They are remaking the movie The Birds, and thusly, it is only fitting and befitting that there be birds a-chirpin outside my winda! Soon I shall go to the Land of Sleep but will those birds? Dear sir I'm game to gamble THEY WILL NOT!
Who do those birds think they are?! Do they think they are the best animal on the planet?! They are certainly not! This is concrete fact. Sound based logic. Birds are certainly not the best beast.
You know that song about being a bird, "I'm Like a Bird" well it's about being like a bird? Some song!
I'm going to show up to the opening night of The Birds The Remake with a bunch of feathers on my coat. We'll see what those Hollywood types think about that! Sorry Max Weinstein, but I was BORN outside of the BOX!
This is Robin Williams! Hold on to your funny socks because I'm gonna KNOCK EM OFF! Okay so here we goooooooooooooooooooooooooo
So how about the checkout lines at the grocery SNORE I know it's like SNORE because of how TIRED I am from fucking standing here ALL DAY
Alrighty here's anotherrrrrrr 111111111111
Why do taxi drivers always have to have ZANY last NAMES?! Huh?! ITS LIKE are you from FRANCE or are you just FUCKING WEIRD?!
Wuh wah wuh wooooooooooooooooooooooooooo here's the next winner
And how about the PRESIDENT of our United States?! What if Canada went on a date with George Bush I bet Canada would be like YOU GET THE BILL get it because THEY ARE CHEAPSKATES!
I LIKE TO GO CHEAPICESKATING! Horgh horgh HOOOOOOOOOORGH!
ALLLLLkay and speaking of political humor what's the deal with TONY BLAIR what if there was such a fucking thing as the TONY BLAIR WITCH PROJECT who would star in that maybe HUGH GRANT because he's so BRITISH! AND WHGAts the deal with the name BritiSH its like they are SHUSHING us at the end there I MEAN SERIOUSLY I DONT GET IT!
Alrightyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy folks I gottaaaaa gooooo but hey if you liked this I have a movie coming out called DONT TOUCH THAT! and its about me and I'm SOMEONES' DAD!
You can't make great works of art when you're happy, but when you're depressed you can't make anything at all. That's why no great works of art exist. We only think great works of art exist because our standards are low. Just imagine how great the works of art you enjoy now could've been if this paradox did not exist.
I'm starving. I could eat anything right now and it would taste like God threw on an apron and decided he felt like cooking tonight, then determined who got the meal by drawing my name out of a hat with billions of other names in it, and I'd forget to thank him before digging in. I'm just that fucking hungry.
So why don't I just walk downstairs and get something to eat? Because I climbed a personal Everest tonight and I don't feel like sledding back down yet. I feel like setting up camp at the peak for a night to savor the moment.
I ran three times longer than I ever have before. My body lets me know it hasn't been pushed this hard in quite some time by shaking, particularly my legs, which makes it difficult to climb the staircase to the shower, and even to walk the ten feet over to my room after that.
My legs ache but I can't wait to go to sleep so I can break this fast as fast as possible tomorrow morning.
It feels good though. Really good. It makes me wonder why people ever bother having sex when a climax like this can be reached on one's own, and in a way that's infinitely more satisfying than masturbation. This makes me realize that I haven't done so in a long time. It makes me wonder if I'll ever have to again.
"Well...as long as I keep running..."
The shaking has stopped. It's been a while since I stopped moving and I think they've remembered what it's like to not be in constant motion.
As soon as I'm finished typing, I'll roll my chair over to the side of my bed and sleep where I land. I'm going to ache tomorrow no matter what, so I doubt I'll notice if more pains are acquired from sleeping in an awkward position.
I decide that, if need be tomorrow morning, I'll roll myself down the steps and into the kitchen, then proceed to eat everything within my reach.
"Thank God I have a long reach," is my last thought of the night. The last image is my room spinning. The last sound is silence, which is what I need to hear after hours of blasting music.
The ringing in my ears, the aching of my legs, the dizziness from the hunger... I'm so hungry.
Tomorrow I'm going to eat the best meal of my life, made up of whatever I can reach. Thank God I have a long reach.
