homeaboutarchivescommentscontacteverything

Seven more movies

Gas!
or It Became Necessary to Destroy the World in Order to Save It.
(1970)
YES

Amazon Primestreaming free 

Army military experiments have gone wrong and released a deadly gas that kills all people past the age of 25. If you’re expecting Logan’s Run, though, forget it — there’s an end-of-the-world beer bust, but after that the death of all us old folks isn't mentioned again. It’s just a plot device to remove all the world’s gray-haired authority figures.

Gas! was directed by Roger Corman, and it’s not great, but it also ain't bad. There’s Bud Cort in a Lidsville hat, hippie Talia Shire, revolutionary Ben Vereen, pregnant Cindy Williams, and Country Joe McDonald as AM Radio. Heavily barbed with 1960s spirit and sarcasm, it offers some genuinely clever moments and dialogue.

Much of the humor is stale and dated, or wasn’t funny fifty years ago either, but some of it’s simply brilliant, like the political confrontation on the golf course between anti-golf radicals and golf-military strategists, or the native Americans celebrating their victory — “We’ve got America back!” Being a hippie at heart myself, I cheered when the counterculture kids took over teaching the school, and you’ve seen nothing like the shootout using movie stars in place of bullets. There are also some unfunny rape jokes, but at least there are no rapes.

“I want to be a cologne.” “Those who fail history are destined to repeat the course.” “A good woman is like a steel brush. Think about it.” I've thought about that last line, and I still don't get it. Everything in the movie is probably better with doobie, but I saw it only under the influence of Brussels sprouts.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hardware (1990)
NO

streaming free

Can you go wrong with a movie that stars Iggy Pop as Angry Bob? Yeah, you sure can.

The movie opens with a Bible quote, and World War III has finished, and in the radioactive deserts a wandering survivor finds a robotic head. There’s pounding rock'n'roll, and Dylan McDermott reading more Bible verses, out loud. It’s not a Christian movie, though — you can tell by the 5-minute unsexy fuck scene while someone’s secretly taking pictures. Half an hour into the movie I still didn’t know what was going on, but the female lead gets out of bed naked and someone’s secretly taking more pictures of her, and at that point I bid adieu to Iggy Pop.

When I was young, I'd almost never walk out on a movie. Once the show started, I was there until the end credits ended and the theater lights came back up, so I sat through a lot of shit. My patience has grown shorter since then, and also, Dylan McDermott is never not annoying.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The Last Seduction (1994)
BIG NO

Criterionstreaming free

Bill Pullman makes some big bucks trafficking pharmaceutical cocaine, Linda Fiorentino steals it from him, and then she runs and he chases. They're smart and despicable, both of them, and it's modern noir, clever and sexy. I was frickin’ loving this movie, right up until it ends with a couple of disgusting plot twists.

Spoilers are against my self-written rule, so I won't say what infuriated me, at least not here in the review. If you're curious, ask and I'll answer in the comments, or just take my word for it. Rarely have I seen such a well-made movie suddenly suicide itself. Save yourself two hours.

The Last Seduction is from John Dahl, who was a hot shot director in the 1990s — he made Red Rock West, which I remember liking. Since the ‘90s he’s worked almost exclusively in episodic TV, and maybe this movie is where his career went south.

♦ ♦ ♦

On Dangerous Ground (1952)
YES

Amazon Primestreaming free

Robert Ryan plays an ordinary cop, pushing his way into people’s homes, threatening and beating up anyone he suspects of anything. For his brutality he’s repeatedly scolded by the chief, but he continues smacking people around, until eventually he’s ‘punished’ by being given an out-of-town assignment.

And that’s when this movie starts crackling. The rest of the way it never lets up, and it doesn't count as a spoiler to reveal that Ryan finds redemption. Indeed, he’s a good cop in the second half of the movie — but tell that to his victims from the first half. He still should’ve been fired and prosecuted, but instead he gets away with it, same as every cop everywhere, in real life or in the movies.

Ida Lupino is always terrific, and here she plays blind, but the sightless shenanigans don’t add much to the story. Ward Bond is astounding in a supporting role, miles from his ordinary Mr Nice Guy persona.

