I sense a Metaphor.

Oh — plus grain-sweetened vegan chocolate chips.

Oh-oh — plus HAWAIIAN SPRINGS Natural Artesian Water, Bottled Daily at Mauna Loa (it actually tastes a bit more oceany than, say, Crystal Geyser or the other cheapos — I don’t do “Drinking Water”).

Reverse-engineering a segue here: Apparently the guy who most heavily promoted Bozo the Clown (in effect: “Bozo the Clones”) died yesterday — of congestive heart failure (like most Americans; ‘nother cheeseburger, Lar?). I’m not sure who portrayed the Bozo I watched on TV as a kid — Channel 9, Chicago, WGN was it? — but I never liked him. I found him disturbing. Not simply because he was a clown — Steven Martin and Ellen DeGeneres are both clowns, and I don’t find them disturbing (merely pathetic) — but because he sounded like some crazy-ass war-vet chain-smoker who narrowly swerved off the pedophile path by becoming a kiddie-TV host. (Is this to speak ill of, perhaps, Raffi? No. He’s definitely a man direly in need of shaking out his sillies — but he attempted to woo my girlfriend in the early ’90s, and managed [by her telling; accuracy unknown] to hold hands on the beach with her — thus, Raffi is both above-board and hetero. I wasn’t bothered; he’s Raffi; how threatening is that?)

Back to Bozo, though (and briefly): It seems to me quite fitting that Bozo chose American Independence Day to die; this place has been known as a nation of clowns for too long. (Now if we can only find some way to get Mickey Mouse to “eat the bad cheese”…)

Which awkwardly brings us back to Hawai’i. Last night I observed a performance of some of Hawai’i’s most popular musical performers (Na Leo and some short guy who sounds like a Latino Cat Stevens), and the largest woman in Na Leo mentioned that she had recently visited Disneyland and acquired for herself “Mouse ears with dreadlocks” — which, naturally, caused me to Think: Is that a good thing?

I mean, corporate acknowledgement that not every person on Earth is white with no facial hair (the idealised Look of Disney) — that’s a good step. But selling polyester dreads attached to the corporate headdress? To me, that does not sound progressive.

But hey, it made the large Hawai’ian woman happy. She likes Reggae. Part of their troupe’s deal is touring to promote tourism (another corporate ideal) — thus, for her, Reggae probably represents Freedom — like it does for most people (although, of course, even Ziggy Marley is in the pocket of Hollywood and Target — and his legendary dad was once commissioned to write a tourism anthem for Jamaica [pretty sure it wasn’t the one we used to hear on WGN as kids…])

Hm.

I lost a twenty, yesterday, too — in the midst of hot, sweaty activity. So I suppose it was worth it.

Ordinarily — since all of the corporations have passed me by, and presently I couldn’t afford the fuel for a company car (this is the Alpha and Omega of my rumination upon the current fuel bludgeoning — I find the topic brain-witheringly boring) — I would get very, very, very mildly upset by losing the energy represented by a twenty-dollar bill.

However, a few years ago, I was in dire need of “completion funds” to pay a bill which was already overdue. It so happened that I strode past an ATM — out of which was dangling (this is true) a twenty-dollar bill.

I waited five minutes.

I gave the Universe ample opportunity to reclaim its money.

And then I took it.

And I paid my bill in full.

(Thanks.)

Thus, if the Universe took back the twenty yesterday — well, that just means we’re even.

(I still have to make MUCH more than that, anyway. Money. Ick. Money.)

Billy Bragg recently joked about the lame-ass American dollar — how, in a coffee shop in Everett, Washington, they told the proprietress that all they had was Canadian dollars. “Oh, that’s okay,” came her reply, “WE TAKE THEM!!!!” To this, Bragg extrapolated (her hungry tone): “You don’t happen to have any o’ them ENGLISH POUNDS on ya, do ya????” (”And then we backed cautiously out the door.”)

