(Quick sidenote: Is it bad form to post something you fear may be plucked off its free online posting? Should I know new media etiquette already?)
Anyway, Hands On A Hardbody is a super compelling documentary; basically, it’s about a bunch of crazy folks competing in a hot Texas parking lot to keep their hands on the titular hardbody Nissan truck and thereby win and keep it, for free and forever and ever.
Sign up sheet might well have said;
“Come put to the test, claims that you’re “the best” at defecating on yourself, wearing cardboard food containers on your head and generally shrugging off all aspects of your humanity and dignity in service of getting free stuff! Valid driver’s licence, please.”
And lucky day, it too is free to all with the will to hang in and watch it.
(Stick it out and you may be rewarded with a self-congratulatory sense of superiority.)
What advice for your vice?
This shit is so compelling to me ‘cause I can’t help but cringe watching folks fret about the money they pour into kicks they won’t wear.
Like when I see dudes shelling out for action figures they will never pull from their packaging.
So, if you’re that comic book collector keeping trunks of hermetically sealed books never to be leafed through… do yourself the favour of pulling one of those old treasured Batman books out of its plastic sheath with cardboard splint, set out a couple cookies and a glass of chocolate milk and try to take yourself back to the pleasure and the point of it all.
And honestly, if there’s none to be had; go find yourself something that does turn you on and get wrist deep in it.
Life’s too short for untouched treasures.
I always notice when my head’s in a bad way cause I’m not digging music.
Then, I wade through all the podcasts and the comedy and everything meant to put my mind right and arrive at some (somebody else’s description of this new Lord Huron) “sunshine glee” that says remember me?
.. well spent.
Mind you, it’s usually held firm with some mixture of sediment, newsprint and the same Something About Mary brand of styling mousse that comes of bartering a blow job in a freeway underpass for a mostly soiled posturepedic pillow and an uncommonly fat apple core. (Sure, it may be a buyer’s market but there’s always a toothless reprobate just waiting to undercut you, and you know he’s not pushing for the apple core.)
Still, can it be as simple as the fact that this gentleman took his foot off the gas in the automobile of life sometime ago and thereby skipped every stress and concern that would have him stressing himself down to a weathered wispy scalp?
I remember the me of 5 to 8 years ago (this, prior to my own concerns about my hair) proclaiming; “Yeah dude, I’ll totally shave a bald patch into my head for the show. I’d go full on first season Captain Picard in the service of getting a laugh. The pilot for this web series is gonna change the landscape… (cricket noise)”
Younger me. Fuck, I hate that guy.
In the wake of a close friend’s decision to ‘pull a Piven’ and color in the empty spots on his skull, I’ve wondered more if a person is better or worse off with a defiantly thick head of hair well into their later life.
To put in a more grandiose frame, does a human man need impetus to evolve and improve?
(Besides, doesn’t it seem more in keeping with some utopian ideal, wherein we all wear an agreed upon uniform (the jumpsuit seems like the sci-fi future outfit of choice), that we also ‘evolve’ past concerns about our coiffure? This way, every boy and girl in the schoolyard can be free to tease every other boy and girl with the moniker “chrome dome”. That is a level playing field.)
James Adomian wrote a piece in’08 on the delusions of immortality and ego manifest in Baby Boomer Targeted Commercials. The generation that “freed love, went to the moon and changed the world” now had earned a twilight filled with hair loss remedies, boner pills and cruise ship tours of environmental decay. Kind of an Easy Rider-esque “Hair Flowing In The Wind and Fuck Off Farewell Tour”; all sanctioned and narrated by their formerly free-wheeling movie idols like Hopper and Bridges.
Is this what happens when you stop being hard on yourself? You lead a better, blander life.
(Historically, I’ve been so hard on myself, I’ve had whole weeks spent pulling my hair out to finish a draft of a spec script but, I’m not entirely sure that’s the point or purpose of life either. I wouldn’t say brutality is at the other end of the bland spectrum.)
There’s now a Possible Cure for Baldness maybe a few years away from being an actual cure for baldness. We cracked that square watermelon conundrum, so I’m of course speculating on the next intersection of innovation and public outcry.
At the 53:40 mark of the 4th Episode of the Harmontown Podcast, entitled ”The Technology Of N-Words”, is evidence that podcasting is the inevitable evolution of the medium; it wants to be simultaneously high-minded and super vulgar, engaging, thought provoking, profane and a bunch more things all at once. It wants to because we want it to be those things sometimes.
I don’t really know what’s holding it back except maybe that ‘podcasting’ is a trivial silly name for something with such potential but… fuck, it’s just a word and people can get used to it.
(I also like that all of it stems from a few audience questions about the singularity, sci-fi technology, hard-wired mythology and the human instinct to create and fuck stuff.)
So, I might not have Community as I knew it any longer but, you also managed to force another one to the fringes wherein they discover the perfect conditions (force being one of ‘em) to create bright flashes of brilliant newness. Nice fuckin’ job TV!
(And no, listening to this will not put you on some sort of marijuana watch list. Fair question but a little paranoid.)
If you can’t wait the few months for the Paul Thomas Anderson film, “The Master” then you must be a human with eyes and ears and common curiosity.
But in the interim, read this piece from the Village Voice; Scientology Insider Gives First Full-Length Interview.
Interviewee John Brousseau was a 32-year member of the church of Scientology and - I love this bit - “the last person to escape from the International Base willing to talk publicly about it.” (Are you picturing some bizarro version of the movie The Firm wherein it’s Tom Cruise and a host of young scientology celebs pursuing and threatening you in dimly lit hallways and non-descript but inescapably labyrinth-like buildings? Just me…?)
It’s those details of the structure, the creation, the inception and the inner workings that I find most intriguing. Where Scientology allows itself to wallow in the brand of silliness that only a “religion” could.
Did you know L. Ron Hubbard has an identical office with a name plate and a working phone on the desk and the same books in the same places on identical shelves in each of Scientology’s major centers?
I learnt that one uneventful summer afternoon when my then brother-in-law and I couldn’t get excited about a movie to see, so we instead spent almost two full days going through the screening process at the Toronto headquarters for the church of Scientology. We put on matching lost incredulous looks on our faces and were ushered into screening rooms to watch orientation and initiation films. We were sat in separate sound proof booths to take assorted personality tests that bore out graphs to tell us how psychologically frail and broken we were. Me more than him, as it turned out.
(If you wanted to hear a bit more about it, listen to archived podcast Ep. 3 – ‘A Gay-er Word For Charlatan”)
All told it was days worth of free entertainment and intrigue about how paying into the pyramid might unburden my consciousness.
Sadly my E-meter readings suggested I was pretty well F’d.
F is for fortunate that I didn’t shell out for the full set of Dianetics books…. also, for the fine print wherein you read that there’s no refunds for that shit. You’re responsible for finding your own volcano to toss them into.
Almost 10 million views and maybe this slipped past your radar.
Translation: Asia is bigger than us all.
(Everything I could do to not type some Team America accent or a Kim Jong Illness-type gag but, that’s not what I’m about. No R’s for L’s, just art for art’s sake. I mean, just look at that little shirtless dude dance! Ride that pony, before you eat it.)
Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace.
Why? Because what were you doing that was better than this?
Case in point; you just wasted your time reading a rhetorical question.
You’re still reading..?
That seems silly.