06.30.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 2:42 am by Gregory
Hiya. This is a promotional post. However, unlike most promotions, it is also extremely sincere. I’ll include two variations of the relevant link, so you don’t miss it.
The programme is lengthy, juicy and explosive. It is:
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE: THE STORY OF POPULAR MUSIC!
First the personal spin — so you know I mean it: I have never liked Independence Day. Independence from what, exactly? Culture? Connectedness? Intercontinental good will? I mean, Whew! Thank goodness we escaped those terrifying Redcoats and dumped their tea in the harbou– oops! I mean, “harbor” — and whatever. It’s silly, really. I wish that America were French and Spanish (that’s Spanish-Spanish) and British and Asian and everything else — like the Canadians (mostly) do it: a MOSAIC, rather than a god-damned “melting pot” (I loathe that metaphor — who the hell wants their alleged homeland to melt them???) But anyway, yeah, I’ve always felt a significant sense of disdain toward America — no proper health care, extremely limited social services, lots of ignorant people who can’t read or write (but boy do they know how to warsh their cars!), etc. Basically, I look at America as a ruined First Nation, Paradise paved and parking-lotted, as it were (Joni’s version, please — I cannot tolerate the remake) — and this last, shittiest “president” has nearly annihilated any hope I ever held for the place.
Getting ever more personal, I really don’t like Summer either, and spending most Summers alone has been excruciating, and every July 4th I wish I was still up in the Pac NW — so I could drive over the friendly side of the border (the Canadians are MUCH friendlier than the Americans) and go hang around in Stanley Park — out of earshot and noseshot of the pointless aerial explosions and feasts of charred muscle tissue so beloved of this arrogant ignorant mean-spirited adolescent jerk of a nation.
Yep.
(Do I write a hell of a promo, or what?)
Anyway, as Jo-Jo (Martin Luther [McCoy]) says in the increasingly excellent Across the Universe, “Music’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.” Indeed. Indeed. (I still don’t like the Eddie Izzard bit [George Burns was much better as "Mr. Kite," as celebrated by Maurice Gibb] but otherwise: Hey! Kidz! I think we finally concur on something!)
Which is why — since I don’t have the means to Escape from L.A. entirely — I’m going to dive straight into the very heart of the matter — and spend the alleged “Independence” week-end celebrating the very best of American (and related) Music.
Now, I’m not softening my stance on everything — Country still makes me want to hang myself in somebody’s barn; and even Bluegrass makes me want to slash my wrists a little — but this I do believe, and sincerely: If America has the potential to be a beacon and inspiration for the rest of this actually very large world, it is in its Music — which is, at its best (and its best certainly isn’t experienced nearly often enough: for example, check out the votes on IMDb!), the most astounding fusion of World Musics anywhere in the World.
Of this America — the Musical America — I can feel proud.
Thus, I shall be attending ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE — and it’s going to be interesting to see if I can do a whole week-end of Popumentary (we’re talking SEVENTEEN HOURS over two days!)…and…
…John Lennon inspired it…
…and Tony Palmer directed it (he’ll be attending, and introducing, and A-ing a few Qs)…
…and although this series has been incredibly popular all over the world since its creation in 1977…
…it’s barely been seen in America!
So read all about it, check it out, and bring thyself and thy Independence Day celebrants to another source of history and pride: The American Cinematheque’s EGYPTIAN THEATRE (1920; going strong) in the heart of Hollywood (on Hollywood Boulevard, just East of Highland).
I’m not proud of America’s cars, its military, its pollution, its hyperconsumerism, its gun-nuts, its bible-thumpers, its commercial radio, its ignorance and its tendency to be the loudest person on the train in Luxembourg…
…but I am proud of American Music.
Check it out.
~Gregory
ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE: THE STORY OF POPULAR MUSIC! (scroll through for full listings — and note doc about Robyn Hitchcock on Wednesday — he’s literally the greatest songsmith/Pop alchemist I’ve ever seen/heard, thus I’ll be there with cones on).
P.S. Exactly three decades ago — when I was a little kid and obviously a bit impressionable — American Movie Musicals were peaking again. I loved Grease, I loved Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, and I loved The Wiz. From The Wiz, I discovered a performer called Lena Horne. Today is her birthday. Very much on topic. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LENA HORNE!!!