News: Apparently, one of my favourite places — not only in California, but in the whole world — is on fire: Big Sur — and this makes me frown. Meanwhile, a super-long cut of Fritz Lang’s mega-brilliant Metropolis has been discovered — and this makes me smile (although the latter certainly does not compensate for the former — I’d prefer it if Buenos Aires went poof, while Metropolis was safely ensconced in a vault in Big Sur — but we can’t have everything).

Oh: Since today is “that day,” let’s briefly address America.

I am not a patriot.

Nope — not in the least.

Never have been!

Even when I visited East Berlin for a day — before the Wall came down — and it was fucking MISERABLE over there (your Western imagination — even buttressed by the craftily processed nightmares of CNN — may not be adequate to mock up what East Germany was like back then — oh, and incidentally, the security for El Al just loved that stamp on my passport!) — even then, as I desperately sang “God Bless America” in superstitious fear that I might somehow be rejected on the way back through Checkpoint Charlie — I nonetheless felt, somewhere in my Core, “Y’know, I wish America didn’t insist on being so EMBARRASSING in front of the rest of the world all the time!”

You know the details. (Pride. Ignorance. Violence.)

It’s not that I don’t like fun — I love fun — I just grow weary (direly, desperately weary) of shallow, stupid fun. Farting around. I hate farting around. Which — apparently — is what Thomas Jefferson reaped in return for all that preparatory paperwork he drew up.

Sad.

When I studied in England, I took a course called Society and Politics in the USA. This was extremely enlightening. Not only did I really learn — as in, “don’t learn it, don’t pass” — how alleged Outsiders view America (mostly: “A Social Experiment Gone Terribly Awry”) — I also noticed (and you may cheer here if it feels good) how amazingly ignorant I was/am — mostly from living in America.

Citizens of America: They like to keep you stupid and shopping. Is this really what you want?

To quote an astute Englishman — dear departed Douglas “D.N.A.” Adams:

“Every country is like a particular type of person. America is like a belligerent adolescent boy, Canada is like an intelligent thirty-five-year-old woman. [Oh, to dream! -Ed.] Australia is like Jack Nicholson…”

-Douglas Adams

There’s also a guy from Georgia, U.S.A. (who now abides in Seattle, USA and Hawai’i, USA and pretty much anywhere else he wants; thank you, Warner Bros.) — we’ve met a couple of times (the first time in Blighty) — and his name is Peter Buck. He makes electrified string noises for the musical combo known as R.E.M. (whose former manager, who was fired in shame, defined as “Really Enjoy Masturbating”) — and in an interview, Peter Buck once referred to himself as “a citizen of the world.”

I concur with this.

I also told this to a British girl I briefly dated — she was really, really nice but basically wanted a “Kevin Costner” to call her own — to which she replied, “What a bloody hippie!”

(Communication. You know, we try. Well…some of us try.)

Thus, friends (and otherwise), I gotta say:

I DO NOT LIKE NATIONALISM.

~Gregory

And while we’re at it:

I DO NOT LIKE RELIGION.

~Gregory

To me — and this is my Core speaking (and possibly my Kore speaking) — these notions — nationalism, religion, secret handshakes — these are wholly hostile, nasty, “Us”-Vs.-”Them” precepts.

What good is that shit?

There was a brief period — very brief — when I waltzed with nationalism. This was due to Johnny “Cougar” Mellencamp (a.k.a. — according to a fat Goth girl with whom I slaved in a retail clothing outlet — John Menstrualcramp). Why? Well, he almost — almost! — seduced me with the riff of “Jack and Diane,” with “Rumble Seat,” with “Play Guitar” with the video (not the song) for “Pink Houses” and with his unfathomably lousy dancing in the “Hurts So Good” video — and especially with the near-philosophy of “You’ve got to stand for something — or you’re gonna fall for anything.”

But…

…I’m not an idiot.