WHAT IF I LITERALLY FOUND JESUS AND HE WAS ONLY 3 INCHES TALL AND I PUT HIM IN A JAR AND KEPT HIM AS A PET HOW DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE HASN'T DONE IT ALREADY THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!
OH MY GOD IT COULD BE TRUE!!!!!! PASS THIS INFORMATION ON!!!!
Dear Christ, the Oscars haven't happened yet? Why have they not passed yet? I swear to God every advertisement I saw said they were happening that coming weekend and that I started seeing them like three months ago. Doesn't everyone know by now how meaningless they've become? Do people really give a shit if that precocious little fat girl from Little Miss Sunshine wins Best Supporting Actress for playing the role of a precocious little fat girl? When will we stop giving a shit about the minutiae of celebrities' lives? Britney Spears shaved her head. She got a haircut and it's front page news. Michael Jackson was worth the coverage. He looks like an alien, he molests everything in sight, and he has an amusement park in his backyard. He is the model all celebrities should follow (for sustaining their career without ever having to do any work). I have to admit, Britney is doing a fine job herself. She hasn't released an album in quite sometime and, unlike Michael Jackson, even when she did it was complete shit. And yet, she's still in the papers. We live in a very strange place. If I was an alien (an actual alien, not a celebrity who resembled one) and I landed pretty much anywhere in America, I'd run back to my spaceship as fast possible, screaming an alien scream of horror. I'd take one look at an ironic t-shirt or a Larry the Cable Guy DVD and cry green tears. I'd fear for my life knowing that I landed on a planet inhabited by insane, mentally handicapped (especially compared to my large alien brain) people and be gripped with fear. And that's before I learned anything about this country and the current state of the Earth. The more I would learn, the more horrified I would become. As I flew back to my planet I'd wonder, "How does life exist on that planet?!" and in a few years, when the Earth implodes or goes into another Ice Age or melts or whatever horrible thing Global Warming will cause, I will not be surprised. I will shrug my alien shoulders and go back to playing with my alien Rubik's Cube (with 7,000 sides and colors). I (as myself, not an alien) feel doomed. In addition to the endless supply of personal problems, I feel confronted by an infinite amount of national (And global) problems. I don't understand how anyone could be happy unless it's in that Dr. Strangelove "Yee-haw!" riding on the back of a nuke type of way. Everyone should be frowning. But people remain blissfully unaware. I'm jealous, I really am. My life is constant frustration and always will be. I wish I could be excited for something as trivial as the Oscars, not in a if-there-was-a-genie-here-it-would-be-my-first-wish type of way though. It wouldn't be any of my wishes. But genies aren't real. Magic isn't real. So, with the circumstances of reality in mind, I wish that I was a complete moron, so I could smile at the sparkles on J-Lo's dress, "Shiny!" instead of thinking about punching Ryan Seacrest in the face. Okay, to be fair, I think everyone wants to punch Ryan Seacrest in the face, even Ryan Seacrest. I'd have so much more respect for him if he did that, too. Live on the red carpet, pre-Oscars (which I'm now realizing are happening tonight, I believe), Ryan Seacrest just starts punching himself in the face screaming, "Let this be an example to you all!!!" If an alien saw that, he'd still be horrified. That's why War of the Worlds will never happen. That's my thesis. I should've stated that at the beginning. Sorry COLLEGE I guess you didn't make me write enough thesis papers. Maybe if I had done 30 more I'd be able to effectively frame my argument. But then again, I've always been partial to the classic rant. And the best part of the classic rant is the ending. Fuck you.
It's not wrong to use your friends and family as stepping stones to further your career. The only thing wrong with that is calling them "friends and family." If you just called them what they really are, "stepping stones", you wouldn't feel so guilty about it.
A soul's only going to weigh you down. When you're climbing the corporate ladder, you want to feel as lightweight as possible. You're better off selling it and using the extra money to buy yourself a nice suit.
Having taken a semester long break from college (which I refuse to allow to become any longer a sabbatical) to collect my thoughts and apply to art schools, I find myself isolted and surrounded by deer in central NJ. Needless to say, it's always nice to go into New York City and remind myself other human beings exist.
