Resurrection

Thought I forgot about you, my children? Well think again: the alimony never stops coming!

Yes. It is has been a while since we last spoke, and talk about a tumultuous time! More violence in the world, more examples of Mama Nature trying to kick our asses, and yes... even more stupidity from our lady in retardation Sarah Palin. But that isn't what I'm here for today. So shut your traps and get comfy!

It was Alanis Morissette who said it best: "What it all comes down to... is that no one's really got it figured just out yet." Such a better testament to the youth today has never been stated. The angst and sense of the unknown from the 90's has grown into something far more insidious. It is a creature that lurks in the shadows behind our eyelids: it is the loss of a point!

Those of us in our mid-twenties no longer have anything to look forward to; our lives have become a mathematical equation... devoid of the variable known as experience. We are raised in elite, private kindergartens... where playing with blocks is no longer acceptable. From the time we can talk we need understand the nature of ourselves; by the time we are able to walk we are expected to be varsity athletes. Colleges have become four year vocational schools, around merely to gain us less-than-gainful employment. More and more we are encouraged to think less and less. In the place of imagination, we have been overcome by the Digital Holocaust: from birth we are plugged into electronics... the manipulative stimulii of the electronic menace. Books are obsolete, toys are distractions, and crayons have been deemed grossly inefficient. There is not one moment when the world isn't one click away.

But when was it decided FOR us that we had to be perfect? And those before us wonder why we're so fucked up? We never really figured our shit out because we were never really given the chance. We just inherited our sins.

-s/j.@

Depletion in Hollyweird

Evening, my darlings...

While the official results are not quite in, I think it's safe to say: Hollywood is dead. Well, that's not entirely true. The narcissistic 'I'm rich-fuck the rest of you' decadent lifestyle still exists; in fact, its thriving more than ever in this post-production full consumption nepotistic yuppie-clan generation. What I mean is that the 'Pax Romana' of the Hollywood film industry is gone... buried beneath the unimaginative detritus of remakes, sequels, and Russel Brand movies. It is pretty sad... especially that last one.

Take a minute to think about it. In the last few years, there have only been a handful of worthwhile films made, while the thearters are flooded with knock off blockbusters that were most likely written by folks with the creative/imaginative capabilities of a coffee mug. And that might be a discredit to the mugs of the world: at least they can hold liquid. But maybe the fault lies elsewhere. Somewhere darker and infinitely more insidious than a Medellin cartel hangout: executive offices. Yes... the corporate thugs that wield their power and authority like a briefcase full of cocaine have slipped a nose over the neck of creative screenplay writing. These licentious miscreants have opted to play on the absent-mindedness of the American masses, relying upon image over talent (cast of the Twilight series... I'm talking about you) and guaranteed money over expression (the epitome of this embodied by the Clash of the Titans remake's impending sequel. Seriously... a sequel to a remake?!? Are they serious?). Such is the curse of the industry today: they traded art for paychecks.

How could this have happened? When did we, the audience, begin to settle for average or begin to anticipate the same old thing done on repeat? And it does further than just the writing. The craft of acting seems to have been tossed into a pit of cannibalistic neophytes while the rest of us watch the carnage with a $7 bag of popcorn. Look at Johnny Depp... once famous for his 'indie-film mindset' displayed best in the gangly roll of Edward Scissorhands, or his astounding portrayal of the Father of Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson, in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Now, he has been type-cast into a series of films based off a Disney ride with animatronic puppets. That or some cookie-cutter action flick alongside Angelina Jolie. Then there's Robert Downey jr. The black sheep of Tinsel Town (a role Charlie Sheen has unanimously usurped), whose sardonic wit stole the show in Wonderboys, is now stuck playing either an eccentric Victorian-era inspector or an eccentric billionaire superhero. Even my girl Natalie Portman has experienced the decline, thanks to the Master of Fuck-Ups... the washed up jackass George Lucas. (True... the original Star Wars were revolutionary and brilliant... but his prequels are, in a word, atrocious. And you have to question a man who makes Star Wars: A New Hope only to fund Howard the Duck!!) Luckily, Natalie pulled herself up back into respect, rockin' her unbelievable talent once more most recently in Black Swan.