People from the Coasts — they made righteous fun of Johnny Cougar. Have you ever noticed how “R.O.C.K. in the U.S.A.” handily morphs into “F.U.C.K. up the A.S.S.”? (Try gettin’ that one out of your head, Middle American radio programmers.) Or “Small Town” — jee-zus, I’m still laughing: “I take a shit in a Small Town…I bust a nut in a Small Town…probably wipe my ass in a Small Town…”

(And then there’s the eternally brilliant line: “I cannot forget FROM where it is that I come FROM” [I can only shrug] plus, hey, Johnny — shouldn’t it be “Hurts So WELL”?…)

Anyway, here we reach the crux:

It’s NOT cool to be proud of being ignorant, small-minded and hopelessly provincial.

Religion will not save you.

Politics will not save you.

The media sure as hell aren’t going to save you.

But — the Internet…Travel…Sustainable Systems…Language Acquisition…The Arts…(Have I already told you about living in a town in the Pac NW where the local redneck bible-thumpers ACTIVELY VOTED OUT a large government grant for an Arts Centre? I probably have…but THEY DID!)…Progressive Philosophies…Decentralisation of Media (in other words: YouTube: We’re watching!!! We’re making what we’re watching!!!)…and especially Globalism — these things have a good chance of saving you…Us.

Back to point: The reason I am not a patriot is that I don’t want to be stuck representing only one country.

We have too much to gain by dumping the Independence already — and celebrating the much more mature and enlightened Interdependence.

Besides, as Dr. Samuel “Jabba” Johnson’s famous quote is often parroted: Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel. (Although I’d dump religion in there, too. And besides, Wilde said plenty more valuable things before they chucked him in gaol. -Ed.)

Judging by how enormously attractive I’ve proven to be among mediocre female humans (sarcasm), I’d say it’s a safe bet that I’m no scoundrel. (Mediocre women adore scoundrels; based on available evidence, I have reached a conclusion that this is because mediocre women most strongly desire men who are childish, selfish and myopic — for in these woeful pairings, they not only get to recreate their hellish “Daddy” non-relationships [”I can heal him! I can fix him! Oops, he just gave me another black eye! That’s okay — I have plenty of base…”]; they also get to be lazy themselves.)

So, yeah: Patriot? Scoundrel? Me? Nope.

Here’s the thing: By the calendars based on the mythical appearance of the imaginary “son of god,” it’s now the Twenty-First Century. Old people — as they age — often backslide into “second childhood” and stuff like that. But does Society — as it ages — also have to do this? Do we need another Viet Nam in the Middle East just because our alleged “president” and his cabinet are childish, walking sacks of manure with no imagination, no diplomacy and no style? Do we need to stay stuck in a ghastly, draining, societally debilitating holding pattern? Do we need to believe CNN? Do we need to keep recreating the horrors of our societal youth?

I don’t think so.

The reason I’m not a patriot — and unlike “rebels” who flee back to their religion or political group after their drug years or multiple divorces or whatever once middle age and mortality come calling and chill their aging bones, I never will be a patriot — is because — think about this now — THERE IS SIMPLY NOTHING TO GAIN FROM AN US-VS.-THEM MENTALITY!!!

I mean, the Olympics, fine, whatever: The Korean girl flipped around the bar slightly better than the Dutch girl. Fine. Whoo- — as they say — hoo.

But when it comes to the lives of millions — billions! — can we, as a species, really afford to continue this ugly charade that there is some irreconcilable difference between and/or among us because of where we’re born, whether we eat poi or roti, pigmentation, “short-race syndrome” or the many names we use for the same excruciatingly limited patriarchal “god” construct?

In my Core, I do not believe that we can afford such borders, such imprisonments of the collective soul.

Thus, I am not a patriot.

Q.E.D.

Do I like America?

As I’ve said before: Not really.

I’ve been to several other countries — most of them, admittedly, run by white people, but we do the best we can as we go along — and I’ve always — ALWAYS — been happier in them than I’ve ever been in America.

It would be dishonest to say otherwise.

Canada: Better. England: Better. Sweden: Better. Australia: Better.

No question. All better.

Happier. More functional. Less murder. Less racism. Better health care. More literate. More polite. More fun.

These are my observations.

