Some combination of holidays, watching the lost weekend , avoiding other people, and heroic failure to manage intake of Special Treats (across several categories, not just too many pops. Even like too much taco salad and not showering and mario kart) generated a recursive wretchedness lasting c. 72 hours. And so it was that I went out into the city and had bagels and felt better because I shaved and did not feel athletic creeping terror at the polite suggestion of being in the same room as other human beings. Remind me later that I need to wash my bath towel, please. Also, I ought to point out that the comments function on this blog is now more of a non-function, if you take my meaning.
Some media notes:
1. Two Brothers: I expected that a movie that promised to be little more than footage of two tigers walking around various landscapes (a jungle, a different jungle, -lateRaj-era India, a third jungle, at least one bathtub, at least one autobus) would be terrifically entertaining, i think because in the preview the baby tigers make noises that sound sort of like the noises former 1984produkts employee M. Wiry Cat used to make, when hungry or awake. As it turns out, the baby tigers are only in the movie for a minute, at the beginning, Guy Pearce is in no way an indicator of a movie being like other movies (LA Confidential, Memento) that had Guy Pearce in them also, and this movie: one of the most boring alleged entertainments of recorded history. on the other hand, i was put to sleep within 30 minutes. which sort of clouds whether or not i can rightly assess how good or bad this movie is. I’m glad i saw it though, because it fits into the burgeoning academic field of identifying advocated compulsory homosocial/sexuality in modern commercial art. How does it fit: Well, there is not too much evidence that Kumal and Sangha are actually brothers– in fact I don’t think you ever see them together with both parents at the same time, which I think opens the door or window for their reunion during the tiger fight sequence (which manages to indict specifically mediterranean-looking people as tiger abusers for i would say less than clear reasons. maybe I’m working too hard for that one.) to be construed as two boy tigers falling in love, or falling back into love. somehow this is related to my non-benighted enthusiasm at the idea of like militarized gay liberation in the US and how i want that to happen, while still being pretty straight, on that scale of 0 to 6 where one end is perfectly straight and one end is perfectly gay. it’s a lot like how i cheered on the side for the Red Sox from 2002 to 2004 because the indians were in no position to satisfy my needs and desires as a regular baseball-church-goer.
1a. Notable instances of commercials for homosexuality:
The one football commercial where the QB tried to encourage the hapless fat kid to score a TD because then he will receive a kiss from the peerless head cheerleader. his immediate and clearly nature not nuture response is to suggest that he is not interested in getting the ball on this play, which I have long maintained is pretty screamingly not entirely about football, if you know what I mean. Like I don’t even remember what this commercial was for or about because it didn’t tell you, because it was clearly funded by some kind of shadow hand organization. Now I’m fictionalizing things. Sorry.
The subway commercial where the security guard guy says he is going to get the Total Happiness, which turns out to be a meatball sub filmed in a mostly appropriate but still sort of lasciviously phallic way, which he then eats and gets some on his shirt, and then, out of nowhere, a woman, clearly cast as the secuirty guard’s emasculating evil bitch boss comes to the desk and says sneeringly, “you got some total happiness on your shirt” in a cruel manner, which the security guard protagonist reacts to in the way that people react to Ralph Fiennes’ character in Schindler’s List.
2. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind: Not actually good or about meaningful human emotion. I thought through this. And somebody needs to turn off the Jon Brion Totally Disposable soundtrack cyborg before it overheats. And Beck needs to stop covering Korgis songs.