25.3.08
Oh, Not Again
I just watched Noah Baumbach's new picture Margot at the Wedding. He makes me really uncomfortable. I don't know why he has to have a scene involving a pre-adolescent boy watching a couple have sex in a neighboring backyard. I do not understand his compulsion to have a condom floating in the toilet as aforementioned boy speaks to his mother. I do not understand why this young boy later told his mom quite frankly that he masturbated the night before while everyone else in the room was sleeping. The same goes for his last movie, The Squid and the Whale which featured a similar pre-adolescent boy chronically masturbating every other scene or so to the sounds of Tangerine Dream's score to Risky Business. It's all very fucking weird and disgusting and uncomfortable and his movies usually leave me retching. I find most of his characters despicable and hardly realistic with the exception of Margot's Malcolm played by Jack Black whom I could quite relate to. Margot however was a drugged out bitch... well-played by Nicole Kidman nonetheless. But next time can't we just cut the crap and leave near-child pornography out of the equation?
24.3.08
Into the Wild Remains a Great Film
HALITOSIS
I feel like that girl in the T-Mobile commercial from last year or the year before. It was part of their campaign surrounding like, the ability to have 1,000 anytime minutes or something. She's in a middle school cheerleading outfit, chatting away in a white room. Scientists watch from behind a glass window.
"I looooooove cheeeewwwwwing gum," she part whines, part groans to her best girlfriend imprisoned on the other end.
I love chewing gum, too. Ever since Matt Mullane started bringing in that really fruity Trident, the kind that always reminds me of this night with this girl, the kind that makes the immediate area around the chewers mouth smell like heaven, I've been trying to chew more gum. It kills time. It makes me not eat crap at work. It makes my breath smell nicer because, let's face it, I'm pretty sure I have halitosis.
IRRATIONALITY
I live in increasing fear. For one, in school: I go, class to class, pleading with a given teacher in my brain not to say something along the lines of "Hey, Gallagher, why haven't you turned in (such and such a thing), yet?". I hate making up an excuse and I hate having to turn things in... most of all, I hate how I don't do schoolwork in the first place. What if I don't walk at graduation because I haven't turned in my service project yet? It's not like I didn't do it... I just never gave it to my religion teacher.
I'm afraid of our cancer-ridden world. Was it always like this? Were people always getting sick with cancer and dying? Like, maybe that's why people didn't live that long before all the big breakthroughs in medicine during the twentieth century. Like, maybe Jim Hobo from the 1800s American South died at age 54 of cancer and not natural causes. Or maybe, it's just how fucked up everything became after the 1950's: plastics, television, microwaves, preservatives, artificial flavors, fast food, petroleum, Big Tobacco... I don't use microwaves. I kind of wanted to throw away my tortellini after I noticed bits of black plastic floating in my pot of boiling water from the pair of tongs I was using to stir the pasta. I hate Teflon pans but find they're the only way you can make grilled cheese without a griddle or using an oven. (My thoughts became cancer-ridden today on the toilet while I was reading A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for the third or fourth time.) My mom told me that if you live long enough, there's a 100% chance you'll get cancer and that most old people that seemingly just pass away were really just suffering from some form of it.
I live in fear of my Facebook inbox.
NUCLEAR POWER FOR A BETTER, MORE FREE WORLD
I had a wild dream the other night.
My mom, dad, sister, myself and some unidentifiable (in the fog of the dream, you know how it is) friends were in Russia. I had heard about this nuclear power plant in bumblefuck that had barracks where you could stay if you were traveling in the area. I coaxed everyone into going. It was incredibly eerie from the drive up. The sky was this sort of brown-gray and everything was bathed in a similar light. There was no one around to see - just a power plant. We found the barracks and took a room. The barracks were on stilts like beach houses. Ok so there was the "living room", then two flights of stairs leading to two respective bedrooms (surprisingly, very posh) that my parents were going to stay in. We spent an entire day in the living room, within which was an entire wall made of a window, one sofa and one television set built into another wall. I observed the somehow disturbing and predictably dreary landscape while the only television network, one devoted to the power plant, ran in the background. It was really scary and I can remember my heart racing with the fear of all the radiation my body must have been taking in. We looked out the window and watched TV all night (the sun never went down) and in the morning I begged my parents to take us out of there but they didn't feel like it yet. I bravely ventured outside to figure something out when a car pulled up and out of it came several other familiar humans whom we then ate a meal with. At this point, I realized I was in a dream and forced myself to wake up.