I am disappointed — sometimes very — with America.

But do I hate America?

Nope!

Note: Gregory does not hate America.*

(*This note is mainly for the many, many, many hateful, angry, repressed Americans who love their guns.)

Now, check out a few reasons I appreciate America:

1. In America, I’ve attended performances by Japanese drummers, Peruvian flute-bands, Salif Keita, Youssou N’Dour, Zap Mama, Mikhail Baryshnikov, Yothu Yindi, Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, Daniel Lanois, The Chieftains, Dead Can Dance, Loreena McKennitt, Bing Wang and Luciano Pavarotti (among countless others) — and just last night, from the 50th State, Na Leo and Kaeli’i Reichel — with dancers Hula Halau and (I’ve never seen repressed women wield their cameras so stealthily) beefcake Weldon Kekauoha.

2. When I was a teenager, I got to get up at 4:30 on hideously frigid Sunday mornings and go start up a local radio station — where, later in the morning — I hosted/managed as a huge, live Gospel choir crammed themselves into Studio B for a half hour of jubilation and amusing local commercials read off cue-cards. (This experience still amazes me.)

3. I lost my virginity in America (to a girl who lied about whether or not she had lost hers yet; typical).

4. I broke my finger playing American basketball so I didn’t have to play any American saxophone for the remainder of the school year.

5. Also as a teenager — and this was before it was utterly commonplace, so you may call me a pioneer — I got to work on a comedy television show which was actually seen by lots of people.

6. I’ve been to most of America’s State Parks (they’re pretty cool — keep ‘em open! and clean! and forested!)

7. In Chicago — known largely for murder, butchery and hypothermia — I’ve seen musicals called Where The Wild Things Are and Spamalot.

8. I’ve only been held up at gunpoint once in America. (This is probably below the national average. Oh — but it also behooves me to say that — although the little shits trained three handguns on us, and threatened very convincingly to kill us — I completely and absolutely loathed guns long before the incident, and the incident itself actually did little except to heighten my compassion for confused and dangerous people. My grandmother despised guns; I get it mostly from her, the rest from simple common sense and common decency.)

9. Erm…erm…there are trains…beautiful trains!…in some parts of America.

10. Oh: Star Trek and Star Wars are both American products. Star Wars kept us entertained for nearly thirty years — and Star Trek for nearly forty. That’s pretty good!

11. Speaking of which, most countries can boast of excellent filmmakers and films — but ultimately, despite terrifying mountains of crap, who makes the best movies? Yep: America.

12. Let’s see — well, so far, being openly and publicly hunted and destroyed by the government isn’t an American way of life (for most).

13. And — yeah — The Muppet Show (of course, The Muppet Show was produced in England — but The Muppet Movie is American-grown, and you gotta love that).

Thus — while I’m no patriot — it may be said with confidence that I don’t hate America. I just wish things weren’t so fucking stupid here most of the time. (And how’s that for an Independence Day greeting: “Hey, guys! I don’t hate America!”)

(Well…it’s a start.)

(Young nation, anyway.)

(Basically, on the global field, America is a child.)

(Time to escape these parentheticals.)

I’m trying to remember if there was anything else I wanted to include in this ramble — but I’ve been rambling long enough that you’re probably sick of reading it (if you’ve even made it this far).

Oh — American Observation: Last night I was waiting for a bus, and lots and lots and lots of cars and trucks and whatever kept rolling (slowly) past me, and suddenly I heard Robert Plant singing “Ramble On”…

…and I looked over, and it was a “sexy” bald young black (African American — presumably American — and presumably African) guy (human adult male) totally grooving out to Zep — in his extremely fancy new Jaguar convertible.

I could make jokes here — about blondes or whatever (let alone the bizarre irony of a black guy grooving to a British honky who became filthy rich by overtly stealing black American stylings) — but basically, there it was, right before me, inescapable for my senses:

The American Dream Made Manifest.

(Apart from the “bald” — who wants to be bald?)

(I mean — up top.)

