I haven’t posted anything in a while, so it’ll likely be mete that I rub my target audience again with a few words. This will not be easy, as Petya brought home some bottles the other day and some plastic spoons and we have been watching “The Room” over nad over and throwing spoons at the laptop, which is a brilliant way to spend some time with one’s attorney, though the hangover isn’t so dazzling, even as it springs in me an acute and severe fit of my already intolerable graphomania, the results of which I must apologize for even before I have written it. So here’s what’s new:
The cats don’t like their new cat-tunnel, but when Petya or I wear it on our head it’s like we are giant erasers and we can walk around the flat erasing things with our giant, red, Ticonderoga-esque craniums.
My brilliant wife bought us tickets to the Arctic Monkeys show in Barcelona this Feb. Tears of gratitude threaten to flood Prague-4. I should not joke about floods in Prague, because there was an apocalyptic flood here in 2002, and a lot of animals in the excellent zoo died. I always suspected that the true enemy was water. Be suspicious, friends. Um, we will be there for the weekend, so you should come and listen to my horrible Spanish.
BTW, we will be in L.A. for x-mas, c u there? I’d heart all my BFF’s 2 b there, h8 2 Ms yall.
The other day I started a fight with Petya because I wanted her to consider – as a thought-experiment – a world where wood did not exist. You know what I mean. It was desperately important that we talk about a woodless-world, and I’m not speaking metaphorically at all, you filthy-minded cabrones. I really wanted to posit a world where there were no trees, no wood, and thus discuss what the world would be like without readily-available, cheap-material chairs and warmth and 2-by-fours.
I read some W. H. Auden this morning:
"There must always be two kinds of art: escape-art, for man needs escape as he needs food and deep sleep, and parable-art, that art which shall teach man to unlearn hatred and learn love."
I’m right there with him until that final word. I harbor a fathomless suspicion for that word, and generally don’t like to hear it unless it’s coming from the mouth of my wife. Auden is one of the very few poets I can stomach, but if I had the chance to drink a bottle of London Gin with him, in public, I would dare say that no artist should ever, ever deploy such a vague term. Now, I was a huge fan of “The Love Boat” and can still sing all the lines from the intro song, but there are some words so threadbare that it becomes the duty of the artist to craft or tweak or soup-up a new term so that I don’t get bored and give up. Here are those words: Love, Death, Hope, Money, Pain, Peace, Forever, Bodyguard, Postman, Dennis Hopper, Dance, Wolves, and Baseball.
If you misread the Mayan calendar, you, along with most of California, might actually think the world could end in 2012. This information is based on half-indecipherable scratchings in stone by a people that couldn’t even predict that cutting down all the trees would wash away their food supply. This made me wonder how we could get Hollywood to stop making 100% garbage. Unfortunately, the solution is most unlikely: humans would have to stop paying money for garbage. (Caveat: it’s not only the U.S. that is churning out super-garbage: most film industries are now hard at work trying to replicate movies such as “2012” and “The Hottie and the Nottie”.) On this note, I wish to say that I have already decided never to see “The Road”, based on the trailers I’ve seen. The book will take you an afternoon to read and is astounding. I don’t care if Viggo Mortensen is great. I like his acting too. But the one thing that separates the film version from garbage is that China can’t recycle this film and re-sell it back to the West.
There’s more. I’m going to do us all a favor by not writing it, at least not at this moment. But take my advice: don’t see “The Road” and don’t posit woodless worlds. And try not to say “love” too much, unless you are singing the theme song from “The Love Boat”. Also, in case you didn’t know this, “Love Actually” is actually less useful than a tapeworm. If you tell other people you like this film, it’s kind of the same as being caught reading Rowling or Dan Brown in public. I urge you, stridently, not to do this.