♦ ♦ ♦

Out of the Blue (1947)
MAYBE

streaming free

Lightly comedic soap opera set in a bustling New York apartment building, with a sit-com style misunderstanding as the backdrop. It could’ve been a ‘YES’ instead of a ‘MAYBE’, but the relentlessly cutesy music insists that you smile, which is annoying. There’s a laugh every ten minutes or so, but it’s not nearly as hilarious as the music thinks it is.

♦ ♦ ♦

When Worlds Collide (1951)
NO

Paramount+streaming free

A pipe-smoking scientist makes a frightening discovery — a star and planet combo are roaring through space headed directly toward Earth. Slide-rule science reveals that both these celestial bodies will smack into Earth in less than a year. “Our world will end.”

Nobody believes those pointy-headed scientists, and they’re laughed out of the United Nations, so we must rely on selfless or self-centered millionaires to fund construction of spacecraft that might take a few lucky survivors to another world, and hopefully allow our species to spawn and screw up that place, too.

This movie isn’t from Disney, but it feels like it is, and that’s a pity. We’ve seen the regressive response to a relatively minor threat like COVID; imagine the response if it was common knowledge that the world would end on a specific date in the near future. There would be chaos, murder, riots in the street, so When Worlds Collide presents a great opportunity for drama, but it’s 75% squandered.

As disaster draws near, the world’s response is relentlessly polite. Humans are heroic, pulling together. We watch people line up quietly, even smiling, to get their life-or-death lottery numbers, until there's a tiny bit of unrest at the very last moment. And what’s the point of the extended rescue sequences, bringing penicillin to the sick and rescuing a little boy from the floods, when the whole damned planet will be obliterated the day after tomorrow?

All the life-lottery winners are white, so I guess humanity has finally eradicated racism.

♦ ♦ ♦

Youth of the Beast (1963)
(a/k/a Yajû no seishun)
BIG YES

Criterionstreaming free

This is a popping and gritty Japanese noir, opening in black and white and then erupting into sparkles of color and jazz. It's about Jo Mizuno, a suave criminal who’s taking offers to join one of the yakuza gangs, but doesn’t care which one, and then starts playing one gang against the other.

Shady and complicated, with drug dealers, pimps, a gay guy (treated respectfully!), and occasional brutality, Youth of the Beast is a raucous drama that seems far fresher than its early 1960s vintage. It feels like Tarantino, only everyone's speaking Japanese instead of tossing around the n-word.

Actually, I am 100% certain Tarantino has seen this film, more than once.

There’s a fabulous gunfight while our hero is hanging upside down from the ceiling, and a couple of brilliant scenes where something’s going on up front, and something completely unrelated is happening in the background. There’s also occasional violence toward women, but not nearly as much as all the violence toward men. 

 11/24/2021

Movies, movies, more movies

← PREVIOUS          NEXT → 

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

Surrealist warships

Leftovers & Links #52  

The D B Cooper hijacking was 50 years ago Wednesday. 

Hijackings were fairly common in that era, but this one was happening right here in Seattle, while I was trying to watch the ‘Dialing for Dollars’ afternoon movie on channel 7 after school. "We interrupt for a news bulletin," and the movie never came back. Fifty years ago. Time flies like D B Cooper hisself.

The link leads to a fresh and quite well-researched article, loaded with trivia on the FBI’s fruitless investigation.

♦ ♦ ♦  

Republicans are rigging elections for the next decade.

Quote: In Georgia, Republicans passed a new congressional map on Monday giving their party 64 percent of US House seats in a state Joe Biden won with 49.5 percent of the vote.

In Ohio, Republicans passed a new congressional map on November 18 giving their party at least 80 percent of seats in a state Donald Trump won with 53 percent of the vote.

In North Carolina, Republicans passed a new congressional map on November 4 giving their party between 71 to 78 percent of seats in a state Trump won with 49.9 percent of the vote.

In Texas, Republicans passed a new congressional map on October 18 giving their party 65 percent of seats in a state Trump won with 52 percent of the vote.

You get the idea. In state after state under GOP control, Republicans are passing extreme gerrymandered maps that will allow them to pick up enough seats to retake the US House in 2022 and lock-in dominance of state legislatures for the next decade.

