Mr. Pinchy has a wounded toe or foot or something. The vet believes it is a sprained or fractured pinky toe but the only way to be sure is an $80 x-ray. “If it’s broken, do we treat it differently than if it’s sprained?” “No.” So we forewent the x-ray and have contented ourselves with confining the snoopy to very brief pooping-oriented walks and no monkey business around the house. As you can imagine, long walks and monkey business are essentially the only things the snoopy has to look forward to in his life, not counting breakfast and dinner, so lately he’s been a bit depressed. Or maybe we’re just mapping our anxiety onto him–right now, for example, he’s dozing contentedly on top of the old man’s feet.
The fact that I opened this entry with such a mind-numbingly boring anecdote (or rather “anecdote,” lets be honest) should clue you in to the fact that I am very boring. I have tried writing an entry about that harrowing New Republic article about how everyone’s waiting too long to have babies and so soon we will be a nation of autistic developmentally disabled people needing lifelong institutional care but then my entry just kept disintegrating into, like, “WHY WOULD YOU HAVE A BABY ANYWAY IN THIS WORLD OF PAIN” which I don’t think is useful or even that meaningful and certainly is not a coherent response to the article, which raises some pretty brutal fucking issues that we all really should start trying to contend with.
I have been teaching, and taking baths, and reading this crazy novel Eileen gave me that I will tell you about very soon when I finish it. I watched the movie “Burnt Offerings” (incredible) and developed a huge weird crush on Oliver Reed:
Oliver Reed was one of those old-school Famous Drunks who was famous for being drunk all of the time and for doing hilariously incredibly self-destructive and just regular-destructive things while drunk. His face was horribly scarred in a bar fight; he once vomited on Steve McQueen. For decades he delighted Britain, and, later, Hollywood, with his intensely painful spiral into an early alcoholism-related death. So tragic. He was like Lee Marvin, but less visibly drunk in his actual movie scenes. In the meantime, he also did some fairly astounding acting work. He is so delightful! You may perhaps know him best from his meaty and weird role as Tommy’s step-father in “Tommy,” but he also played the guy who sells Oliver in Oliver Twist and he was an old guy in Gladiator. He died while filming it (age 61) and it’s dedicated to him. Some of his scenes had to be filmed using a mannequin, which, what even is that, as a solution?? Jeez.
Anyway in Burnt Offerings he just gives this incredible performance. I really don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone portray stark raving terror in a more compelling way.
Also, he is very hunky, and silly, but with sad eyes, which is basically the most devastating combo when it comes to entering the sexual psyche of Yours Truly.
I also watched all of Walking Dead, a despicably bad show. Everyone who works on that show in any capacity should be thrown into prison forever. I am told that season 3 redeems the show and so I am waiting for it to be made available on Netflix instant. I refuse to defend my continued viewing of the show to you or anybody else. Anyone who knows me at all should fully comprehend why I watch it. But dear Jesus, could there be even one vaguely interesting character, plotline, or scene? I picture the script for every single episode just being one page with “[character] whispers furiously at [character] about one of the three things that are all that are ever mentioned or dealt with on this show [keeping people safe; this is my family; shane's crazy/no he's not] for what seems like 100 hours. ZOMBIE ATTACK”
There, I said it.
Sooooo and then also I’ve been going to cool events and concerts. In March I have a ton of shit coming up involving giving lectures and performing. Katy and I have been writing pop hits in our Hit Factory and soon we will be millionaires.
Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day and if I finish this incredible pile of work I will go to my friends’ party they are throwing and I will drink champers and eat nachos. My old man, fittingly, will not attend, because he has to teach. As you know, each year I am the proud recipient of a Valentine’s Day rant about the tyranny of enforced consumer-based heteronormativity, but this year he’ll have to give it to me while I am half-asleep in bed, because I’m not gonna see him until the late evening. Sexy!
We went to see a double feature of The Last Dragon and Krush Groove at the Black Film Festival, which was one of the more delightful events I have attended in my life. The Last Dragon is like, words can not express how awesome it is.
Krush Groove is also amazing but by the end of it I had Old School Rap Fatigue and felt like my head was going to split open. Double features are a brutal form of cinemagoing! But please do immediately watch all three of the films I have just told you about today. You will not regret it, except that Burnt Offerings is legitimately a creeper and you might have a nightmare.
Last night, in the dead of the night, the old man suddenly cleared his throat and then said loudly and clearly, “Like the time I bought that mule.”