Since then, I've been reading about abandoned nuclear power plants. It'd come as no surprise if this dream came as a reaction to watching the Vice Guide to North Korea that night. It's incredible engrossing, you'll want to watch all fourteen installments. Check out that near-empty fourty-seven story hotel.
A FUN AND REFRESHING THURSDAY EVENING
As mentioned, I met Dave Eggers at the Free Library of Philadelphia Thursday night for the finale of the totally awesome One Book, One Philadelphia project to promote literacy. The selection, of course, was What is the What. It was pretty fucking awesome. I will gladly transcribe the conversation Mr. Dave Eggers and I had to all interested parties. Here are some photos. I had gotten my haircut the day before and admittedly look like a freak. Not to mention the planet-sized zits on my face. I was joined by Anna and Matt who, as usual, were the best company.
I swear I know what white balance is.
Loser gets his nosepicked.
My hair is so close to my head! Take a picture!
Omgomgomgomgomgomg.
Soooo frozen.
FACTOID
Dave Eggers is probably my favorite author.
GIRLCRUSH
I love Carrie Brownstein and I love reading her blog. Here's a funny video involving Carrie and Fred Armisen from SNL. Hell, here's two funny videos.
I feel like that girl in the T-Mobile commercial from last year or the year before. It was part of their campaign surrounding like, the ability to have 1,000 anytime minutes or something. She's in a middle school cheerleading outfit, chatting away in a white room. Scientists watch from behind a glass window.
"I looooooove cheeeewwwwwing gum," she part whines, part groans to her best girlfriend imprisoned on the other end.
I love chewing gum, too. Ever since Matt Mullane started bringing in that really fruity Trident, the kind that always reminds me of this night with this girl, the kind that makes the immediate area around the chewers mouth smell like heaven, I've been trying to chew more gum. It kills time. It makes me not eat crap at work. It makes my breath smell nicer because, let's face it, I'm pretty sure I have halitosis.
IRRATIONALITY
I live in increasing fear. For one, in school: I go, class to class, pleading with a given teacher in my brain not to say something along the lines of "Hey, Gallagher, why haven't you turned in (such and such a thing), yet?". I hate making up an excuse and I hate having to turn things in... most of all, I hate how I don't do schoolwork in the first place. What if I don't walk at graduation because I haven't turned in my service project yet? It's not like I didn't do it... I just never gave it to my religion teacher.
I'm afraid of our cancer-ridden world. Was it always like this? Were people always getting sick with cancer and dying? Like, maybe that's why people didn't live that long before all the big breakthroughs in medicine during the twentieth century. Like, maybe Jim Hobo from the 1800s American South died at age 54 of cancer and not natural causes. Or maybe, it's just how fucked up everything became after the 1950's: plastics, television, microwaves, preservatives, artificial flavors, fast food, petroleum, Big Tobacco... I don't use microwaves. I kind of wanted to throw away my tortellini after I noticed bits of black plastic floating in my pot of boiling water from the pair of tongs I was using to stir the pasta. I hate Teflon pans but find they're the only way you can make grilled cheese without a griddle or using an oven. (My thoughts became cancer-ridden today on the toilet while I was reading A Hearbreaking Work of Staggering Genius for the third or fourth time.) My mom told me that if you live long enough, there's a 100% chance you'll get cancer and that most old people that seemingly just pass away were really just suffering from some form of it.
I live in fear of my Facebook inbox.
NUCLEAR POWER FOR A BETTER, MORE FREE WORLD
I had a wild dream the other night.
My mom, dad, sister, myself and some unidentifiable (in the fog of the dream, you know how it is) friends were in Russia. I had heard about this nuclear power plant in bumblefuck that had barracks where you could stay if you were traveling in the area. I coaxed everyone into going. It was incredibly eerie from the drive up. The sky was this sort of brown-gray and everything was bathed in a similar light. There was no one around to see - just a power plant. We found the barracks and took a room. The barracks were on stilts like beach houses. Ok so there was the "living room", then two flights of stairs leading to two respective bedrooms (surprisingly, very posh) that my parents were going to stay in. We spent an entire day in the living room, within which was an entire wall made of a window, one sofa and one television set built into another wall. I observed the somehow disturbing and predictably dreary landscape while the only television network, one devoted to the power plant, ran in the background. It was really scary and I can remember my heart racing with the fear of all the radiation my body must have been taking in. We looked out the window and watched TV all night (the sun never went down) and in the morning I begged my parents to take us out of there but they didn't feel like it yet. I bravely ventured outside to figure something out when a car pulled up and out of it came several other familiar humans whom we then ate a meal with. At this point, I realized I was in a dream and forced myself to wake up.