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06.29.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 3:42 pm by Gregory
Gregory is weary today — mainly of non-stop California Crazy. Thus, is day off. But people read this thing, so I’ll say Hello.
Hello.
Plan this week is to encapsulate the Entertainment Greatness, Personal Struggle and Philosophical Overview of the past week or two into Three Sensational “Blog” Entries — that I may have three concurrent good ones in case I ever want to enter this ridiculous thing in a writing contest or whatever. (If you’re a judge and have scrolled back to read this preliminary entry, hey, I think you’re the greatest, just the greatest.)
Title line today comes from being very nearly the same age (!?) John Lennon was when he got murdered. I am fairly certain that I’m a lot less less trouble than John Lennon was, however in creative and social spirit, I am willing to pick up (at bare, scraping minimum) where he left off. Just nobody murder me, okay; considering how much I completely and absolutely despise all weapons (except words; which in a civilised world would be the only weapons; I wonder if we’ll ever get there), and espeically guns (which really, really, really all should be melted down into slag, so we can all live free instead of enslaved by fear), the irony would be much too uncomfortable for all concerned. Plus it would probably sting a bit.
Anyway, I have Photos and Details and Etc. — but not today, not today. Instead, and sloppily, here’s a short list of
Things That Go WHA? In The Night:
1. Yesterday I walked past a Stupid Useless Vehicle with a Marines bumper sticker on it. ” ONCE A MARINE, ALWAYS A MARINE” it said. Damn, thought I, that’s unfortunate — rather like a chronic illness. But the owner of the Stupid Useless Vehicle probably thought it was a reason to be proud (which it isn’t).
2. There’s a gay-friendly and stupid-bitch-friendly comic strip called “The Meaning of Lila,” and it’s generally painless (and more amusing than, say, “Cathy”), and in a recent one, the stupid bitch was trying to convince the gay guy to see Iron Man with her a third time — because she still hadn’t figured out why Robert Downey Jr. is sexy. See, this is the problem with hasty cinema criticism — I also wanted to mention that point, but in the blur of viewing/writing/editing/laying-out/posting, I simply forgot. But anyway: Robert Downey Jr. is sexy because he’s a completely self-obsessed, selfish jerk. And women really do love that (most can relate — apart from the money aspect).
3. I never had a crush on Janine Turner — plus I strongly dislike that Southern-talking thing she does, wherein she turns short ‘e’ sounds into short ‘i’ sounds (example: “Thin whin should I sind the min?”) — plus she’s an actress, fo’Chrissakes (thus — if you’ve just tuned in — clininically insane) — however, my recent reflections upon the ’90s caused me to Google her — and lo: It turns out that she’s (this actually causes me pain) not only a Texan (ick), she’s also a hard-core Republican (ickier) and a big, honkin’ Jesus-freak (ickiest) to boot! I mean, good on her and her enormous mole for being cute and amusing — plus for doing what a lot of celebrities do and supporting an issue of personal relevance (she just published a book about famous single mothers, apparently) — but…ug (met her once; she seemed remarkably insubstantial).
4. Recently I was wait-listed for an incredibly popular event — and my wait-list number was/is 42.
5. Somebody said something to me recently, and it was completely and provably untrue, but they were bleating it like a personal mantra — and at the moment I’m not interested enough to remember what it was — but it was kinda funny, and if I remember it later, I’ll mention it.
Song du Jour: Why, what else? “Watching the Wheels” by John Lennon
ADDENDUM: Two additional and significant cases of “WHA?”
