From the monthly archives: November 2010

Altered states

By On November 30, 2010 · In Cremains

My friend Tom has waaaay better dreams than I have. (In the past week, mine have included watching a leak in the bathroom creating a yawning, black hole in the floor and a trip to the laundromat.) In an email he sent today:

This morning I had a long anxiety dream that took place in a Mexican desert. I was trying to create several logos out of a large open field (I have a big deadline today). Suddenly, out of nowhere, you appeared and we had the following conversation:

D: Can you do me a favor?
T: Sure.
D: Do you think you could get me an Italian wedding cake that’s wired with explosives?
T: …Yeah, I can do that. Do you want enough explosives to kill everyone, or are you just trying to scare them?
D: What do you think?

And then you left. I was trying to figure out what an Italian wedding cake was, since I would have guessed that’s what you call a cake that’s wired with explosives.

Speaking of which, I don’t think I’ve mentioned this already, but in doing genealogical research on my father’s father’s family, I’ve discovered that there is an ‘ndrangheta ‘ndrina in Cittanova with our (original, unaltered) surname. In fact, one of the heads had the same name as my grandfather. (Or had, until he was assassinated — the ‘ndrangheta one, not the Hollywood, Florida, one.) If my great uncle hadn’t added that extra, superfluous S to our surname, I’d be apprehensive about visiting Calabria. Who knows what grudges those people still harbor.

Oh wait, I just remembered: I’m still apprehensive about visiting Calabria, because it’s the fucking armpit of Italy.

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No matter how it ends

By On November 27, 2010 · In Cremains

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Oh yeah, the silo…

By On November 22, 2010 · In Memento Mori

I just realized that I forgot the second half of this morning’s post. More music!

This weekend I hung out with an old college friend (who did not, apparently, suffer the consequences of 11 pm Indian takeout) and we took an electronic trip down music memory lane on the iPod on Saturday night. (Not enjoyed by the others, I suspect.)

We spent a good part of our time together as roommates in a drafty, leaky house and I can’t help but believe that this had some influence on our musical tastes.* (Also, we drank a lot.) I was really getting into Palace and Son Volt too, and finally picking up on all the country and old-timey that I’d listened to as a kid and forgotten about/dismissed. So basically what I’m saying is that if death, damnation, and/or concertinas and fiddles weren’t involved, I wasn’t interested in listening to it.

So I dug these out this morning. I think Tarnation came after he’d already moved out west to learn glass blowing. But it’s still part of the overall theme.

16 Horsepower, Black Soul Choir
Scud Mountain Boys, Silo
Tarnation, Game of Broken Hearts [sorry, this is a big ol' AAC file -- too lazy to convert it]

*This roommate got the first cellphone I’d ever seen up close — it was one of those flip Motorolas. I remember how excited we were at the Best Buy because the phone came with 100 FREE MINUTES (with each additional minute costing 25 cents). Not per month. 100 free minutes, period. Anyhow, we used those minutes up really fast, mainly calling our friends from the bar to tell them we were calling from the bar. Then my roommate moved away and never paid the (stupidly and, IMO, unfairly high) bill and I got 8 am calls from collections agencies for months afterward.

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The difference between Atlantans and zombies, though, is pretty negligible

By On November 22, 2010 · In As I Am Now

I did not watch Sarah Palin’s Alaska last night. I spent most of the day laid up experiencing what might, in another context, be considered “cleansing.”* I attribute it to Indian takeout at 11pm the night before (and possibly the bloody marys earlier in the day — horseradish: nature’s Drano). I *did* catch Walking Dead, which is still gory enough to be enjoyable but getting a little silly, plot-wise. Grimes and his raggle-taggle gang head back into Atlanta to rescue a bag of guns as well as the racist and totally unhinged Merle** at the behest of his racist and totally unhinged brother, Daryl.*** (Because, naturally, that’s what rednecks are named, hurr!)

Speaking of lazy film tropes, I can forgive the melange of regionally incorrect Southern accents. But what was the deal with the fortress protected by the members of Suicidal Tendencies? It was like the costume designer bought a bunch of Vato Loco Halloween costumes, and the truth is that the gang life of Atlanta is considerably more nuanced than a Gang of Hats. And no, before you ask, I am incapable of willful suspension of disbelief.

Oh, and then, back at the camp [SPOILER ALERT!] everybody dies.**** The end!

*But not if you saw the toilet bowl. ::rimshot::
**Played by Michael Rooker, whose first speaking role was in Streets of Fire, which just goes to show that EVERYTHING can be traced back to that movie. EVERYTHING. (Side note: I love him and all but his tweets are pretty goddamned stupid.)
***Played by that guy in that god-awful movie Boondock Saints, which is probably best known as Every Racist American’s Favorite Film. Oh, and also, Willem Dafoe was in it, which only serves to bolster my Streets of Fire theory, above.
****Nah, not really.

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