Since then, I've been reading about abandoned nuclear power plants. It'd come as no surprise if this dream came as a reaction to watching the Vice Guide to North Korea that night. It's incredible engrossing, you'll want to watch all fourteen installments. Check out that near-empty fourty-seven story hotel.
A FUN AND REFRESHING THURSDAY EVENING
As mentioned, I met Dave Eggers at the Free Library of Philadelphia Thursday night for the finale of the totally awesome One Book, One Philadelphia project to promote literacy. The selection, of course, was What is the What. It was pretty fucking awesome. I will gladly transcribe the conversation Mr. Dave Eggers and I had to all interested parties. Here are some photos. I had gotten my haircut the day before and admittedly look like a freak. Not to mention the planet-sized zits on my face. I was joined by Anna and Matt who, as usual, were the best company.
I swear I know what white balance is.
Loser gets his nosepicked.
My hair is so close to my head! Take a picture!
Omgomgomgomgomgomg.
Soooo frozen.
FACTOID
Dave Eggers is probably my favorite author.
GIRLCRUSH
I love Carrie Brownstein and I love reading her blog. Here's a funny video involving Carrie and Fred Armisen from SNL. Hell, here's two funny videos.
18.3.08
Retraction
I don't know what to say right now so here's a Spoon song that pretty well communicates my situation and my ache stemming from said situation. No excuses, sorry. Formal retraction later.
"getting caught has made me think it over
and it told me that you're never coming back here again
we've been doing things the same way for so long
that it took me aback
and I don't think I'll ever hear that sad song again
don't tell me I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it
no don't say that I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it
you'll know by the look on their faces when they pass you
you've been dropped off on the texas highway
I've been out here for so long that I'm not sure
how you wound me so tight
I'm afraid I won't ever hear that sad song again
so don't tell me I've lost you
advance cassette
oh no I just can't believe in it
no don't say that I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it"
"getting caught has made me think it over
and it told me that you're never coming back here again
we've been doing things the same way for so long
that it took me aback
and I don't think I'll ever hear that sad song again
don't tell me I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it
no don't say that I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it
you'll know by the look on their faces when they pass you
you've been dropped off on the texas highway
I've been out here for so long that I'm not sure
how you wound me so tight
I'm afraid I won't ever hear that sad song again
so don't tell me I've lost you
advance cassette
oh no I just can't believe in it
no don't say that I've lost you
advance cassette
I just can't believe it"
12.3.08
Inertia creeps
So tonight my dad has enjoyed getting down on me. First, he told me that Larry King was better than I was. That made me want to throw the footrest at the television. I stormed out of the room and said something like "Wow, you really put me down! Good!" Then, just a minute ago, he asked me if I wanted to talk and I said you know what, I actually do. Because I've been kind of down and frustrated lately (I should probably start fixing that.) So I told him what was wrong and he told me not to worry because I won't be friends with anyone from high school in about ten years anyway. I mean, that may be true but that's not what I want to hear when I'm feeling this low. Plus, I think I'm as sick as I was Tuesday again. Fuck me in the ass.
Literal Love
So apparently I'm in love with Dave Eggers.
Eight days 'til I meet a literary genius! The master of sincerity and self-deprecation in the late-20th and early-21st centuries! Must-fucking-read!
Anna's cool.
Eight days 'til I meet a literary genius! The master of sincerity and self-deprecation in the late-20th and early-21st centuries! Must-fucking-read!
Anna's cool.
11.3.08
The Flu Yields Whack Dreams
Every time I'm sick, I have whack dreams. I remember most of them, even from like 13 years ago. That one I'm not going to bother trying to transcribe, but I have the visual locked away in my brain for on demand viewing... it's like, a lite-brite hospital...