Erm…

Yeah, there was probably more to say — but I believe that this posting adequately conveys my feelings about the State of this alleged Union.

You may hate me now — but I’d prefer that you didn’t (and don’t).

Oh, yeah, I can feel the angry, ignorant white people getting all bunched up in the underpants: “Ah fow-ought — we gave our LAHVS — fer yer [alleged] Freedom, bowah!*”

(* = “boy!”)

Well…no you didn’t. Or, at least, I sure didn’t ask you to do that.

I don’t want to have to see you holding a gun, sweating, grunting, and being turned prematurely into dead meat. For what? What good does that do anybody?

I don’t like soldiers. I don’t like the military. I don’t like weapons. I don’t like fighting.

In case you haven’t noticed — or if you’re at the mall (where it’s concealed from you) — the world is doing an awful lot of this “fighting” shit right now.

And it’s pointless. Fighting is totally pointless.

We don’t need soldiers!

We need diplomats!

Scholars!

Historians!

Negotiators!

Talkers!

Putting a bullet in another human being? It scars you for life — and destroys that person’s family and community.

Obviously, this is NO GOOD WHATSOEVER.

Why doesn’t the world get this?

I really do not understand.

Here:

Germany and Switzerland: Give the gold (at least!) back to the families and friends of the Jewish people you killed.

Israel: Melt down the Uzis, stop fucking taunting Palestine, and let them be a nation already.

South Africa: Quit hurting black people!

North Korea: A Communist dictatorship thang is really not going to work — why not just take a look at Seoul; they’re doing great; do that.

England: Stop picking on Wales.

Mexico: I dunno — Quit kidnapping everybody? Stop having twenty-five kids per household? Condoms?

Ireland: Less bombing, more singing.

Rwanda: A VERY BIG APOLOGY is in order.

Zimbabwe: Somebody go put Ross Perot in charge or something (that’d be awesome).

Chad: Change your name to Brian.

America: Well…let’s put it simply — Although America’s imperial status is gradually crumbling now (cue Johnny Cougar’s “Tumblin’ Down” as New National Anthem?), it’s still the world’s most powerful nation — in terms of good things like individual freedom and Souplantations; and in terms of bad things like Shitty Pop Culture Influence and Unconscionable Military Bullying. Thus (egad, here it comes): With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility.

My Advice:

America, stop killing people. For Christ’s sake! — if that’s all you understand — quit destroying cultures thousands of years older than you are!!! Give Food. Give Shelter. Give Music. Give Education. Give (to those who believe in it) Hope. Give a model of Diplomacy, and be an Inspiration to the World.

The World made America. The First Nation peoples yielded and were driven back (to put it extremely mildly), and in only a couple of centuries (a blink in terms of Cosmic Time), this country — this crazy social experiment! — rose to become a global superpower the likes of which the World (Genghis Khan didn’t have iPhones and Stealth fighters) the World has literally never seen before.

But the World made America.

Thus, the World needs America to Share and Teach one thing.

One thing.

One very, very, very important thing:

HARMONY.

Arms are for hugging.

War: What is it good for? Absolutely nothing. (Say it again…)

Give Peace A Chance.

Reading is fundamental.

“God” (whatever that extremely abstract concept means to you) shed “his” Grace on Thee.

It’s not nice to mess with Mother Nature.

Shape up, America!

Make the World proud!

And as for me:

Over the course of this week, I was planning on calling this post “Gregory Quits America.”

The place has worn me out — really.

America may be many things — but these days it’s not nice, it’s not polite, it’s not pleasant, and it sure as hell ain’t romantic (I like romance — and there is none here).

But for some reason, here I am.

So this is the best I can offer today.

I hope it’s of some use.

Will I be attending any fireworks celebrations ce soir?

No.

Instead, I’m going to take the day to get more of my ducks in a row.

And at twilight, I’ll go to the beach and walk along the shore.

And the Sunset will be my fireworks.

Because that Sun and that Sky and that Ocean — they belong to Everyone.

