mmmmm. baklava math!

Posted on January 2, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Seat at an empty counter in a Greek diner in Manhattan

a big wedge of baklava

bottomless cup of coffee

The New York Times

:45 minutes to kill

HEAVEN on EARTH, my friends.

a message to the dearly departed

Posted on January 1, 2009 by Exile on Pain Street

Dear 2008:

GO FUCK YOURSELF. Seriously. I danced on your grave on this cold, bright morning.

If you read this idiot blog on a semi-regular basis, you might come to believe that I’ve been dealt a pretty strong hand. I’ve got a great wife, two daughters who love me unconditionally and I have some interesting hobbies that are pretty innocuous. All true. (I occasionally spend a bit too much on a rare book, but at least my vice isn’t whisky. Or whores. Or gambling. Or all three.)

I don’t reveal a lot of dark matter in my blog, nor should I. Some things are not fit for public consumption. But take my word for it; 2008 was a bucket of raw, untreated sewage poured slowly over my head with an end-of-year grand finale that I’m still trying to come to terms with.

Good riddance you parasite. You fraud. You’ve leached my happiness for 12 long months and I’m glad you’re gone.

greetings from Asbury Park

Posted on December 29, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

Through a set of circumstances not interesting enough to mention, I found myself in a club in Asbury Park, New Jersey on Saturday night watching three hardcore bands. All three bands looked and sounded like Black Flag. There was moshing! I thought mosh pits were passé, but apparently the either never went away or are all the rage again. There was even a girl mosh pit. They’re all very polite. Did you know there’s a mosh pit etiquette? By the end of the evening there was blood on smiling faces.

Good Christ, it was loud. Wimp that I am, I put little balled up pieces of cotton in my ears, thus preserving what’s left of may already damaged hearing.

I understand tattoos. I have a tiny one on my shoulder. Ear piercing is centuries old. If you feel the need to have your breasts enlarged, don’t let me stand in your way. I’m pretty much okay with all the different forms of body mutilation that are intended as a fashion statement and/or an act of rebellion. What I cannot abide by is earlobe stretching.

I didn’t understand it when I lived in the East Village years ago and I think even less of it now. I’m surprised to see that its made its way to the suburbs—Asbury Park is full of them. It’s not as bad as a crystal meth epidemic, but I wish they’d go away.

All of the body mutilation procedures mentioned above can be reversed. They can get rid of tattoos. Earring holes and piercings seal by themselves for lack of use. But I don’t think there’s a way to undo an earlobe ring. Is there? What does your ear look like when you take that stupid thing out at night? Do they hang down to your shoulders? Ick.

am i the crazy one?

Posted on December 26, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

The three principal movie reviewers from The New York Times have selected their 10 best movies of the year. I’ve never even heard of most of their selections, much less saw them. And I try to pay attention to that sort of thing.

This begs the question: Can it be true that the best movies of 2008 are small, unknown, independent and foreign features that are seen by very few, or are the reviewers in The New York Times a bunch of pretentious jack-offs who are afraid to lose their “cool-kid” status if they select something mainstream?

Heath Ledger in a nurse’s outfit doing that Chaplinesque walk while a hospital explodes in the background. I thought that was a pretty great moment and it deserved mention.

* * *

The following sentence is from The New York Times film critic A.O. Scott’s review of The Spirit:

“Unfortunately whatever natural charisma he may possess is disguised by his hat, his mask and the murky shadows of the mise-en-scène.”

Is he kidding with that stuff? Does he think that mise-en-scène has seeped its way so deeply into the mainstream lexicon that we’re all aware of its meaning? He’s a jack-off.

career advice from Mr. Bukowski

Posted on December 23, 2008 by Exile on Pain Street

Charles Bukowski is the master of laying it all out. Here, he talks of writing. But you can easily apply this advice to just about anything. Music. Acting. Painting. Accounting. Anything.

so you want to be a writer?

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it

unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be so like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.