Well I'm sick (influenza round three!) and last night was no exception. I dreamed that I met Hutch Harris from the Thermals. There were several photographs taken. I had another dream that Barack Obama drove me to work. He was driving a big black Suburban with tinted windows and I was sitting in the back. He seemed kind of pissed. After a point, we parked the car and rode bikes the rest of the way. He was still in a suit. We got to Kennett, some pavilion that I guess was supposed to be part of Anson B. Nixon park. The Tacks were there, but I didn't see Alex - just his mom and a girl that was apparently his sister. She had blonde hair, sunglasses and was very pretty and personable. Then I dreamed that my family and I were driving around what I guess was Kennett. Taylor was walking down the street and they stopped to talk to her while I was trying to keep myself out of view. Then they invited her in the car much to my fucking chagrin! It was awkward. Well, I was awkward about it, but she was actually kinda cool. We were all on our way to a Built to Spill show? Ok... Then I was at my grandparent's house with my mom, dad, Mimi and my cousin Frankie. My mom and dad left and Mim, Frank and I were trying to get fucked up so we left their house and walked up and down the street looking for people's coolers to see if there was beer in them. We were pretty successful.
Well I'm sick (influenza round three!) and last night was no exception. I dreamed that I met Hutch Harris from the Thermals. There were several photographs taken. I had another dream that Barack Obama drove me to work. He was driving a big black Suburban with tinted windows and I was sitting in the back. He seemed kind of pissed. After a point, we parked the car and rode bikes the rest of the way. He was still in a suit. We got to Kennett, some pavilion that I guess was supposed to be part of Anson B. Nixon park. The Tacks were there, but I didn't see Alex - just his mom and a girl that was apparently his sister. She had blonde hair, sunglasses and was very pretty and personable. Then I dreamed that my family and I were driving around what I guess was Kennett. Taylor was walking down the street and they stopped to talk to her while I was trying to keep myself out of view. Then they invited her in the car much to my fucking chagrin! It was awkward. Well, I was awkward about it, but she was actually kinda cool. We were all on our way to a Built to Spill show? Ok... Then I was at my grandparent's house with my mom, dad, Mimi and my cousin Frankie. My mom and dad left and Mim, Frank and I were trying to get fucked up so we left their house and walked up and down the street looking for people's coolers to see if there was beer in them. We were pretty successful.
10.3.08
Going To Bed at a Sensible Hour
School work is at a maximum and my output is at a minimum. I blame senseless English teachers and an even less sensible sleeping pattern (totally my fault.) I'm so glad this is the last full week before break. I meant to blog these daily over the weekend, but I didn't:
I love Lyndsey Daniels (L).
Alex and Angie!
Three shots of the fucking man. A bronze god.
OMG I wanna be a mommy, like my cousin Joani.
That's Pop Pop on the right. He's so funny, I hope he's around for as long as he wants to be.
The fucking man.
I fell asleep in the underwear section of Bloomingdale's...
While Mom and Mim shopped.
Mimi got a prom dress!
These are my new sunglasses.
So happy to leave the fucking mall.
I'm achy. Spring break is fucking next week, thank fucking God. I need to go to bed in a minute. Sorry to everyone, a really huge apology: I've been sleeping through the last week or so and my general enthusiasm has just been hovering slightly above knee level... so forgive me. I really haven't been feeling myself but I'm changing that and my french fry frenzied diet tomorrow. I had an awesome afternoon with my mom today (while Liz was wondering where I was, so sorry!)!
Facts:
Current listening...
Sonic Youth-Dirty, Murray St.
Spoon-Kill the Moonlight
Britt Daniel Bootlegs
This American Life podcasts
Alexi Murdoch
Nick Cave shit
Random Green Day
Vampire Weekend (finally love them.)
Reading...
the Fountainhead
Trying to...
Write a perfect song.
Feel better! Where's spring?
Joe
I love Lyndsey Daniels (L).
Alex and Angie!
Three shots of the fucking man. A bronze god.
OMG I wanna be a mommy, like my cousin Joani.
That's Pop Pop on the right. He's so funny, I hope he's around for as long as he wants to be.
The fucking man.
I fell asleep in the underwear section of Bloomingdale's...
While Mom and Mim shopped.
Mimi got a prom dress!
These are my new sunglasses.
So happy to leave the fucking mall.
I'm achy. Spring break is fucking next week, thank fucking God. I need to go to bed in a minute. Sorry to everyone, a really huge apology: I've been sleeping through the last week or so and my general enthusiasm has just been hovering slightly above knee level... so forgive me. I really haven't been feeling myself but I'm changing that and my french fry frenzied diet tomorrow. I had an awesome afternoon with my mom today (while Liz was wondering where I was, so sorry!)!