~Gregory - 4 July, “2008″

Let’s see…

Oh, I thought of that thing that that person was saying over and over again (actually, it was more like three or five times; but in its passionate, bass-ackwards “certainty” it felt like more; I like this sentence because its opening clause includes “that” three times, incidentally), thus I’ll add it to the post below, with the “WHA?” section.

Also remembered something that the actress said recently. (It really is very strange — and draining — to deal with people who are entirely self-centred, but unlike some, she means well; it’s a bit like helping a cripple.) So I’ll include that, too (it’s a total “WHA?”)

Otherwise, just gearing up for The Big Three Well-Constructed “Blog” Entries. (Whee.)

Haven’t had time for much else. Saw a movie that will be released soon — likely to great critical acclaim and box-office (it’s being Marketed) — and although my thoughts and feelings about it are clear to me, weaving their myriad strands into a review will take a few days. You’ll see.

Let’s see more…

Um, since Madonna is in the news again, it occurs to me to tell you that she has officially changed her name to Icky Old Skank.

Since celeb news still echoes from every checkout queue, it also occurs to me that, if I could, I’d flush the former Mouseketeers who got “sexy” and rich and famous straight down the nearest toilet.

And I wonder: Did James McAvoy get his career revved into high gear by doing naked things for/with/at his Bright Young Things director Stephen Fry? (Seems likely.)

In happier news, a pal and I happened upon a mound of very old vinyl records — and we split ‘em up, and my stash is really cool!

On Monday morning, a friend from my school days emailed to ask a few of us if we’d seen WALL*E, and if so, what were our feelings about it. I hadn’t. He said he’d probably take his family. I said I’d probably opt to get a family first, and then possibly take them to see it. His response: “I recommend borrowing a family.”

Monday was very ugly — hot, dry, miserable, plus I have bad memories of Mondays — so some unHoly force coaxed me into a Blockbuster — where I browsed the utter crap and then found myself inspecting a wide range of WALL*E toys to meet any price-range. Some of them dance extremely obnoxiously. I decided that I do not like machines, and thus I do not wish to find any machine “cute” — ever.

Immediately I received a message that a couple of friends would like for me to join them to see WALL*E. (I didn’t get it until later.) They really enjoyed it. Apparently it’s funny and visually impressive and bears a “message” or two.

Fair enough.

That was probably my best shot at seeing WALL*E — but there is a small possibility that I may see it in order to sneak over to see Hancock afterward. There is absolutely no way I’d ever pay to see Hancock (I really don’t like its director), but I feel that perhaps I should review it because: A. For some stupid reason, I keep reviewing Will Smith movies (while he probably carries enough cash in his car’s ashtray to buy everything I own); and especially B. One of my fave movies is Philippe Mora’s The Return of Captain Invincible — with Christopher Lee as the villain Mr. Midnight and Alan Arkin as — yep! — the eponymous alcoholic superhero with a sour attitude. It feels to me that justice will be served in America — where Captain Invincible was barely released — if a comparative analysis is made. A very, very biased comparative analysis.

As for Pixar and CG movies and whatever — it’s weird — I don’t really feel anything when I watch them. I mean, I really do not like the Shrek franchise (it’s ugly and joyless), and the “heartfelt” CG movies make me go, Wait a minute? Why is the whole world feeling explosively passionate about a stupid computer-generated fish? Mainly, if penguins or whatever “Skrat” is do a bunch of giddy slapstick, I’ll laugh accordingly. But I don’t like the medium, generally; I vastly prefer old-fashioned, classic 2D animation.

So there.

Erm…

Is there anything else?

No. Not really. Not at the mo’.

Another ghastly holiday week-end looms. It’s likely to be lonely and pointless on the outside (apart from the lovely film festival), so I’ll aim for making it cheerful and productive on the inside. Try to sort of mellow my way through it.