5b. I was in the library, and a pretty woman started talking with me, and we shared many interests, and she kept flirting for the better part of an hour before dropping the boyfriend line. (Thanks.) Point, however, is that, upon mention of Tolkien, she scowled and referred to him as a “Nazi” — which garnered my protests, of course, but she was adamant about calling him that. Of course, she’s: A. A struggling writer and B. A female — thus envy/anger/distaste for Tolkien could be considered natural and predictable responses. But to call him a “Nazi” several times — and to mean it! — this was very startling to me. He was Catholic, and lived in the ’50s (two strikes against Progressive behaviour) — but the guy actually fought the Germans (in WWI) — even lost many friends to the Germans. It seems to me that his primary interest in that culture was to ransack its linguistic roots. But otherwise, it is getting tiresome, dealing with people whose personal opinions are based on utter nonsense and insanity. Speaking of which…
6. Recently — in yet another attempt to forge a bridge to the mad psyche of the actress (who, truthfully, doesn’t really do much of anything at all, except shop — but she calls me a lot) — we started talking about concerts. I grow weary of the daytime TV talk-show shit-o-copia she digs, as well as the modern, extremely unfunny comedians. So I thought perhaps that the topic of concerts would lead us somewhere a bit more fresh. Nope! This immediately came out of her mouth: “I hate live music.”
Astounding. Astounding!
I.
Hate.
Live.
Music.
(Just when one begins to relax and assume that one knows the local insanity landscape…)
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06.27.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 1:42 pm by Gregory
Apparently Carl Jung said, “Embrace your grief, for there your soul will grow.” Fair enough. Of course, I got the quote via an actor via a television programme — but at this point it doesn’t really matter if Jung really said/wrote it or not; it’s simply extremely valuable advice (particularly in America — where most people become terrified into “faking it” — with increasingly ghastly results).
It’s no secret that I hated the decade commonly known as “The ’90s” — for the most part, I didn’t like the music, I didn’t like the entertainment, I didn’t like how people were talking, dressing and behaving — I didn’t like the Zeitgeist.
I wrote and recorded a song in the ’90s — first called “Kelsey and the Waning Moon” (after my late dog and wandering around with him in the deep woods and clearcuts of the Pacific Northwest under a starry — and indeed moony — firmament; there’s actually a completed music video for this, somewhere), and later reconfigured as “The Finest Pioneer” (a thinly-veiled paean to Jane Siberry — who is still alive but technically no longer exists — and who served, essentially, as my Anima, at the time [a rather unlikely pairing, but whatever]).
In “The Finest Pioneer” — inspired partly, perhaps, by the faux-basso profundo stylings of early John Lennon — I spoke the line: “If we ‘Create Our Own Reality,’ why did we create this?” — and, of course, I very much meant it (clearcuts and loneliness imprint the soul most heavily; thank goodness for the elk in the morning; yes, elk; real elk).
Looking back now — as ‘The Naughts’ are nearly over — I still don’t have much affection for that terrible decade called the ’90s; plus I wonder more than a little about whether or not I “created” it — and if so, why???
I could give many personal reasons for why I despised the ’90s — mostly having to do with being enslaved by reprehensible Boomers who wouldn’t know “fair” if it tore off their ass with huge nasty teeth (oh, to dream); and with female humans who went all out to attract me, succeeded, and then spent all their time and energy avoiding Life and licking their cat’s/dog’s butthole — but whatever, it’s over, and under present technological circumstances, I cannot change it.
What I can do, however, is cite some signposts along the way — Awesome and Shitty — in order to admit that, yes, I was there — thus Embracing My Grief, and thus Getting On With It Already.
Note: If you’re reading this and you enjoyed the ’90s — well, first of all, you’re a psycho — but if you were one of the lucky ones who got married, got reproductive, got rich, got divorced but got remarried reasonably well, got (best of all) creative, or did anything that didn’t totally suck — well, good on ya, and no offence intended.
As for me, though, here’s my list:
THIRTEEN SHITTY THINGS THAT SUCKED ABOUT THE ’90s:
13. Pearl Jam/Hootie/Nine Inch Nails/Dave Matthews (these bands annoy me so much, I refuse to give them individual listings)
