First emo post of 2008

Went down to Broadway Plaza in Walnut Creek to see what the rich people were doing. But not many of them are really rich, are they? Most of them make about what I do, or even less. They just buy stylish clothes, put botox and plastic surgery on the old credit card, make a down payment on a BMW and, suddenly, they're rich.

The after Christmas sales were in full swing and there were cars and people everywhere, doing that thing they do where they hold up everybody else because they just have to have that parking spot about to be vacated by the fat bastard with the ball cap who is taking his sweet ass time getting in his Oldsmobile SUV and driving back to his piece of shit housing tract built by some cock sucker of a land raping developer who should be forced, at gunpoint, to live in a trailer park by the airport for the rest of his days.

Sometimes, I'm not sure what it is I like so much about cities. I occasionally wish they were apocalyptically empty.

Speaking of which, I saw I Am Legend, a better film than I expected, mostly because of fairly tight, subdued writing, delivered by the impressive Will Smith. "I was saving that bacon!" he said to the first human being he had seen in years, who had just cooked breakfast for him, and I thought, "Somebody in his position would totally say that."

There was a Monet hanging in the stairway of Will Smith's movie house. I was betting the director imagined that painting as an original, and it seemed totally in character for Will Smith to be tasteful in his acquisitions and not go overboard, stripping museums and stores, just because he could.

Will Smith's character struck me as just a bit too much of an übermensch, however. Able to do just about anything, from major reconstruction of a house on Washington Square, to expert placement of anti-personnel explosives. I suppose, given enough time, one can do anything with enough heart and drive.

Will Smith seems like such a nice guy in most of his movies. I wonder if he is in real life. I should just up and marry Will Smith. He's already married to one tough looking broad. It wouldn't be much of a switch for him.

I picked up the latest novel by Douglas Coupland, The Gum Thief. I so identify with his disenchanted, disaffected, dysfunctional characters. Because I'm whiney, today, I was certain that Coupland was writing about me and only me when one of the major characters, Roger, said,

"I like that I'm invisible to my co-workers.

Strike that.

It kills me that I'm invisible to them. The fact that they don't see me means that I'm truly old, and it's hard to grow old in a place — a city — where everything is so young. Being old means no sex. Being old means never being flirted with. Being old means that [young women] make spooked eyes at each other when I come in ... and grunt a hello in their direction."
Then, even better, Coupland kicks me right in my ass for feeling sorry for myself by having a female character tell Roger,

"Guys forget that women have to make their peace with their half-assed lives, too, and earlier than men. Women get more realistic far faster than men do, so don't expect tears in your beer from me, Roger. To me, you're a rookie at this failing life shit."

I should just up and marry Douglas Coupland. I'm sure we'd get along. He seems to understand me so well.

I don't know why I don't just go ahead and start pinch hitting for the other team. I'd get laid a lot more often, I could be ensured of being fashionably dressed whenever I wanted, I'd get great Christmas presents, I'd live in a tastefully decorated house, and damned if I wouldn't get more vag if I wanted it, too, from the fag-hags who figured they could change me.

Walking down the street, I saw a golden lab puppy on a leash, all fluffy yellow fur and floppy feet, leading a tousle-headed little two year old boy in jeans and sweater. Both dog and boy were teeming with energy, happy and grinning and practically dancing down the street. It made me glad to see them and I smiled down at them. Then I looked up and into the eyes of their mother, which were looking right at me, full of suspicion. Suddenly, the tousle-headed little boy was just a sticky fingered, shrieking little monster, and the fluffy golden puppy was nothing but a slipper chewing, poop machine. Howdy, stranger. Thanks for nothing.

To confirm the likelihood that I'm having my period, I went into the Moonstruck Cafe and ordered a truffle mocha. Then, while waiting for that, because I had a chocolate jones, I bought an organic dark chocolate candy bar. I sucked them both down while reading my Coupland, curled up in a comfy chair. Now I'm all chocolated out and don't want to see anything chocolate for at least a month. I want to carpet bomb cacao trees, wherever they may be found.

Okay, I've insulted women and gays, and given away movie spoilers, today. Anyone else I can abuse in this post? No? Well then, I'm done.
  • Current Mood: emo, dolt!
damned if I wouldn't get more vag if I wanted it, too, by the fag-hags who figured they could change me.

Bwa Ha Ha!!