It Has Begun: The Democratic Convention in Denver

It’s convention season now. The Democratic Convention has started tonight in Denver. Denver may be an ideal city to have this convention, for Colorado is considered a swing state, since the Democrats lost it in both 2000 & 2004. I haven’t seen any clips from it yet. I made a promise to myself to try to avoid watching CNN with my eyes glued to the screen like I did in 2004, and focus on living. But sometimes I feel like conventions and pre-election coverage is a huge cut on the roof of my mouth that my tongue can’t help but wander to. Fuck promises.
I was nineteen yrs old in 2004, and I first voted that year. I knew my choices were terrible; I would have much rather been 18 in 2000, so I could cast my vote for Al Gore… not the greatest politician known to man, but a man with ideals. A man who has since made more money and gained more power as a result of his crusade on global warming, which may be more important to us in the long run than a 4-to-8-year presidential term. But in 2004, Al Gore didn’t run, nor did he want to, and having seen what George W. Bush had done to this country in his first term, I sure as hell wasn’t gonna vote for him! So my choice was left with John Kerry, the Frankenstein-esque, Vietnam veteran with a low GPA at Harvard. And the soon-to-be adulterer to his terminally ill wife-$400 haircut John Edwards.
Come election day 2004, I knew the election was going to be a close one. I knew that there were still a good chunk of ignorant warmongering homophobes, as well as a ton of people who had logic and thought that a box of Tic Tacs would make a better president than Bush (no joke: a website actually had that poll back around 2003, and the last time I checked, 85% of those who took the poll voted in favor of the box of Tic Tacs!). Unfortunately, the ignorant warmongering homophobes slightly outnumbered the people with logic by 3 million voters (and enough to tip the Electoral vote to Bush). Now I’m not saying that everyone who voted for Bush was indeed an ignorant warmongering homophobe, maybe perhaps just one of the three, or just easily gullible to think that terrorism really is a threat to our every day lives, and switching leaders during a time of war could lead to another 9/11 attack or worse. Maybe people just hadn’t been fucked up the ass enough by the Bush Administration to change that, or just enjoyed the great comedic jabs Bush took to switch presidents yet.
Come 2008, however, the jokes about Bush don’t seem funny anymore. Or at least as funny as they did back in 2006. I still remember when Dick Cheney shot his friend in the face. That made for some good comedy! Family Guy, Lewis Black... Bill Maher. Yet, political satire about Bush and his homies seem kind of beside the point, when we’re paying $4.30 a gallon for gas, and I’m sure the owner of a local deli with a wife & three kids is laughing at Bush when the foreclosure sign was being posted in front of his house, or the young and rising computer programmer whose job got outsourced to India. Now, Bush’s stupidity and his friends’ diabolic greed are just getting scary. And Barack Obama’s Republican opponent, Mr. John “Couldn’t Win the Primary in 2000 to George W. Bush” McCain, offers no solace to the mess Bush made; he only vows to add on to it, by naively thinking that we’re on the right track to victory in Iraq, and offshore drilling (and fuck-all to alternative energy) is the answer we really need.
So the race is finally on. It’s getting down to the wire here. First come the conventions. Then come the debates. Then come the pundits weighing in. Then comes the public. Then comes Election Day. Spreading pre-holiday cheer to all 50 states. From Kennebunkport to Hilo, and all points in between.

Breaking the Creative Dam; The Bob Saget Roast; Movies

The other day I went over Liz's. Liz is the drummer for my band. We've been on hiatus since June because of Liz having to sell her house and having to move (her dad died last year, left her the house, and all that shit). So finally, that ordeal is thankfully coming to an end. We ended up jamming for a while, and ended up improvising this awesome idea for a new song. Then Amelia came by, and we ended up jamming acoustically. We ended up playing Nirvana's "Polly," and a few other songs we knew, including "Love Stinks" (as a joke). Hopefully, we're reconvening sometime this week and getting the band started again. That day at Liz's kinda was a further emergence from nothing short of a creative slumber. Ever since my sister had her play (and got really fucking good reviews for it, btw!), and jamming with Liz again, I realized that maybe I am as good as people think I am. I'm not trying to come off as narcissistic, but I know I do have a way with words when I really think about it, and I listen to the right music to get inspired to tweak a good tune. I may be wrong. Nah... I'm tired of being wrong.