Sure... it's easy to blame the Suits for the decline. But we have to take a lot of the credit and, seeing as how I'm complaining... I wash my hands of this madness. Stop accepting the trite bullshit that Hollywood throws your way and charges you a ridiculous sum for; it's far too similar to pigs lining up at the troth... patiently awaiting their slop! It's time to hold Hollywood accountable for its actions once more, and demand that quality be invested. Besides... if I see one more movie with that lanky, self-aggrandizing, short-bus riding heroin junkie Brand in another movie... I'm goin' postal on all of you! Sleep tight with that night light, you fiends.

Generation: Envy

Well... I am fully convinced now that, if God truly existed, he is dead.

This belief of mine started a few days ago. I was driving down Santa Monica Blvd., braving the mass crowd of idiotic Los Angeles on the road, when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye which made me pull over. It was a billboard. Now, I know you're all smugly saying that is the point of a gigantic, roadside advertisement... but you can go straight to Hell. Because you too would feel sick too. It was a billboard for Amstel Light (an atrocious beer to begin with), with three joggers on a grassy meadow running towards the foreground. And, to make matters utterly worse... the lead jogger was Lance Armstrong. Lance 'fucking' Armstrong... Mr. Superhero and Integrity. If it weren't bad enough that he is the forefather of one of this century's most pretentious and aggravating fashion statements.... the 'Livestrong Bracelets.' (Okay... don't let it be misunderstood. I don't hate the message those bracelets stand for. I hate them because people no longer care about their meanings... just as long as they match their outfits!) When a socio-cultural icon falls from grace so hard they are forced to do Amstel Light commercials... you have your proof of the Divine's expiration.

A late night phone conversation with a close friend and one of the few people I actually consider sane recently brought even more to light that riled me up. We got to talking about our present day society and our specific generation. Mostly, how this generation is so fucked up in the head, we can't tell our ass from our ankles. We are a generation is miscreants: always looking to do the least amount of work we can for the biggest payout. Couple that with a highly nepotistic disposition... and you are looking at the most unambitious batch of Narcissistic neophytes yet. But, my dearies... look deep down and realize the truth: its our own damn fault! That includes you, previous generations stretching as far back as our parents and including any potential older siblings! We are the result of all your misdeeds!

Look at what we have to work with. In lieu of great socio-political leaders like John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King jr., or the thousands of protestors who marched on D.C. to voice their outrage at the war in Vietnam.... we have Sarah Palin and her ilk, the Kardashians, and the ever-astoundingly unintelligent cast of the Jersey Shore. What sicking characteristic do these three troglodytic cabals have in common? REALITY SHOWS!

Life, as we know it, has become a mockery of itself. The idea of the REALITY SHOW will one day be coined as a precursor to the downfall of civilization. Especially since it is ANYTHING BUT REALITY! If you think that reality is a dim-witted ex-governor hooting and hollering with her bigot kids and apathetic husband on ATVs while hunting... I highly recommend seeing a psychiatrist. They're doing some amazing things in anti-psychotics these days. Reality is not some pampered socialite and her horrendously ignorant sisters trotting around the globe looking for new clothing. And if reality really were an amassing of the eight most moronic, degenerate, unintelligent, self-entitled, stereotypical fuck ups.... then I guess its time for me to jump from a very high place.

TV networks pump out this vapid filth and we, like a group of squabbling meth-heads, clamor to take it in... despite the fact that it's killing us. Come on people! Wake up and smell the ammonia that is so desperately needed to sterilize a once idealistic, intelligent, and progressive society. Sarah Palin and her whole family are a cancer to the socio-political infrastructure of the United States because of their stupidity and bigotry (yep... even her 16 year old daughter is a bigot. Bashing a gay kid on FB just because he insulted her mom's show). The Kardashians are the genital warts of America... never contributing a thing, but always irritating and impossible to annihilate. And the nick-named mongoloids of the Jersey Shore are an embolism in the American psyche... waiting to burst. (By the way, I have to raise one quick issue with the inhabitants of the Garden State. Why the FUCK would you ever support a show like that? Are all of you seriously proud of the way those self-aggrandizing proud-to-be-guidos make the rest of you look to the country? Seriously, NJ! You're already the running joke for most of the Northeast... don't make matters worse by endorsing the worst elements of your culture.)