Tonight my excuse to be in the city was quite a worthy one, seeing Olde English at the UCB Theater. The group recently returned from a ridiculous cross country road trip (during which the entire show was produced), so it had been a while since I'd seen those funny folks and I knew it would be a good time. The thing about the city is, it's a terrible place to go when you're lonely. Despite there being people everywhere, rarely is there a chance to get to know any of them.
In a McDonalds around the corner from the theater, a red haired girl (leaving right after my friend and I walked in) caught my eye. I was disappointed she was leaving, but this was nothing new. Until later where, perhaps by EPIC FATE or mere coincidence, the same red haired girl was sitting across the UCB's stage from me, right in the front row. Despite Olde English putting on a PHENOMENAL show, my gaze was constantly averted.
By the end of the show, I was DETERMINED to talk to her. Like many of the things I am DETERMINED to do (like no longer be an insomniac), I failed miserably. Despite opening the door for her as I exited the theater and going out of my way (simultaneously forcing my friend to do the same) to walk in her direction after the show, giving myself another chance to say something, anything, I was unsuccessful in starting a conversation with this attractive stranger.
It was actually only a few feet before my friend and I passed her (and her friend) and only a few more feet before they walked into what I think was a parking garage. My friend and I turned the right way and walked to the train station, and made our way back home (perhaps to attempt to make up for the night's misfortune, talked to several people on the train I had previously never met).
This was not the first person I had desired to talk to, and did not. But perhaps this was the first person that I thought would be different. It's one thing to talk to a bunch of strangers on a train, but it's a completely different story actually wanting to talk to someone, really badly, and choking. In retrospect, I can think of many small-talk-y things I could've said to start a conversation with this person. But hopefully I've learned something from this situation.
In fact, I am DETERMINED not to let this happen again. Oh wait... Nevermind. It's just...not going to happen again. I swear. Promise. Vow. Etc. It's just not.
Anyway, the night wasn't all frowns. Olde English's show reminded me what being a comedian really means, and just being in the city felt good. Even if this one got away, it's just nice to know there's someone out there like that. Hopefully she won't be the last I meet er...get the opportunity to meet I should say. LAUGH TRACK! FREEZE FRAME! CUE MUSIC! ROLL CREDITS!
I was going to post a very personal, candid entry about how I'm looking into therapy in hopes of dealing with an overwhelming sense of worthlessness, lack of hope for my future, and endless depression, but instead I'll just leave you with this important question:
How many times do you think blood has been used as lipstick in sexy vampire movies? Like a million?!?!
My friend Thomas, of Lazarus fame, will be guest posting on this live journal at the end of the weekend. Set your WATCHES* by it.
Oh, and obviously, due to equal rights laws, I will be guest posting on his live journal. So check that SHIT out TWO! I used the number two because you're getting TWO posts for the price of NONE. Now-a that's-a deal-a!**
*And yeah, your cell phone counts too, technologically-savvy jerk.
I was thinking about what God looks like today. Well, I was thinking about the image I've had of God for quite some time. It's an ambiguous male figure on a giant throne. It only dawned on me within the past hour that, and I'm being completely honest here, this image of God is the Lincoln Memorial. It always was. I was just never fully conscious of it until now...
But, I don't think that this image is any more ridiculous than everyone else's. In fact, I'm under the assumption that the majority of human beings who even believe a God exists thinks he/she/whatever looks like some variation of Zordon from the Power Rangers.
Your God.
My God.
And there's nothing wrong with that. Can't we all just get along?*
*All of my posts have deep moral messages in them. Some are just more obvious than others.
The target of satire shouldn't be a figure currently in the media and pop culture. The target should be the type of person that figure is. Adopting this strategy will allow your critique to resonate with future generations that will inevitably be dealing with figures very similar to your target.
Don't parody Paris Hilton; satirize morally bereft, ego-maniacal, talentless celebrities in general. Create an archetypal character so defined that audiences can't help but draw their own connections to figures currently in the media and pop culture.
You'll hit your target, as well as every similar figure that came before and to come.
Satire is only dangerous when it is timeless and contextually malleable.
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