12. E.R.
11. O.J.
10. Monica
9. David Fincher
8. The Jerky Boys/The Beastie Boys
7. Tattooed/Pierced Everything
6. Toys
5. Pulp Fiction
4. Forrest Gump
3. The ‘Blues Traveler’ harmonica (there is no viler sound)
2. Endless War (overt, or covert)
1. Jim Henson: Dead at 53; Faroukh “Freddie Mercury” Bulsara: Dead at 45.
*
And, just to show that I can find a diamond in a dungheap, here’s the upside:
THIRTEEN AWESOME THINGS THAT WERE GREAT ABOUT THE ’90s:
13. The Simpsons
12. Johnny Depp movies (esp.those re: guys named Ed/Edward)
11. Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
10. Timequake, by Kurt Vonnegut
9. Blur
8. A Democratic President (mostly)
7. Miles Davis: doo-bop
6. XTC: Apple Venus, Vol. I.
5. The Negro Problem
4. The first two Myra “Tori” Amos albums and especially the first two Liz Phair (!) albums (Note: Interesting! And also a bit Sickening! I’ve been listening to Exile In Guyville lately — on cassette [which you definitely cannot get anymore; note how unrelentingly cool I am], and now I see [Interesting!] that the album has just been rereleased this week on a record label [Sickening!] owned by one of the utterly unbearable pop musicians at the bottom of the previous list [Irony?] — in any case, apart from a dearth of amusing pretense, it’s slightly better than the best of Tori Amos.)
3. Tank Girl
2. They Might Be Giants: Flood & Kate Bush: The Red Shoes
1. Northern Exposure
Okay — I’m done with that decade.
Onward.
~Gregory
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06.26.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 11:42 pm by Gregory
Naw…just kidding.
Apparently The Dark Knight screened for junketeers ce soir — but once again I’m merely using surf-bait to see how the clicks shift.
It’s been too hot to do anything well (except one thing), and thus going computery, for me, has experienced diminished appeal — however I would like to review the new (in North America) The Unknown Woman (maybe Friday morning, depending upon ambition and breakfast), plus post a new Update complete with pickchurz (it’s been — and still is — a slammin’ week).
Meanwhile, I’m off to futon — and I bid thee good night and good morrow with these notions:
Guns: I [State Your Name] fully and completely uphold my moral obligation as an intelligent and sensitive human being to reject, 100%, the alleged “right to bear arms” recently renewed by the U.S. Supreme Court. Put very succinctly: Guns kill people; guns kill security; guns kill happiness; guns kill Beauty; guns kill everything; guns are entirely evil. Let us immediately melt down all the guns in the whole world, and show the Universe — for once — that we are a species who are not shameful and retarded and — crucially — that we no longer need to live in fear!
The Right to Bare Arms: I’m mostly okay with this. (See? I’m Moderate! But use sunscreen…)
SUVs: Tonight another total ass-munch on his cell-phone nearly ran me down — making a fast turn through an incontestable pedestrian right-of-way scenario; this is getting tiresome to say the least.
Computers: Could we please — please, and I am not joking — make ONE computer which WORKS really well and NEVER needs to be upgraded for ANYTHING and thus LASTS A LIFETIME? What do you need? — web-browser, writing programme, spreadsheets, photos, video, music and games, right? For the average consumer? Could we just have ONE such machine — one which WORKS, FOREVER — and leave it at that?
Food: Food should be free for everybody on the entire planet. Good Food. For Everybody.
Fuel: Time to stop using fossil fuels forever — time to switch over to dilithium crystals.
Fooling around: We should all fool around more; it’s totally fun.
Geena Davis: What’s she doing? I could deal with a new Geena Davis movie.
More soon.
G’night/g’morrow.
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06.25.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 11:42 am by Gregory
Hi. Headline is just to see how many online fish I catch with provocative words (such as “parking”).
Anyway, the Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts fast approacheth (link below; you’ll never come back if I link up top) — this coming week-end! — and I must admit that, once again, I find it painful to be missing it.
Why?
Well, SoCal isn’t particularly friendly or pleasant — but I am grateful for the good people and experiences here. Nonetheless, Glastonbury is outrageously obviously where I belong.
I wonder if…hm…
IF ANYBODY HAPPENS TO HAVE 11,000 INTERNATIONAL AIR MILES THEY DON’T PARTICULARLY WANT, GET IN TOUCH IMMEDIATELY, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.
(Well, heck, at least this post isn’t about how my “family” sucks, my former employers suck, L.A. sucks and baseball caps suck.)
I’m not immature and stupid, so I really don’t care at all that the likes of Amy “Dead By 27″ Winehouse and “Jay-Z” (whatever that is) are appearing. But I do rather wish I could wander around with thousands of (mostly) happy, colourful, progressive people, listening to the likes of Crowded House and Sinead O’Connor, The National and Kate Nash, The Proclaimers and JOAN BAEZ, fo’ Chrissakes!