At this point, as always... I'm sure you're asking yourself one question: "where does this opinionated, self-righteous jackass draw the line?" My answer: FUCK your line. If you don't like it, don't read it. But if we have any chance of making it in the world, folks... stop buying tickets to the freak shows, stop feeling nothing but a profound lust and envy for things you don't have and probably need. In the end... you have to be able to take yourself seriously. Those out there rockin' a blowout, Tweeting about your abs, and fist pumping... there is no hope for you and you should be spayed. For all else... welcome to the dull minutia which is everyday life. You will never have all you want, and you probably will die a nobody. But at least you weren't an asshole.

2011: The Age of Persistent Rain!!! (GODDAMN YOU KEVIN COSTNER! YOU MADE THIS HAPPEN!!!)

Well,

When I moved out to Los Angeles... I didn't realize that there was some devious agreement made between the people of the Pacific Northwest and the Devil to swap the weather with Southern California. I mean seriously! For a half of December, it rained in Tinsel Town... and I gotta say, it isn't a pretty sight. Just try and imagine cruisin' down Sunset Boulevard: a million multi-colored lights radiating defiantly in the night sky as distant spot lights offer guidance to some off-limits social event. People dressed in clothing three sizes too small strutting down the sidewalks acting as if they were better than everyone else, and quizzically placed palm trees resting like comatose giraffes. Now add six inches of oily, highly acidic rain water drumming down, making all those beautiful people look like soaked raccoons. Rivers of tepid and semi-viscous waters propel In'N'Out soda cups and and crumpled newspapers and discarded condoms along like some sort of pulp-influenced David Lynch nightmare regatta. It is indeed a horrifying sight.

And from bad to worse... I was in the heart of darkness: Los Angeles International Airport. In a rain storm after the holiday season, to boot! Driving at LAX is like dating a two-face. At times, it can be a leisurely experience lacking any sort of difficulty what so ever. You pull up to the curb, jump out or deposit your passengers, and drive off back to whatever snake pit you originated from. But then the ugly side rears its nasty little head. Traffic comes to an abrupt halt at a "SECURITY CHECKPOINT" long before even getting near the terminals. This checkpoint generally consists of four police officers who are so preoccupied with chit chatting that they wouldn't notice Hunter S. Thompson's disembodied ghost riding the Woody Woodpecker balloon from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. But they stop the cars one by one nonetheless. So A+ for efficiency!

If you are lucky to make it past this first obstacle... you are still in for a miserable experience. I have found in my time out west that Angelinos do NOT know the first thing about sensible driving. They make four-lane changes without even looking, stop abruptly to answer cell phones, run red lights... and stop at the greens. I have seen more order in a Moroccan bazaar that I have on the streets of Los Angeles. While the departure sections are bad... the arrivals are even worse. Stuck in the semi-subterranean canals lined with gargantuan concrete pillars, it is a honeycomb of sorrow. It was within these sado-masochistic tunnels last night, after a grueling 7 hour flight from Boston (containing a narcoleptic Hassidic woman, a screaming baby, and an angry woman who had 4 LAPD officers waiting for her when we landed) that I had these psychotic epiphanies... which immediately invoked rage. That or my taxi driver who made absolutely no attempt to get out of the airport, hiking the meter to $10.25 before I even saw the highway.

For all of this anguish... I blame the rain. Because apparently in Los Angeles, people don't know how to handle inclement weather. Sure, there were mudslides up in Malibu... but really, people! It's goddamn rain! Back in the days of Moses and his desert-trekking menagerie, they would have danced themselves stupid if it rained like this. Yet here, in 2011... the simple act of rain has destroyed social order in the City of Angels. Good grief...

-s/j.@