"It's a fine line between clever and stupid, really."
-Nigel Tufnel
Reality is a bit of a cheating whore. We think it's one thing, we have a good grasp of the situation and everything is hunky dory, and eventually we're shocked to discover that reality has been fucking the pool boy, the mailman, your best friend and your father, and it's all been documented on everyoneyouknowisfuckingyourgirl.com
Not that I have first hand experience with any of that, mind you. Masturbation is evil, and it makes the invisible space sheriff hate you, so don't do it, kids.
ANYHOO. We lead ourselves to believe we have a good grasp on the objective state of our lives, because we are constantly making ourselves forget that we are only capable of maintaining a subjective perspective. It's a kind of meta/zen Catch 22. The only way we can maintain a proper 'outside' view of life is by being aware that we are limited to our narrow 'inside' view. I'm pretty sure this is what the Matrix was all about, except I have worse kung fu and better writing.
So what happens when your life gets flip turned upside down? Unfortunately, the odds of such an event resulting in us becoming the Prince of a town called Bel Air are pretty slim. Usually, I just get a weird sense of vertigo. Not the physical variety, but again, a more metaphysical sort. I was so focused on point A, that I neglected to notice that points B-Z are no longer where I thought they were. My compass is not just thrown off, it's spinning wildly after having been eaten by a magnetic bear (I imagine this is what will happen to Polar Bears confused by global warming).
Back to perspective.
The problem with subjective reality is that it's one unique snowflake against 6 billion others. We all have opinions, we all have assholes, and guess what? Most of them stink (except for porn stars: their bleached anuses (anni?) and advanced degress in the arts make them unique exceptions to this rule). So how do we resolve this endless struggle to maintain our balance when the whole world is throwing us off?
I dunno. Drugs? Booze? Youtube videos of sleepwalking dogs running into walls?
The fact is, the great question isn't 'who am I?' It's 'Am I who I think I am?' And if not, who? Because every person who has ever met your has sized you up and judged you based on limited interaction. And I hate to tell you this, but that look on their faces? It ain't cuz they smell roses...
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The difference between what is and what we want to be
So I was over at www.thelastpsychiatrist.com reading his review of On the Road, and I thought he brought up some pretty salient points.
Let me start off by saying that I read OTR about 6 months ago. At the time, I was trying to get caught up on some of the classic American novels of the 20th century, so I picked up a copy of OTR and a copy of Catch 22, and re-read Catcher in the Rye. My reactions were as follows.
1) Catcher in the Rye: Oh man, I can't believe I hated this when I was 15. This perfectly captures the feelings of teenage angst, of wanting to be something more than what you are, that unique teenage narcissism and desire for adventure that makes being a teenager so enraging and frustrating yet so fucking great in hindsight. Glad I re-read this.
2) Catch 22: Oh man, this is not what I expected. I didn't realize it was so absurd. But man, this is funny stuff. No wonder it's a classic.
3) On The Road: FUCKKKKKK. THIS SUCKS. WHY DID I WASTE MY MONEY? FUCK YOU SAL PARADISE. FUCK YOU DEAN MORIARTY. FUCK YOU JACK KEROUAC.
On the Road, in a word, sucked. I thought this was going to be the summary of every road trip fantasy, the search for freedom and meaning in a society gone mad. I'd laugh, I'd cry, and I'd come away inspired to make my own reality, to venture out into the world and make my mark at any cost.
What a load of shit. On the Road is about two whiny bitches who are terrified of life. There is no deep meaning behind their journey. They run not for the sake of freedom, but because they don't have the balls to stay. They aren't looking to make their mark: they're petrified of it. Dean is the more dominant of the two, meaning he's the one who pretends to have a sack. Sal has no such pretension. He's a coward and he knows he's a coward. He needs to leech of a stronger personality, because this is the kind of guy who disappears in crowds. Dean just happens to have the biggest mouth around, so Sal sucks onto his underbelly like one of those fish you see swimming around sharks, and goes along for the ride. There is not a single goddam noble moment in the entire book. Sal is a non-entity. He is a supporting character in his own life. Dean is an asshole. He abandons kids as quickly as he can conceive them. He lies to women to fuck them (this doesn't make him a ladies man or suave. Anybody can fuck women as themselves provided they have the confidence. Dean does not).
Maybe one day an author will come along and pen the REAL great American road trip book. This clearly isn't it.
Let me start off by saying that I read OTR about 6 months ago. At the time, I was trying to get caught up on some of the classic American novels of the 20th century, so I picked up a copy of OTR and a copy of Catch 22, and re-read Catcher in the Rye. My reactions were as follows.
