Can I add that I don’t think anyone should say “You can sleep when you’re dead,” anymore? Can I add that? ANSWER MY QUESTION. But what I’m saying is that this is stupid. You actually can’t sleep when you’re dead, first of all, and second of all, this is never said in order to motivate someone to do something cool. It’s never like, “Oh, you want to stay home and improve a skill? That’s cool! You can sleep when you’re dead, stay up all night and do it!” No, it’s like, “Come on man, I’m tired of drinking alone, let’s go get plastered on a Tuesday night and play video picture find until we get kicked out! You can sleep when you’re dead, but video picture find is only for the living, brah!” or “Let’s stay up until dawn and get totally plastered and vomit on each other and have a near-gay experience that we’re not sure how to mentally process afterwards! We can sleep when we’re dead, but we can only almost uncomfortably sleep together while we’re alive!”
I don’t know, I’m losing the thread of my point, but my point is that don’t say this.
Scrolling through “artists” on my ipod I just accidentally read 50 Cent (featuring Flock of Seagulls)
There is this moment in Some Kind of Monster when Lars meets with the therapist and Dave Mustaine, who was in Metallica for a year in the mid-80′s. Mustaine is nearly in tears as he explains to Lars how despite the seeming success of Megadeath, he’s been living in abject misery ever since being kicked out of Metallica. He says that he’s been waiting twenty years for this moment to sit down and tell him how sad he’s been, how awful it is to live in Metallica’s shadow, and how being forced out of the band has tainted his life with an overwhelming sense of irremediable failure. This moment is not only incredible because the emotional honesty between these two men (or at least, the open emotional honesty of Mustaine, Lars is a bit of a prig) is unexpected considering their placement in the spectra of machismo and roughneck culture, but it’s also just heartbreaking, period. I watched it twice (this moment), and got the shivers talking about it to someone yesterday.
THEN IT WAS OSCAR TIME! YAY!
Wow, I can’t remember a year that I cared less about all the movies. It disgusts me that so many biopics were nominated for the big awards, because biopics are to movies what a pamphlet about proper cat care is to literature. That’s not quite an accurate metaphor, because one can extract useful tips in the pamphlet that could save (or extend) the life of one of god’s creatures. Not so with a biopic. I hate them so much! I hope that one day they make a biopic of my life and it wins an Oscar just so you can all see how stupid the movie is because Jason Biggs will be in it and he is AN ASSHOLE. I’m sure you’re all going to be like, “But Worker #3116, Charlie Kauffman finally won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay, an award the Academy has undeservedly passed him over for twice!” Aw who cares?! Charlie Kauffman can suck it! He’s got his money and his street cred, who cares about him and his stuff!
ARGH! OSCAR MADNESS!
A car bomb in Iraq killed over 120 people, but the word on everyone’s lips is “poor Marty Scorcese!” Ha ha ha. That fucking wop. Who cares about him?! If he wants to win an Oscar maybe he should stop making super-shitty movies. How’s that for a suggestion? Meanwhile, did anyone see Hilary Swank’s acceptance speech? Were you worried, at least momentarily, that she might come out of the television set and devour you? What a fucking manimal. “I want to thank my agents. I want to thank the academy. I want to chew the bones of the innocent. I want to drink the blood of the pure.” Help! It’s Hilary Swank! More like Hilary Horse Teeth.
Here are some people from last night’s Oscars that could have their heads cut off and (their heads) buried in the sand:
But I did like that one nerd who won for best animated short. He really seemed to think that people watching cared! Ha ha ha. That poor guy. That poor ponytail! “I just want to thank the Academy for continuing to honor short form animation. I think it’s really cool. I’m totally going to be the life of next week’s speed-dating event! Thank you Oscar!” Meanwhile, boo! No one cares! And since when did Beyonce sing every single song from every single movie ever made?
BOOO HOLLYWOOD! YAY MEGADEATH!
What happens in my cubicle stays in my cubicle.
The jury is IN!
“Among the jurors is a woman who said her grandson was required to register as a sex offender; a woman who said she was related to the pilot of one of the planes that went down in the September 11 terror attacks; a 20-year-old man who likes The Simpsons and a man who is interested in Western art and country music.”
This bears a striking resemblance to something Clown Coffee sent me earlier today regarding the jury selection process:
“At various points, questioning [of Jackson jurors] veered beyond the mundane into the seemingly irrelevant.
