Hygiene is vastly overrated, and should be seen as mostly optional. Brush your teeth before kissing someone, and take a shower before you start stinking. That’s enough.
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It’s Stanley Kubrick week at the Castro, and today’s double feature was excellent.
Killer’s Kiss was Kubrick’s feature-length debut, and it remains an absolute knockout. A washed-up boxer gets beaten silly in the ring, and then he rescues his pretty blonde neighbor from her sleazy boss, and she tells the boxer about her tragic life, and then she gets kidnapped, and then it gets complicated. It’s a story that works better on the screen than trying to type about it a few hours later. It works great on the screen, though.
The story behind Killer’s Kiss is almost as enjoyable as the movie itself. According to the Castro’s program notes, Kubrick — very much a rookie — wanted to make a movie that would prove he could make movies. What he did was, he compiled a list of set-piece scenes he felt confident he could film with style — a boxing match, a ballet, young love, a back alley murder, a rooftop chase, etc. After making his list, he then wrote a script tying all those scenes together. It’s a crazy way to make a movie, but it sure worked. Some of the cinematography (also by Kubrick) is stunning, like the shot of the boxer looking at his goldfish, and the goldfish looking back.
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I had a bowl of chili from a can for dinner, and found a long blonde hair in it. My own hair is brown and short, and I live alone, and since I’ve lived here there have been no blondes in this apartment. There’s a blonde working the assembly line at the Dennison’s factory, though.
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There was a brief phone call with Maggie. It was a meandering conversation that neither thrilled nor bored me, and I’m becoming more and more certain that she’s an ex.
Then we hung up, and I took a dump, and that was the weekend. It’s over already. Damn, that was quick. Tomorrow I have to go back to work and do stupid things all day, surrounded by stupid people, or people who aren’t stupid but pretend to be, like I do, 40 hours a week, because that’s the only way to survive the job without losing your mind.
From Pathetic Life #3
Sunday, August 7, 1994
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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