender, whom I just happened to have an extra ticket for (I convinced my self all day I would run into some body cool at the beach) we finally made it to the theater for Vampire Weekend. I thought I walked into junior high, only this time I was the substitute teacher.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be the old guy at the show. Fucking hell I could be these kids daddy. The good thing about it was there was no line at the bar. The only people there were a couple of other oldies sucking down over priced cocktails as fast as they could in order to deal with all the small children with rock t-shirts on.
After bullshitting with the secrity guy about the best way upstairs to the mezzanine, where the old people sit, he told us about a secret elevator. The oldies crew and I quickly found it and headed up to the front row on the balcony where there were seats to rest our old bones, ledges to set down cocktails and no one in front of us jumping up and down like it was the early 90 and mosh pits were cool. (Were mosh pits ever cool?)
The band fucking rocked. They are going to be huge and I am glad to have seen them in the early stages of their career.
To wrecked to do much after the show except pine for macaroni and cheese from the now defunct Cafeteria. Alas, I settled for cheese pizza and my uber sexy sheik hotel. My friends took pictures with me spooning my food and snoring loudly.
It’s an odd bunch the people who hang out coffee shops. You have the people who come in and out quick, get their caffeine and leave. Then have the once in a while people, who come and hang out a little to meet a friend before a movie or do something besides drinking for once. Then you have the regular people, who come alone and stare in to a book or computer, reading something very serious, working on something very serious, or at least trying to look very serious They always seem to have there fore head crumpled like they are working their brain really really hard and they want every one to see how hard they are working. I guess too much coffee and sitting still by yourself makes you forehead look funny. All the energy has to go somewhere.
I sit here wondering which one I am and realize my head is crumpled as I am typing this. Shit. I am that douche bag coffee house guy right now. That being said, I’m going to the pool and grabbing beer.
With no chance of making the Toronto Film Festival the only real option was to drink and drink allot.
Several beers and 1 hour later I ended up on a boat in the gulf. Got to love The Keys for shit like that. After snorkeling with the fishes, drowning in Bud Light and stuffing my face with mediocre nachos I ended up at a cowboy bar. The fact it was topless women bull riding night intrigued me. Its one of those things that is always there, but you never go to it. Kind of like the homely chick at the end of the bar with nice tits. You’ve thought about it but just couldn’t bring your self to do it. You would have to talk to her the next day and it just wouldn’t be worth it Well, tonight I got suckered into the homely chick if you will and went to the cheesy cowboy country bar.
I have to say, as far as girls go; there was a truckload of them. Alas, I am a cynical fuck and have no respect for cheese ball chick getting down to country. Just can’t do ass shaking to Kenny Chesney unless there is serious amounts of really good cocaine and a monkey with a tambourine. Neither of those seemed to be happening so I was shit out of luck. I bought some Jaeger shots for some silly chick and realized I can not talk to recently graduated southern girls with out being really stoned. Out of drugs and out of patience I jetted. Sorry, I am better than this shit.
Thank god I am going to Vampire Weekend this week. A safe place to hit on indie rock chicks who are just as stoned and cynical as me and don’t dance to Kenny Chesney on purpose, Or on accident for that matter.
I hate country bars. The like plastic flags with beer ads and NASCAR on them and it scares me.