A 45-year-old juror, who described herself as unemployed, said she has read no newspaper accounts of the Jackson case. She mentioned that she likes food.
‘And what are your favorite foods?’ asked lead defense attorney Thomas Mesereau Jr.
‘Um, I like vegetables,’ she replied.”
Is it just me, or are Michael Jackson’s peers a bunch of weird idiots? Look, I like food and The Simpsons too, but I’m not really sure how that would impact my ability to objectively interpret a pedophilia trial against the world’s most famous pop star. Also, um, I like vegetables.
I was watching Lohan’s new video yesterday (and incidentally, videomakers, if you want me to believe that Lohan is “rocking out” in her garage, it better be a five car garage filled with Italian sports-cars and maybe some plasma screen TVs, because otherwise, no, je ne believe it pas. Oh, and actually the whole Smashing Pumpkins “1979″ theme of rebellious adolescence is sort of difficult to accept from someone who’s been home-schooled and whose friendships consist mostly of mochaccinos and women who are paid to open her mail.) and I was overcome with some honestly heartfelt concern for the young teen queen. Her entire career/personality/success is built on being a preternaturally beautiful teenager. Can she sing or act? Who knows? Who cares? That’s really beside the point. But not for long. Eventually, and I suspect sooner rather than later, people are going to grow tired of Lohan, and as she ages her looks are going to mature (I avoid saying fade because she really is quite striking, but old is old is old) and I do not think that Lohan has the emotional fortitude or the intellectual wherewithal to deal with the natural aging process. She’s already a terribly insecure bitch, and that’s when she’s on top of the world. Imagine the slide into the abyss of fraud-fearsome talentless middle-age!!
But I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. No use worrying about something I have no control over, like the slow but inevitable decay of Lohan’s body.
I canâ??t live without you
Canâ??t breathe without you
Iâ??m dreamin’ bout you
Honestly, tell me that itâ??s over
Cause if the world is spinning and Iâ??m still living
It won’t be right if were not in it together
Tell me that it’s over
And Iâ??ll be the first to go, yeah, Iâ??ll be the first to go
Donâ??t want to be the last to know (over, over, over)
Now, to be fair to Mr. Braff, I was predisposed to dislike his film, and probably he’d just as soon not have people like me watch it. Who needs to submit themselves to that kind of negative scrutiny? But even I was surprised at the violent discomfort and anger I experienced in watching Garden State. Rarely have I seen such a hackneyed, heavy-handed, emotionally thin piece of navel-gazing, and a waste of talent. Because I actually like Zach Braff, at least on his TV show, and Nathalie Portman captured my heart when she was eight-years-old, and I like Peter Sarsgaard. BUT COME ON. It was one illogical “quirky” set-piece after another. And the dialogue! I will grant Mr. Braff a few choice lines, but every time his characters sank into their ponderous depression I beat my fists against the couch, and I actually had to leave the room during the infamous screaming scene.
There is, of course, one really good thing that came out of watching this movie, which was part of the reason I rented it in the first place: now I know for a fact that if someone says they LOVED Garden State, I will know to excise them from my life completely. It would not be fair to say “I think I need to excise you from my life because I’m pretty sure that Garden State is anathema to what I consider worthwhile in the world, but I can’t be sure because I have not bothered to see it.” That would make me no better than Rick Santorum. Also, have you heard of the Shins? They will change your life!
I know that it’s not “cool” to repeat Emo Phillips jokes. I know that no one has ever “made it big,” “gotten laid,” or “landed their own T.V. show on the WB or UPN” based on their “awesome ability” to “remember mid-90′s schtick from caricature comedians.” Nevertheless, there is this Emo Phillips joke that has been in my head all morning.
He walks up to this lady in the bar and starts hitting on her. The lady says, “Mister, I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.” Emo laughs. “If I was the last man on Earth, you wouldn’t even be allowed in line.”
But, of course, jokes are not as funny when you have been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness like Stage 1 Hypertension.
Worker #3116: Do you know what the hardest part of being diagnosed with Stage 1 Hypertension is?
Clown Coffee: …
Worker #3116: The loneliness. The isolation.
Clown Coffee: …
Worker #3116: Did you hear that I’ve been diagnosed with Stage 1 Hypertension and that I’m going to die soon?
Stevil: I read that somewhere. Anyway, [blah blah blah] pizza.
Worker #3116: Fine. No one cares that I’m dying. Well, I’ll show you. I’ll show you all when I will the entirety of my vast fortune to my cats.