I’m watching The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour, and I can only conclude that drugs in the ’60s must have been just mindblowingly fucking sensational.
Christmas will be here soon, and a lot of you forgot my birthday. I’m just sayin’… do the right thing.
Ten minutes into The Great Gatsby and I’m done. The filmmakers don’t need me to be impressed. They’re impressed with themselves enough for both of us.
Also, this CGI looks like shit. Effects are supposed to be special, not special ed.
I’ve only ever walked out on one movie in my life, Moulin Rouge, and I left for the same reason I turned this one off: instead of making a good movie, they tried to convince me they’d made a good movie. It was forced and off-putting, and ultimately intolerable.
Something occurs to me. How many of mankind’s truly great, immortal achievements have suffered catastrophic failure? 100%. Pyramids crumbled during construction. Centurions were slaughtered by the thousands trying to build roads. Astronauts burned alive on the launch pad. And at each turn, small, petty people of low character, reveling in the failure of others shouted, “You see? It cannot be done. Stop trying.” And the pyramids and roads that still stand thousands of years later, like the flag that still stands on the Moon, were put there by people wise enough and strong enough to choose faith in themselves and the future over fear of failure and the unknown. People who looked their naysayers in the eye and said, “Never.”
Back in 2009, to celebrate the 20th anniversary of the movie UHF, I constructed and ate a Twinkie Wiener Sandwich. Here are the never before seen photos.Continue reading “Twinkie Wiener Sandwich”
Wandered the old high school today. Don’t know what I was looking for, but I didn’t find it. Thought it might be nostalgic, but the fog of memory and the physicality of change have severed whatever remaining connection I had there. It was less like reminiscence and more like intrusion. Just one more place I can’t go back to. Just one more place I no longer belong.
It occurred to me that this is what getting old is. Knowing the lay of land that no longer exists, having expertise in rules of life that no longer apply. Knowing with absolute clarity every stair and corner of buildings that now bear no resemblance to what you once knew. Living with a head and heart full of facts that are no longer facts. Bearing the weight of knowledge once precise and vital, now irrelevant in an alien environment in which you have outlived your utility. There’s a word for this. Obsolescence. I’ve had tastes of it before today, but never has it been brought to bear so strongly. And it seems clear that this is just a fraction of what’s to come. From here out, the space beyond just gets darker.
Ann Carol Crispin, April 5, 1950 – September 6, 2013