Crap In General (and General Crap)

August 5, 2012:  Well, hello everybody! I'd like to say it was nice to see you again -- figuratively, of course -- but in reality I'm very hot and sticky and cranky, and I don't really have any good feelings toward you at all right now, despite a vague appreciation that you are here with me after all -- figuratively, that is -- and that has to mean something, although it could merely be a symptom of your innate selfishness or demented voyeurism.

That said, there are so many, many things to catch up on ... and yet I'm so cranky and sticky and hot that I'm in absolutely no mood to begin recounting everything. Sufficie it to say that everyone in the outside world remains stupid and self-centered, I remain baffled and disturbed, and the disconnect between me and reality continues
to grow exponentially.

On a positive note, I've seen some really good movies lately, including (for the eighth time) John Carpenter's "Vampires," which is really just one of the greatest of its kind. Jack Crow, the Catholic church's expert vampire slayer, is the role James Woods was meant to play, soundly accentuated by the subtle skilled work of Daniel Baldwin -- the best Baldwin brother, for sure -- as the reliable Montoyo. This really is a brilliant horror movie -- loads of fun, slick and corny -- everything you could want from the genre -- and best of all centered on characters that aren't teenagers!

That said, I found the new "Amazing Spiderman" a bit disappointing for that very reason -- too much "Twilight"-type dialogue, unstably supported by a weak actress with bugged-out eyes and a new Peter Parker who is definitely not Toby Maguire. Lots of the special effects were good, and the story -- while a weird departure from the classic origin -- and let me tell you, it's classic for a very good reason -- is fair and fine, such as it is ... But ... But ... I don't know. I just don't know! Perhaps this new incarnation can redeem itself by including some of the more important villains in the next movies -- Mysterio, perhaps, or the Scorpion or Electro ... If not, it may just have to mumble its way into tepid obscurity.

What else? Geez, how the hell should I know. I'm so sticky and short-minded and hot and crampy, all I want to do is climb in the freezer and rest my parts on the ice tray. That, in turn, reminds me that we've got to get the cat fixed for a variety of reasons, the least of which is it might teach him a lesson for knocking over three glasses in the kitchen (the stupid fool!).

I'm also looking for a new car -- that is an old new car (or a new old one). I'm certainly not up to having to track one down, and yet I'm also not relishing the prospect of a rich taperstry of new problems should I fail to secure one in the next few days. Were I smart, I'd pack up and move to the city, but I'm coming to realize more and more, as each sweaty day passes me, that I was never quite as smart as I thought I was. Unfortunately, I'm now getting just smart enough to realize that ...

But enough about me. You came here to find out where modern culture was heading, and I assure you it's not really moving anywhere. That's probably a good thing. It makes valid the perpetual regurgitation of everything classic, for lack of better things new. It explains why magazines like Rolling Stone (which is crappy) and Mojo (which is crummy, but my kind of crummy) keep putting Led Zeppelin and The Beatles on their covers, respectively, and why "The Catcher in the Rye" still gets printed up the wazoo.

Speaking of books, there's a brilliant new humorous sci-fi novel out that my son is reading as we speak. I can't recall the name, but if you come back here next week, I'll try and report it ...

Who's Running The Store?!

July 18, 2011: I should be working, but I'm thinking of you instead ... Well, some of you. The rest of you I'm trying to block out, like the heat, which is turning my little attic roost into a steambath. And if that's not enough, there's a whopping thunderstorm sounding down upon my roof like god playing really loud records, and it's making me sure that the next lightning bolt could permanently fuse my fragile fingers to this god-awful keyboard for good ...

Something I've been meaning to mention for a long time -- and I don't think I've mentioned it, but who knows, because I don't have the stomach to go back and read these ridiculous entries -- involves organic food. It just occurred to me, (that is, about 10 months ago), that I have no way of knowing whether or not food is organic. Has that ever occurred to you, you who perhaps even care? And if so, why didn't YOU write about it instead of making ME do it?! (I'm talking to you, Liz!)

(For you regular Blah-ugh! readers -- meaning the five of you -- does this sound familiar? I hope I'm not regurgitating a past entry, because we both know I'm better than that. At the same time, don't all artists basically remake the same story or song or painting over and over again? You see my point, right? And if you don't, don't worry, because I'll just be regurgitating it soon enough anyway ...)

But my point (meaning my OTHER point) is that I (meaning ME) don't know what the hell is going on on any organic farm in Tallahassee or noble Northwest corridor (or anywhere, for that matter). Just because Stop & Shop or Trader Joe's puts some stupid label on it that says it's organic (or anything else -- not made on peanut-fueled equipment, or whatever), how the hell do I ever really know it's true?!

Of course, we all like to think that there are government agencies overseeing this sort of thing, and consumer-advocate groups, etc. Unfortunately, I've reached that cold age where I have absolutely no faith in any of this, and so I've started wondering just what we're faced with here (and not just in our apples -- I'm talking about broccoli, pears -- everything). I mean, let's be honest, do any of us really have the time to do anything but watch television in our spare hours, let alone monitor the organic standards of apple companies in Mexico, or the graft passing between wheat executives in Kearney, Nebraska, or whether or not some corn picker in Duluth is rubbing each ear on his private parts before shipping it south?

And why should I trust Trader Joe's, of all things? They just discontinued my precious rice noodles without giving me any notice, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I won't be able to find my microwavable mashed potatoes in the freezer section anymore, following my securing of the last bag this evening. (O, what a morbid post-apocalyptic short story that could make -- "The Last Mashed Potato Bag" ...)

And Stop & Shop I certainly don't trust, nor any of their "Nature's Promise" labels. And I don't trust our government, even starting locally. And I'm pretty disappointed in my police department as well these days, not to mention some of the weirdos at the dump. Hell, I'm not even sure which neighbors I can count on not to leave their dog excrement in my yard. My god, is there no going back to safer, more trustworthy times?!

Well, in the end we're so breathtakingly powerless that all we can do is eat the f***ing apples and hope we don't come down with anything that can't be cured without good insurance. I'm sure you all agree that this is a wonderful time we live in, with all its communication advances and flavors of herbal tea and different kinds of White-Out.

I'm just not sure, then, why everyone's so depressed and allergic and autistic and cancer-prone and ADHD and taking so many supplements but still on the verge of gluten death ...

Someone should write about this stuff and tell the people. Me, I'm getting back to my last-night John Carpenter DVD fest ...