The Roast of Bob Saget was on Comedy Central was on last Sunday. Jesus Christ, I couldn't stop laughing. Those roasts on Comedy Central are downright hilarious. Last year, they roasted Flavor Flav, and it was 2 hours worth of comedic genius (My favorite joke was when Patton Oswalt said that "Chuck D. wanted to be here tonight, but the 'D' stands for 'dignity.'" I love that guy!). The Bob Saget Roast definitely upped the ante a little bit. The roastmaster was, of all people, John Stamos. Of course, he took some comedic jabs, particularly about how he was in that Beach Boys video wearing a pink tank top, and how his ex-wife, Rebecca Romijn, is dating Jerry O'Connell. Greg Giraldo quipped that "He lost his wife to the fat kid from Stand By me." But, he was a good sport about it, and actually shot off a few hilarious barbs as well (I'm not sure if he came up with them himself or if he hired the best insult comedy writing crew). The Olsen Twins were absent, but the girl who played Stephanie on Full House was there. Overall, it was hilarious, and worth watching TV for (can't say that about most TV programming nowadays!). Here's a clip by Gilbert Gottfried describing what happens to the Olsen Twins when they walk into a bar:



I've been watching some good movies lately. I'm weird. I go through phases where I'm a film-o-holic for like six months, and then I go through a period where I can't sit through even my favorite movies for a few months. My girlfriend and I rented this film called Flakes, with Zooey Deschanel, who win me over with her cameo in the second season of Weeds, and, from what I've heard, the She & Him record. It's an interesting story about this twentysomething hipster couple living in New Orleans. The lead character (played by Aaron Stanford) is an aspiring musician who works in a cereal bar, and his girlfriend (Deschanel). The storyline is kind of Clerks-ish (a slacker who wastes his potential working a dead-end job and a girlfriend who's trying to get him out of it), but adds something I've never seen in a film, or even in real life (could be because Southbury, CT isn't hip enough for a "cereal bar," where stoners, and old farts come in and eat a bowl of cereal; in fact, I haven't seen one or heard of one anywhere, yet again, I don't get out too much). Naturally, some young hot-shot businessman opens a corporate copy of a cereal bar adjacent to Flakes, the store the protagonist works at. His girlfriend sees it as a sign for him to quit his job and finish his CD, but he sticks with the job and his zany boss (Christopher Lloyd returning from his vacation off the face of the earth). Trying to act as a catalyst, his girlfriend (who goes by the name Miss Pussy Katz) works at the corporate competitor. A really good indie film. Not superb acting, or anything, but better than most shit in theaters.

I want this combination. Viva la Soul Power Special!:



I also rented Closer, the biopic of Joy Division's doomed lead singer, Ian Curtis. It was directed by a little-known upstart director/photographer Anton Corbijn, who directed a low-budget video for an unknown band called Nirvana in the early 1990s, with a song that got NO airplay called "Heart-Shaped Box." It was very powerful. Very sad. Great performance by Sam Riley (who strikingly looks like Ian Curtis). Great parallel between Ian's marriage and his affair with journalist Annik Honore (played by Riley's real life girlfriend, Alexandra Maria Lara; beautiful woman, hope to see more of her). Kudos to Corbijn for capturing the anguish of Ian Curtis (especially his epilepsy and the effect of his medication), and the somber mood of Joy Division's music and tragic story without being too dramatic or overbearing.

Here's perhaps the most riveting scene from the film. The band performing "Dead Souls," and Ian having a bad epilepsy attack.



More on Joy Divison: The video for Atmosphere (also directed by Corbijn):



Hey, I also read that Sam Riley was in 24 Hour Party People (the movie about Factory Records, which signed Joy Division, and also delves into Joy Division's brief history), playing Mark E. Smith of the Fall, but his scenes never made the final cut. Oh well.

"I Guess It's True It's Never Too Late"

I'm still holding on to the positive elements of Saturday, and I'm trying really hard not to let them fade into obscurity. I think I need to keep doing that, and keep drawing on what's good in my life instead of everything that has sucked in my life (a bad trait, yes I know, but... no one's perfect). I think I'm already making progress. This is my second blog this week. That's one good thing right there. I got two MUG awards in two weeks at work. That's another good thing, especially since about two or three weeks ago my head was on the chopping block for "inconsistent performance." What can I say? My boss, a nice guy most of the time, is a nitpicker, and perhaps too meticulous with everything down to the most minor detail. I, on the other hand, don't sweat the small stuff. A MUG award is an award at work (just a cheesy coffee-mug shaped pin and a little card) given to partners (as we're called, not employees) who go the extra mile for customers and/or fellow partners. One was for leaving a shining store for the openers the next morning, and the other was staying an extra hour and a half the other night to help mend a leaking ceiling (and yes I did get paid for it).