1) Catcher in the Rye: Oh man, I can't believe I hated this when I was 15. This perfectly captures the feelings of teenage angst, of wanting to be something more than what you are, that unique teenage narcissism and desire for adventure that makes being a teenager so enraging and frustrating yet so fucking great in hindsight. Glad I re-read this.
2) Catch 22: Oh man, this is not what I expected. I didn't realize it was so absurd. But man, this is funny stuff. No wonder it's a classic.
3) On The Road: FUCKKKKKK. THIS SUCKS. WHY DID I WASTE MY MONEY? FUCK YOU SAL PARADISE. FUCK YOU DEAN MORIARTY. FUCK YOU JACK KEROUAC.
On the Road, in a word, sucked. I thought this was going to be the summary of every road trip fantasy, the search for freedom and meaning in a society gone mad. I'd laugh, I'd cry, and I'd come away inspired to make my own reality, to venture out into the world and make my mark at any cost.
What a load of shit. On the Road is about two whiny bitches who are terrified of life. There is no deep meaning behind their journey. They run not for the sake of freedom, but because they don't have the balls to stay. They aren't looking to make their mark: they're petrified of it. Dean is the more dominant of the two, meaning he's the one who pretends to have a sack. Sal has no such pretension. He's a coward and he knows he's a coward. He needs to leech of a stronger personality, because this is the kind of guy who disappears in crowds. Dean just happens to have the biggest mouth around, so Sal sucks onto his underbelly like one of those fish you see swimming around sharks, and goes along for the ride. There is not a single goddam noble moment in the entire book. Sal is a non-entity. He is a supporting character in his own life. Dean is an asshole. He abandons kids as quickly as he can conceive them. He lies to women to fuck them (this doesn't make him a ladies man or suave. Anybody can fuck women as themselves provided they have the confidence. Dean does not).
Maybe one day an author will come along and pen the REAL great American road trip book. This clearly isn't it.
Spring Cleaning
The following are things I've meant to write about, but as spring is now upon is, and I haven't done jack squat and the ideas have kind of stagnated, I think I'll let them go (at least, until winter comes and I'm bored and depressed).
1) When I was a kid, I saw a snuff film on the internet, that in retrospect, was clearly staged. This still has haunted me for years, until I realized how incredibly fake it was. I was going to tie this into the movies we used to gawk at for being so realistic, that are now just cheesy to watch (hello, all of Arnold Shwarzenegger's 1980s oeuvre).
2) I used to have (and occasionally still do) recurring nightmares which resembled the plot of 28 Days Later. Obviously, this means I'm completely psychotic.
3) Another effort at explaining just how much I loathe 95% of Indie Rock, especially The Fucking Arcade Fire. I will revisit this again in the future, I promise.
I really, really hate them.
4) Gigantism: God's way of telling us bigger isn't always better.
5) My forbidden love for Avril Lavigne: sure, she's awful, and annoying and married to a troll, but oh man, the things I'd do to her. This would be tied into the idea that any women with a guitar is automatically sexy, with 2 notable exceptions: Melissa Etheridge and for some, Juliette Lewis, who was much sexier when she was killing a lot of people in Natural Born Killers.
6) Gary Coleman: why?
7) Screech: Ditto
8) That douche who used to be on Saved by the Bell and now hosts the former bass player for Journey's Dance Like You Have Epilepsy Crew. Mario Lopez, there we go. I can't even ask why, because it's obvious there is no good reason for him to exist.
9) I got a guitar magazine with Steve Vai on the cover, which led me to ask: how does a guy who is so good at something cool make that something seem so uncool?
10) Is Dane Cook Unspeakably awesome or awesomely unspeakable? Hint: it's the latter.
Well, now that those are out of the way, I'm hoping to get a bit more positive now that spring is a-comin. I'm looking forward to writing about why the Habs broke my heart (or made my heart soar, if they stop sucking balls), questioning if there is a pair of shorts in existence that can solve the eternal 'permanent erection due to Montreal women wearing nothing but mini-skirts for 3 straight months' issue, and of course, moaning endlessly about how people today spend too much time on the internet, very little of which is spent reading this blog.
1) When I was a kid, I saw a snuff film on the internet, that in retrospect, was clearly staged. This still has haunted me for years, until I realized how incredibly fake it was. I was going to tie this into the movies we used to gawk at for being so realistic, that are now just cheesy to watch (hello, all of Arnold Shwarzenegger's 1980s oeuvre).