This is not to mention Big Old Cool Jew Day, featuring both Neil Diamond and Leonard Cohen on the same stage on the same Sunday!
Jimmy Cliff!
Suzanne Vega!
Don Letts!
John Cale!
Billy Bragg!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Robyn Hitchcock!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Perhaps predictable, but I’d fly to England and walk to Glastonbury to see Billy Bragg and Robyn Hitchcock play outside near some phat mystical rocks.)
That said, there are literally hundreds of performers — most of whom I’ve never heard before (plus when people say “OH-MY-GOD-JOHN-MAYER-IS-SO-AMAZING-YOU-LOVE-HIM-RIGHT?” I feel a smug sense of satisfaction that I’m not a force-fed drone and don’t really care who John Mayer is, nor what he sounds like) — however, scanning the list, I am tickled by some of the acts’ names, such as:
Very Special Guest
Surprise Special Guest
Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly
Shlomo Presents Music Through Unconventional Means
The Modern Skirts
Ladyhawke
The Ape Drape Escape
(and let’s not forget good ol’)
Holy Fuck
*
And what do you got, where you live? (I thought so. Really lookin’ forward to that ZZ Top/Peter Cetera show or whatever, aren’tcha?)
Point is: Glasto is cooler than anything else in the whole world.
And here’s my review of the movie about it.
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06.24.08
Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 9:42 pm by Gregory
Last night at the Robert Plant / Alison Krauss / T-Bone Burnett show (aka “The Raising Sand Revue”), my friends bought me a beer. It was a large beer. I drinked 3/4 of it.
Predictably, twenty-four hours later, I feel adrift, fatigued, fuzzy.
Thank you, friends, for your kindness and delightful presence (and for a concert which was actually pretty terrific).
And…
Although a little wine is fine, and a sip of Guinness ain’t heinous (bit of a stretch), nevertheless:
I am SO not a drinker!
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Posted in Glögg Is Life. at 11:42 am by Gregory
I stay up late for various reasons, including:
A. Liking it
B. The air is sweeter
C. 75% less din
D. Some of my friends are night-owls
E. The curfews of youth were utterly sickening
F. It’s a lot easier to do almost anything at night
G. I can
Thus, getting up early certainly isn’t my thing. It’s not impossible, and often I am up with the sun — but I don’t like it and don’t care what anybody thinks or says about it, and it’s entirely irrelevant to anyone but myself anyway. Getting up early is for psychos.
Today, even given the string of late nights, I was up reasonably early, and thus in full command of my senses when the following insanity wafted into my windows:
RETARDED ADULT MALE VOICE: “FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!!!!”
SCREECHY ADULT FEMALE VOICE: “GO TO HELL YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!!”
(That got my attention. Then it continued…)
RAMV: “YOU FUCKING BITCH SHUT UP!!!!”
SAFV: “YOU SHUT UP YOU ASSHOLE!!!!”
(At this point, I dared to look out the window. The bellowing was startlingly LOUD, and getting LOUDER. They were approaching. My neighbors. Lucky me.)
SAFV (stealing the cue): “JUST SHUT UP ASSHOLE!!!! ASSHOLE!!!!”
RAMV: “I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL MYSELF!!!!”
SAFV: “GO AHEAD!!!! KILL YOURSELF!!!! YOU’D BE DOING ME A FAVOR!!!!”
(This was right out in the street, in broad daylight, for the world to see and hear.)
RAMV: “FIRST I’M GONNA KILL MYSELF!!!! AND THEN I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!!”
(This was a LOT less funny than it reads. But the screechy bitch didn’t even notice the inherent ridiculousness, and countered:)
SAFV: “KILL YOURSELF FIRST!!!! YOU’D BE DOING ME A FAVOR!!!!”
(At this point, I considered calling the police. The police are useless and always do exactly what will make a situation worse — but since this particular situation couldn’t get any worse, I figured that the police would be a nice complement. Then I thought: Nah — I call about the leaf-blower guys every few months, and they interrogate ME over the telephone, and then they never show up or do anything, even though leaf-blowers are against the law. Besides, some other neighbor is likely to call. I’ll just observe.)