I was browsing through some old literary magazines from back in high school, and I reread some old shit I had wrote, and I was actually kind of proud on what I had written back four or five years ago. I was reminded on how much people actually kinda liked my writing, and I don't know why I ever stopped, or tried my hand submitting shit to magazines or whatever. Ever since I had a nervous breakdown 4 and a half years ago, I became ultra-guarded about everything, including my writing, and felt that it was better to build a wall around myself. I've spent the better part of this time isolating myself from old friends that actually liked me and weren't the pretentious assholes that took me for granted. I restrained my muse, and let it wither on several occasions. I procrastinate terribly to the point where I go to do something, and, to me, it doesn't matter anymore. If I could keep an annex full of aborted ideas or unrecorded thoughts, the annex would be the size of Honduras. I'm not gonna do that anymore. I'm not gonna let my writing be a secondary priority anymore. Nor am I gonna isolate myself from everyone. Nor am I gonna put off things that may better me anymore. I'm also not gonna feel like I missed the boat on opportunities that will make me excel in this life. Sure, I'm 23 years old, but 23 isn't old. Some people are out of college and have decent paying jobs by that age, but there's also a lot of people who, at 23, don't even know what the fuck they want in life. They're still toughing it out at a not-so-great job, and are easing their way through school until the day they actually know what they want, and I fall into that category. And I'm not feeling like shit about it anymore.

With that said, I'm going to bed, going to the bank tomorrow morning, going to the mailbox and mailing my car tax bill. In between tat, I'll conjure up a good idea for my next blog (next apolitical blog; my girlfriend says I blog about politics too much). Peace out.

A Permanent Night, Indeed

I'm taking a break from ranting and raving about how much I hate everything, and shedding a light on something actually positive. Last night, my older sister had her original play, The Permanent Night, premiere at the Fringe Fesitval in New York. This was her first time she had a play of hers submitted into the festival, after a couple attempts. It was marvelous. I always envied my sister's ability to conjure characters and create a story that's cohesive and meaningful. As a writer, I've always struggled with that. To be fair, I haven't really made a full scale effort to do that in a couple of years. Back in April I started writing some fragments, but they got erased because my computer crashed and I was an idiot for not having them backed up. But the play itself was really good, and I recommend anyone to shell out the $15 to go see it. There are still a few more performances, including one today at 1:45.

After the performance, we went to a local Mexican restaurant/bar (to remain unnamed, tell you why later) up the block. I had a beer. My girlfriend had her usual dry martini. I met the cast, the producer, my sister's friend Jess, a few other people. Everyone was really nice. It was kind of a life-affirming experience for me, pathetically enough. Ever since high school, I've always tended to dissociate myself from a lot of people that I might relate to. Most of the aspiring actors, writers, musicians I've ever come across were pretentious snobs who had egos the size of Alaska and who could care less about authentic friendships and relationships. I'm a writer, and I hate writers. I'm a musician, and most of them I want to throw out the window. I used to act in middle/high school, but I could've done without a lot of people I worked with. But there was something different about these people... in NEW YORK CITY of all places! It could be an age factor. Most of these people are in their mid/late 20s-early 30s I'm guessing, and perhaps I'm judging from an 18 year old's point of view, an age where reality hasn't slapped a lot of people in the ass yet. It made me want to full-on pursue writing at the level I did in high school, and just do it for myself, and not worry about it going anywhere.

So at this bar, it was a bit pricey ($14 for a margarita, people). A few people got food, everyone got at least one drink. Somehow, the bill came out to $515, and the dickheads there charged us for a few things either no one ordered or no one received. My sister's friend, Kelly, a restaurant manager herself, tried arguing her case to the restaurant owner, but he was such a jackass and didn't know a damn thing about "the customer is always right," and threatened to call the cops if we didn't pay the full amount, so my poor sister and brother-in-law were stuck putting in about $100 more than they had to (and everyone had put their share in). So that bar we're never going to again, but I don't think it matters to them. It's in a touristy area, and the place was packed, so I'm sure they don't care that they lost a few customers.

So we went to this dive bar called The Slaughtered Lamb. One of the cast members bought everyone a shot of Jameson (whiskey). He also bought a round of drinks for everyone, too (I hope he has a good job). I ordered a Guinness. I got drunk. I talked with Mike (my brother-in-law) about 80s rock, Tori Amos, becoming a teacher (which is my realistic career goal), a few other things. I just had a lot of fun. Overall, I've never felt prouder that my sister's a part of my family, and (after a schism that lasted a few years due to familial bullshit) a part of my life again. I woke this morning, and The Permanent Night got a pretty decent review at nytheatre.com, which was awesome.

As always, though, after a really good day, I have to go to fuckin' work today. It should be fine. I'm still in a good mood.