Facts:
Current listening...
Sonic Youth-Dirty, Murray St.
Spoon-Kill the Moonlight
Britt Daniel Bootlegs
This American Life podcasts
Alexi Murdoch
Nick Cave shit
Random Green Day
Vampire Weekend (finally love them.)
Reading...
the Fountainhead
Trying to...
Write a perfect song.
Feel better! Where's spring?
Joe
5.3.08
I Never Cared So Much... I Thought That I Would Die!
So it's mid weak (msp on purpose), but Liz came over after school and that always helps. Me, anyway. I don't know about her, I was kind of a zombie. It was just good to have company even if I didn't deliver cool stories or anything.
Work I was still a zombie... in a food coma... in a grimy white t-shirt... with chest hair.
I'm reading the Fountainhead again and it's all starting to make sense. Ayn Rand is even more overt the second time around if you can believe it! If you know what I'm talking about. I find myself agreeing... then disagreeing... then being creeped out by Dominique Francon's inability to get off with anyone who treats her like a human.
So like I was planning all week, I went to the hockey game. Semi-finals against West Chester East, you know what's good. Somehow I became friends with a few guys on the team this year like Wes Bonnell... chief contender for coolest kid of the year. We lost but not really because we won every fight (there were lots) and all their goals were scored on power plays. There was almost a Soc's vs. Greasers type rumble in the parking lot. Some kid from East was about to come at one of us (should I say us? I was kind of in the back of the crowd, worrying about my camera in the event of shit popping off) until his mom held him back and told us to fuck off. It was pretty funny. I found myself yelling "Don't let your mom fight all your battles for ya!" I guess I'm cool... Anyway, I wish I had written this earlier. I'm back in zombie mode. Sorry.
"Number 11, don't get up you fucking pussy!" We, myself included, become animals.
Wes Bonnell, a.k.a number 17, a.k.a my hero really fucks shit up on the ice. Thoroughly impressed.
Somewhere in the bottom right of the rink is a fight. Why else would we risk breaking plexiglass in complete defiance of stressed out hockey moms?
"Yoo-ooh Swah-low!" Our cheers, crude, serve as a flag to unite under and are a perfect example of how we display our gentlemanly conditioning in public.
Hornstar, trying to coach an out of control team.
Wes Bonnell fucks shit up one last time before being taken out of the game. Penalized. Why? Overwhelming coolness.
After all of the rumbling, there was stumbling... upon my cousin Sean of course! So good to see Seany, we always have a great time.
Lack of sleep,
Joe
Work I was still a zombie... in a food coma... in a grimy white t-shirt... with chest hair.
I'm reading the Fountainhead again and it's all starting to make sense. Ayn Rand is even more overt the second time around if you can believe it! If you know what I'm talking about. I find myself agreeing... then disagreeing... then being creeped out by Dominique Francon's inability to get off with anyone who treats her like a human.
So like I was planning all week, I went to the hockey game. Semi-finals against West Chester East, you know what's good. Somehow I became friends with a few guys on the team this year like Wes Bonnell... chief contender for coolest kid of the year. We lost but not really because we won every fight (there were lots) and all their goals were scored on power plays. There was almost a Soc's vs. Greasers type rumble in the parking lot. Some kid from East was about to come at one of us (should I say us? I was kind of in the back of the crowd, worrying about my camera in the event of shit popping off) until his mom held him back and told us to fuck off. It was pretty funny. I found myself yelling "Don't let your mom fight all your battles for ya!" I guess I'm cool... Anyway, I wish I had written this earlier. I'm back in zombie mode. Sorry.
"Number 11, don't get up you fucking pussy!" We, myself included, become animals.
Wes Bonnell, a.k.a number 17, a.k.a my hero really fucks shit up on the ice. Thoroughly impressed.
Somewhere in the bottom right of the rink is a fight. Why else would we risk breaking plexiglass in complete defiance of stressed out hockey moms?
"Yoo-ooh Swah-low!" Our cheers, crude, serve as a flag to unite under and are a perfect example of how we display our gentlemanly conditioning in public.
Hornstar, trying to coach an out of control team.
Wes Bonnell fucks shit up one last time before being taken out of the game. Penalized. Why? Overwhelming coolness.
After all of the rumbling, there was stumbling... upon my cousin Sean of course! So good to see Seany, we always have a great time.
Lack of sleep,
Joe
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