The SCREECHING and HOLLERING continued — they were being so LOUD that I thought, for a moment, that perhaps some crazy movie was being lensed nearby or something — except, alas, I recognised the voices. The “female” (marginally) SCREECH was that of the neighbor I years ago dubbed “The Pterodactyl” — on account of her sounding exactly like the stop-motion animated versions of those reptilian creatures from movies and TV. She most certainly cannot fly, and lacks even the elegance of a massive, reptilian predator — but she sure sounds like one. The “male” (I hate to call such a creature a man) HOLLER was her “husband”/life-partner. They are usually outrageously obnoxious — but they have never had an outburst like this before.
“FUCKIN’ ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE!!!!”
“BITCH FUCKIN’ BITCH BITCH!!!!”
Obviously, this does not make for a peaceful or productive morning.
The LOUD fighting continued, but they went into their little hovel (where I dearly wish they’d stay), and the last really impressive part I heard was also the most predictable:
SAFV (LOUDER than ever): “GE-E-E-E-E-E-E-TTTT OU-OU-OU-OU-TTTT!!!!”
RAMV: (TOP retarded volume): “FFF-U-U-U-U-CKCKCK YYYOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!”
And then I gave them a little golf clap, a ‘4′ for originality, and briefly pondered:
Why should I have to hear something like that? Why do I ALWAYS get TOTAL CRAZY-ASS neighbors?*
Now, as a reader (or compulsive consumer of other people’s trash writing), perhaps your thought is: “Well, obviously, the Universe is giving you what you deserve…Karmic cycles…blah-blah-blah.” But this is most certainly not the case. I don’t go around YELLING. I do my very best not to annoy my neighbors. I like communication, i.e.: “Hey, honey — put down the butcher knife, okay? You remember English? It’s that language the Americans ruined. Perhaps we can use a bit of that, and solve this problem in a way that isn’t hideous and horrible for all concerned…”
So why do I get this crazy bullshit wherever I “live”?
Hm.
Well, significantly, there’s this *NOTE: When I lived up in the Pac NW, I had a few neighbors who weren’t bugfuck crazy. I also had co-tenants who were — but that was later. Point being: My record isn’t completely negative.
Which leads me to:
Something — something evil — either attracts insane people to Southern California — or makes people insane once they get here.
My guess is that, at least in part, the lack of moisture in the air drives people crazy. Or at least makes them dry and crinkly — like tinder — and then all it takes is a spark.
Plus there’s the little fact that most people in Southern California moved here because they were either banished from or narrowly escaped other places, where their lives no longer had any meaning.
And now it’s a big, simmering kettle of Crazy — 10,000,000 strong-plus and counting.
Thus, I suppose the neighbor situation is partly ill fortune, but also a simple case of odds.
Since this small and hopelessly limited online journal emerges exclusively from my perspective, it saddens me a bit that much of it has sprung, in recent years, from terrible experiences. Some may suggest that “inspiration comes from turmoil” or “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” or whatever — but I have never agreed with these bogus philosophies, and never will.
Inspiration comes from Happiness and Pleasure and Beauty. And what doesn’t make you stronger only kills you. “No pain, no gain?” Bullshit. Pain is always loss.
Thus, if I may send a message to my immediate environment, it is this: You’re not going to get anything good out of me by being horrible. Shape up, and I’ll be awesome. Be a rotten little turd, and I’ll withdraw. These are reasonable responses.
I can’t wait to withdraw from this insane place.
As for any psychological digging this may inspire (or not), I grew up in a house of constant domestic insanity. To clarify: My “parents” fought frequently and LOUDLY, and thus, as a child, I observed things children should not have to observe. Some marital and domestic strife is normal — but my “parents” deserve some sort of trophy for being cold, mean and outrageously hypocritical (they’ve played at being “together” my whole life — but haven’t shared a room in over three decades — and the coldness — oh, goodness, it’s disturbing).
I don’t mind admitting this, because it’s their problem, and they really should repair it before they die. I know they won’t — because they have the communication skills of dead gnats crushed under large rocks — but they should. It would be the decent thing to do.
Meanwhile, I get to enjoy echoes of those horrid years.
Why are people so motherfucking stupid?
~G
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