(no subject)
Mr. Somewhere, missing somewhere. Never did figure just how much. Missing somewhere. Never did figure out how much.
So, in an effort to keep myself going out on Monday's, I've been trying to go straight from work to downtown Berkeley, see a movie or the like and then head off to Death Guild. This is because I'm a creature of momentum, and once I'm home and decompressing, I'm far less likely to go out again, and I really, really, really love dancing. For someone who lives in their head as much as I do, I am always at my happiest doing something that involves me being coated in sweat. Generally speaking, this plan works out pretty well, but there are those odd days when there's just nothing particularly good playing at a time that lines up conveniently. Today was one of those days. Instead of forsaking my precious, precious endorphin high I decided to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, because it was really the only thing that happened to fit.
On the positive side it was not *quite* as trite as I expected it to be, but on the downside, I am a pessimist, and one especially skilled at finding things trite. So, there you go. It's a teen movie though, and I'm not a teen, by a long stretch, if I ever was one, which sometimes I doubt. And then I look back on things that I thought were totally awesome in high school and admit that I probably was. There's the odd amusing moment, but for the most part, it's pretty hackneyed and cliche. Nature of the beast I guess. For a movie about music, I can't recall anything I liked on the soundtrack. Also, I would absolutely adore it if Michael Cera were to play someone new, which is to say not himself. Can't he get a good serial killer role? I would pay good money to see him curb stomp someone and then smile awkwardly and self consciously about it.
Far and away the worst part about seeing a movie outside of your usual idiom though is that you get previews for other movies of the same ilk. You can always attempt to convince yourself that the movie you just saw is an outlier in a sea of generally quite excellent cinema, but the previews, they tell a different story. A horrible, nightmarishly different story. There was an entire panoply of bad laid out before me, but far and away the worst was High School Musical 3. I had not to this point been incredibly cognizant of this franchise. I had seen references to it, and heard *of* it, in much the same way that I have heard of The South, but much like that fabled land, I couldn't quite accept the fact of its existence. Oh sweet naivete! How I miss you.
I'm not even going to attempt to describe what I underwent during that preview, because quite frankly, I don't have the words. Nor will I link it for you, because I am not a sadist. What I will point out is that it is heralded as "The musical experience of a generation" and I can only think "What an incredibly culturally bankrupt generation that must be", and bear in mind, I was in the high school/early 20s demographic in the 90s. Rocky Horror is a musical experience of a generation. The Wall is a musical experience of a generation. Tommy. Velvet Goldmine. Hedwig. Freaking Grease. All of these are musical experiences I would rather have define my generation. Actually for that matter, being tied to a chair, coated in leeches, and having a tone deaf clown sing his comedic rendition of Mein Kampf to the tune of Ozarks banjo music while giving me a "Bad touch!" lapdance is a musical experience I would prefer to High School Musical 3, or even just the preview again.
And so I went off to Death Guild feeling generally pretty horrible for "kids these days". And then, because the universe thinks it is hilarious, a 19 year old desperate for someone to make out with and alcohol hit on me. Not just any alcohol though, she wanted Heineken. The first thing that popped into my mind was... well actually the first thing that popped into my mind, much like a bowl of petunias that suddenly finds itself instantiated several miles above the surface of the planet Magrathea was "Oh no, not again", but the second thing that popped into my mind was the Blue Velvet quote "Heineken, fuck that shit. Pabst Blue Ribbon!!", followed rapidly by "That quote is older than this girl". Because I am me, I did my best to rebuff her (Which isn't really saying that much. I'm not a great rebuffer), and after an incredibly uncomfortable period of time spent being danced at/upon, she wandered off in search of someone who actually would buy her booze and take her home for awkward regret-laden sex. Why don't women closer to my age who I'm interested in do this? Oh wait, it's because they can buy their own booze. SILLY ME! That or they do, and I'm just spectacularly oblivious.
It was a very, very strange night. I got to stay till closing though, as I got a ride home from Melanie, who is awesome. Much dancing was had. And now I am killing time, dreading going into work tomorrow, which is reaching new levels of suck. As part of cost-cutting measures, they've stopped ordering snacks and sodas, which means pretty much my only work related joy is calculating just how much money the time I'd spend walking three blocks to the corner store to buy a soda whenever I want one is worth. Oi.
A world like tomorrow wears things out. It's hard enough to get what's yours for now. And the hardest words are spoken softly. Softly look, no hands upon... no... no... hands.