For a while, while there appeared to be a sort of community around me (it was a community of journalists — thus astonishingly more alcoholic than could ever make a lick of sense to me — but one can still enjoy the company — if absolutely not “the company”!), we’d go up to Malibu on the 4th — to where a couple of them lived — and we’d hike out among the rocks to watch Danny DeVito’s fireworks display or whatever. That couple has since divorced and married other people, one of the primary celebrants died in 2003 (at 31 years old!), and everybody else got fired or fled or mostly vanished.

This is why I’m not so keen on wasting a day, evening or week on people I’ll never ever see again, actually; it’s outrageously tiresome, and — apparently unlike most clowns who flock to SoCal and thrive exclusively on novelty — I like through-lines, continuity, the pleasure of shared memories.

Imagine my dismay as I opened up the dubious “Metromix” rag over cheap Mexican food, and eventually fumbled past their flimsy little movie reviews to their horoscopes. Mine read as follows:

Lusty Venus is inspiring you to go on the prowl. You won’t rest until you’ve had your way with that new hottie or sexy girl you recently met. You don’t much care about compatability over the long term. Right now, it’s all about hooking up.

I snickered gently at that — it wasn’t even worth a full chortle. Fucking stupid. Stupid fucking. (Does it presume homosexuality on the part of its female readers? — well, we’re probably approaching that anyway.) Plus, in my case, it’s so amazingly wrong that — rather than serving as a guide — it reminds one that people who write horoscopes and advice columns are the troubled and insane ones — not the other way round.

Let us briefly examine this thing. It’s mildly interesting to me, that “lust” and “prowling” have ratcheted so far down my list of priorities that I barely consider them anymore. This isn’t to say that I’m not nice to women around here — unless they’ve already proven themselves to be insane (and a few have, and I avoid them as one avoids broken glass whilst barefoot) — because I am nice to women around here. But trust? Faith? “Hooking up”? No way!

It’s like this: If she’s here, and single (or faking a “boyfriend” thing), she’s guaranteed to be unstable. This is True. Plus, nine times out of ten, if she’s here, she’s not even real. Why would anyone want to stick their thing into something that isn’t real?

I’ll take Compatability Over The Long Term, baby; you can shove the rest up your ass.

Incidentally, since we’re (I’m) on the topic, I have finally devised my Ultimate Singles Ad. It reads as follows:

SWM, nearly 40, from crappy family but with strong social skills, seeks lifelong female (from birth) human partner/lover/best friend who is not an asshole. No assholes. That’s it. Do anything else you want, just please don’t be an asshole. No vengeance, either. Preferably not American. Pretty a plus (esp. voice). Genuinely witty replies only.

Yeah, I think that nails it.

I could use a root beer.

With ice.

Realising something, too: Most people get stuck in places (Afghanistan, Illinois) which are difficult to tolerate and abusive toward their innate spiritual longings. Although this place offers neither bombs nor sub-Arctic tundra/killer humidity/hyperchristianity, it is uniquely designed to make me extremely uncomfortable: It’s viciously arid, blindingly sunny (I hold my hand over my dark glasses; I really could use a welding mask), and filled with crazy assholes who will run you down in their SUVs if you don’t beg them not to kill you.

Thus, I’m thinking that my fish-out-of-water dues are just about paid in full (if not overbalanced).

So I gotta do a buncha stupid crap today — but otherwise it’s nice to see things for what they are (and aren’t).

Have a major backlog of new material, too. Just have to find the “time” to type it!

Mods & Rockers tonight: Robyn Hitchcock!!! (And some guy called “Syd Barrett” or sumfink…)

Song of Day: “Blues in A” by Robyn Hitchcock

(Oh — except that “faith-based programs” are totally grody.)

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!!!

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…)

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

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.

Mods & Rockers Film Festival: 

* * * * *

~Gregory

Indeed!

And how is this fest better than the concurrent Los Angeles Film Festival? Well, putting this as diplomatically as possible, at the Mods & Rockers, you won’t have any opportunity to sit through a graphic documentary about transgender surgery — but mainly, EVERYTHING AT MODS & ROCKERS IS…

…

…wait for it!…

…

…FAB!

(See you there!)

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.