2) I used to have (and occasionally still do) recurring nightmares which resembled the plot of 28 Days Later. Obviously, this means I'm completely psychotic.
3) Another effort at explaining just how much I loathe 95% of Indie Rock, especially The Fucking Arcade Fire. I will revisit this again in the future, I promise.
I really, really hate them.
4) Gigantism: God's way of telling us bigger isn't always better.
5) My forbidden love for Avril Lavigne: sure, she's awful, and annoying and married to a troll, but oh man, the things I'd do to her. This would be tied into the idea that any women with a guitar is automatically sexy, with 2 notable exceptions: Melissa Etheridge and for some, Juliette Lewis, who was much sexier when she was killing a lot of people in Natural Born Killers.
6) Gary Coleman: why?
7) Screech: Ditto
8) That douche who used to be on Saved by the Bell and now hosts the former bass player for Journey's Dance Like You Have Epilepsy Crew. Mario Lopez, there we go. I can't even ask why, because it's obvious there is no good reason for him to exist.
9) I got a guitar magazine with Steve Vai on the cover, which led me to ask: how does a guy who is so good at something cool make that something seem so uncool?
10) Is Dane Cook Unspeakably awesome or awesomely unspeakable? Hint: it's the latter.
Well, now that those are out of the way, I'm hoping to get a bit more positive now that spring is a-comin. I'm looking forward to writing about why the Habs broke my heart (or made my heart soar, if they stop sucking balls), questioning if there is a pair of shorts in existence that can solve the eternal 'permanent erection due to Montreal women wearing nothing but mini-skirts for 3 straight months' issue, and of course, moaning endlessly about how people today spend too much time on the internet, very little of which is spent reading this blog.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Are You Experienced? aka, <3's for Bruce Campbell
I remember an Old Spice commercial from a few years ago that, quite frankly, was a great piece of art than any of the movies that have ever won an Academy Award. This commercial starred a man so talented, so iconic, so downright amazing, that no piece of hardware could be given that would give him justice.
Hail to the King, baby. You know I'm talkin about Ash himself. Bruce Campbell. A man who can only be described as 'groovy.'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af1OxkFOK18
Some of you have probably never seen Evil Dead, and it's 2 awesome sequels, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Do yourself a favour and give'em a watch, you will no doubt start screaming THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK for no particular reason and you probably won't trust your own hand again, and you'll probably spend hours looking at youtube videos of the cast of Evil Dead: The Musical singing Do the Necronomicon. But that's neither here nor there.
Experience is a funny thing. Cynics out there would probably say that people can be easily lumped into categories, and once you figure out which category somebody belongs to, you can predict exactly what they'll do in any given situation.
Is this true? I hope not. I'd like to think people are more interesting than this. I think it's fair to say that people act according to their prior experiences. And I'd like to think that each person's experiences are so unique that it makes them less predictable, not more. The minutae of life fascinate me. What small things affect who we become? My favourite moments in conversation are when somebody says something about an event in their life that may seem insignificant, but when you put it in the right light, explains more about them than when they share a seemingly much more traumatic or earth shaking experience. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but as Bruce Campbell claims, experience is much more telling.
Of course, could we expect anything less from the man who gave the world the greatest advice ever?
Say it with me. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart!
Hail to the King, baby. You know I'm talkin about Ash himself. Bruce Campbell. A man who can only be described as 'groovy.'
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Af1OxkFOK18
Some of you have probably never seen Evil Dead, and it's 2 awesome sequels, Evil Dead II and Army of Darkness. Do yourself a favour and give'em a watch, you will no doubt start screaming THIS IS MY BOOMSTICK for no particular reason and you probably won't trust your own hand again, and you'll probably spend hours looking at youtube videos of the cast of Evil Dead: The Musical singing Do the Necronomicon. But that's neither here nor there.
Experience is a funny thing. Cynics out there would probably say that people can be easily lumped into categories, and once you figure out which category somebody belongs to, you can predict exactly what they'll do in any given situation.
Is this true? I hope not. I'd like to think people are more interesting than this. I think it's fair to say that people act according to their prior experiences. And I'd like to think that each person's experiences are so unique that it makes them less predictable, not more. The minutae of life fascinate me. What small things affect who we become? My favourite moments in conversation are when somebody says something about an event in their life that may seem insignificant, but when you put it in the right light, explains more about them than when they share a seemingly much more traumatic or earth shaking experience. They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but as Bruce Campbell claims, experience is much more telling.
Of course, could we expect anything less from the man who gave the world the greatest advice ever?
Say it with me. Shop smart. Shop S-Mart!
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