So, in an effort to keep myself going out on Monday's, I've been trying to go straight from work to downtown Berkeley, see a movie or the like and then head off to Death Guild. This is because I'm a creature of momentum, and once I'm home and decompressing, I'm far less likely to go out again, and I really, really, really love dancing. For someone who lives in their head as much as I do, I am always at my happiest doing something that involves me being coated in sweat. Generally speaking, this plan works out pretty well, but there are those odd days when there's just nothing particularly good playing at a time that lines up conveniently. Today was one of those days. Instead of forsaking my precious, precious endorphin high I decided to see Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, because it was really the only thing that happened to fit.
On the positive side it was not *quite* as trite as I expected it to be, but on the downside, I am a pessimist, and one especially skilled at finding things trite. So, there you go. It's a teen movie though, and I'm not a teen, by a long stretch, if I ever was one, which sometimes I doubt. And then I look back on things that I thought were totally awesome in high school and admit that I probably was. There's the odd amusing moment, but for the most part, it's pretty hackneyed and cliche. Nature of the beast I guess. For a movie about music, I can't recall anything I liked on the soundtrack. Also, I would absolutely adore it if Michael Cera were to play someone new, which is to say not himself. Can't he get a good serial killer role? I would pay good money to see him curb stomp someone and then smile awkwardly and self consciously about it.
Far and away the worst part about seeing a movie outside of your usual idiom though is that you get previews for other movies of the same ilk. You can always attempt to convince yourself that the movie you just saw is an outlier in a sea of generally quite excellent cinema, but the previews, they tell a different story. A horrible, nightmarishly different story. There was an entire panoply of bad laid out before me, but far and away the worst was High School Musical 3. I had not to this point been incredibly cognizant of this franchise. I had seen references to it, and heard *of* it, in much the same way that I have heard of The South, but much like that fabled land, I couldn't quite accept the fact of its existence. Oh sweet naivete! How I miss you.
I'm not even going to attempt to describe what I underwent during that preview, because quite frankly, I don't have the words. Nor will I link it for you, because I am not a sadist. What I will point out is that it is heralded as "The musical experience of a generation" and I can only think "What an incredibly culturally bankrupt generation that must be", and bear in mind, I was in the high school/early 20s demographic in the 90s. Rocky Horror is a musical experience of a generation. The Wall is a musical experience of a generation. Tommy. Velvet Goldmine. Hedwig. Freaking Grease. All of these are musical experiences I would rather have define my generation. Actually for that matter, being tied to a chair, coated in leeches, and having a tone deaf clown sing his comedic rendition of Mein Kampf to the tune of Ozarks banjo music while giving me a "Bad touch!" lapdance is a musical experience I would prefer to High School Musical 3, or even just the preview again.
And so I went off to Death Guild feeling generally pretty horrible for "kids these days". And then, because the universe thinks it is hilarious, a 19 year old desperate for someone to make out with and alcohol hit on me. Not just any alcohol though, she wanted Heineken. The first thing that popped into my mind was... well actually the first thing that popped into my mind, much like a bowl of petunias that suddenly finds itself instantiated several miles above the surface of the planet Magrathea was "Oh no, not again", but the second thing that popped into my mind was the Blue Velvet quote "Heineken, fuck that shit. Pabst Blue Ribbon!!", followed rapidly by "That quote is older than this girl". Because I am me, I did my best to rebuff her (Which isn't really saying that much. I'm not a great rebuffer), and after an incredibly uncomfortable period of time spent being danced at/upon, she wandered off in search of someone who actually would buy her booze and take her home for awkward regret-laden sex. Why don't women closer to my age who I'm interested in do this? Oh wait, it's because they can buy their own booze. SILLY ME! That or they do, and I'm just spectacularly oblivious.
It was a very, very strange night. I got to stay till closing though, as I got a ride home from Melanie, who is awesome. Much dancing was had. And now I am killing time, dreading going into work tomorrow, which is reaching new levels of suck. As part of cost-cutting measures, they've stopped ordering snacks and sodas, which means pretty much my only work related joy is calculating just how much money the time I'd spend walking three blocks to the corner store to buy a soda whenever I want one is worth. Oi.
A world like tomorrow wears things out. It's hard enough to get what's yours for now. And the hardest words are spoken softly. Softly look, no hands upon... no... no... hands.