As I type this, some whacked-out German pro skater (Grabke? Some historian will help out) is talking about growing up in East Berlin and stealing money from his mom to buy his first board (technically second, since he and his brother built a deck from scratch). To be honest, I love watching skate videos; specifically street vids. Skating is such a fluid sport, and watching a pro transition from deck to rail to deck to mini pipe is incredible. To a layman, it may look fairly simple, but that shit requires an absurd amount of coordination.
I always wished I had taken the time to learn how to skate; now, the envy I have towards skaters burns bright, like a putrid star, feeding planets life-giving rays in order for organisms to flourish and spread my hate among the galaxies. It seems the arc of my life has taken a sort of unfortunate turn south: my jolly girth, combined with my legendary motor skills, form a Japanese fighting robot the beats the shit out of all the cool prehistoric dinosaurs.
In addition to this, I always sort of pictured myself as a writer on a television program. In my dreams, these are people who choose which boobs to touch, how stars are born, and which heathen Christian is fed to the lion; oh, how my hilarious friends named Ari would laugh! My creativity tends to be volatile in nature, both in execution and content--at times I can write for hours or days about the most amazing shit, and other times I become road-blocked and refuse to put pen to paper (key to screen? What the fuck is the correct metaphor here?) out of abject fear of writing something "insipid," "uninspired," or "NCIS-quality."
Okay, I've switched programs: instead of eurotrash skating around a bombed-out Nazi base or something, I'm watching Nerdcore Rising, a documentary about nerd rappers. Should I want to be a nerd rapper or a documentarian? I guess this really has nothing to do with what I'm writing about, but I'm pretty sure I have no interest in either. As a documentarian, I'd be too biased towards whatever was funny and would be unable to present any topic faithfully. Any nerdcore rap I'd produce would be about comic book heroes, video games, typewriters; invariably, I would drop some sort of racial epithet or hilarious off-color comment in order to make people laugh. Because the cosmos is aligned in direct opposition to my happiness, the crowd would begin to boo and shout disparaging things about my penis. In my dreams, I have seen this eventuality. I have responded thusly: "Fuck you, universe."
This movie is great: one of the members of MC Frontalot's band is explaining the rules of Magic: The Gathering. This explanation lasts nearly three hours, but it's incredible: this kid's passion is palpable, like a delicious fruit. The scent is pungent, the taste extraordinary. Again, I'm digressing.
I hate soccer; I've never watched more than 30 minutes, the rules are ridiculous, it's fucking long as hell... And yet, being a soccer play looks so glamourous. Jet-setting around the world, kicking balls at Italian people--what's not to like?
This doc just showed the guys from Penny Arcade. Writing a profitable web comic--monetizing "shit from a butt," as it were--is about as close to "Man, I wish to shit I was doing this" as you can get. I'm constantly reminded that these guys write about themselves, yet don't, as their horrifying visages never show up in the comic proper; they use cool-looking stand-ins. Not me. If I can't make myself the center of attention, what's the point? I suppose that's the take-away of all this: I don't care what I do, as long as people love me.
Apologies. I must get ready for bed; I need to be up early to go to my job of caring for people who will never care for me.
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