Observe the Democrats’ response. Or rather, observe that there’s no response to observe.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Mobs of looters target Bay Area retailers for third straight day.

This is an innovative strategy, and when they target stores like Louis Vuitton, Lululemon, Macy’s, and Nordstrom, it’s a victimless crime.

Sadly, they’ve also targeted smaller, genuine stores, and employees have been injured, so I’ll reluctantly be aghast like I’m supposed to be.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hertz is apparently really sloppy with its recordkeeping, and has accused (at least) 165 paying customers of stealing the cars they'd rented.  

♦ ♦ ♦

At my doctor’s appointment last week, I got a measles, mumps, and rubella booster, a shingles shot, and a flu shot. You roll up your sleeve, wince for maybe a moment, and it’s over. It might ache the next day, they told me, but it didn’t. 

My COVID booster is scheduled for next month, and the vaccine has been available — and free — for almost a year. Can you imagine how fucking over it America could be, if we didn’t have so many millions of cowards and imbeciles afraid of a shot?

♦ ♦ ♦

During World War I, bizarre designs were painted onto warships and merchant vessels, to make torpedo targeting trickier. It’s not quite clear whether this was a successful defense strategy, but it looks cool and I’d say what’s the harm? 

♦ ♦ ♦

I found some old but still valid Burger King gift cards, so for the first time in a couple of years I’ve been eating fast food. The Whoppers are still good but they’ve changed and ruined the fish sandwiches. And sadly I guess I’ve gotten used to eating healthier, because the hamburgers just sit in my belly and make me feel like a meat- and breadball all day.

♦ ♦ ♦

Vice, partially funded by Saudi Arabia, has curiously little to report about the atrocities of Saudi Arabia, though there’s a smorgasboard to choose from.

♦ ♦ ♦

I'm stuck working in the office this week instead of from home, so all humor and creativity has been sucked out of me and replaced with anguish and ennui and hatred for humanity. Also, posting may be just once daily instead of twice.

♦ ♦ ♦

David Zucker thinks we’re in “a comedy emergency” because the studios are worried about jokes that might offend people on Twitter. “Comedy is not dead,” he says. “It’s scared.”

Zucker, if you've forgotten or you're unsure, is one of the trifecta that wrote Airplane! 

Hadn't noticed the comedy emergency, but now that he mentions it, I haven't seen any truly funny movies or TV shows made in the past (at least) several years.  

♦ ♦ ♦ 

 Mystery links  — Like life itself, there’s no knowing where you’re going:

—①—
     —②—
          —③—

 Sing along with Doug:
Who’da Thunk It , by Greg Brown


Sincere tip 'o the hat:
BoingBoing
Captain Hampockets
Follow Me Here
Hyperallergic
LiarTownUSA
Messy Nessy Chick
National Zero
Ran Prieur
Vintage Everyday

Voenix Rising

EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS:
Becky Jo
Name Withheld
Dave S.

11/23/2021

Leftovers & Links 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →  

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

My favorite poop, and other monuments

I’ve previously mentioned that when we lived in Kansas City, my wife and I found a monument to “our Confederate dead.” Missouri had been a Civil War battleground, so we shouldn’t have been surprised, but surprised we were, and un-delighted.

After leaving Kansas City, we resettled in Madison, the famously liberal capitol of Wisconsin, which is quite a ways north of the Mason-Dixon line. Imagine our surprise when we chanced upon a Confederate monument in Wisconsin, too. We weren't looking for Confederate monuments, and Wisconsin seems an unlikely place to find them, but there it was.

Turns out there’d been a Civil War prison in Madison, right where the football stadium is now, and there’d been an outbreak of disease that killed more than 100 of the captured traitors. Many years after the war ended, some people with great sympathy for the Confederate cause thought those dead Confederates deserved a gigantic granite memorial.

At the Confederate statue in Kansas City, we’d been ill-prepared for vandalism, but that afternoon in Madison I’d already been planning to cut our walk short because my innards were becoming uncomfortable. So I asked my wife to keep lookout, unfolded a newspaper on the grass,  discreetly dropped my trousers and pooped onto the paper, and then spread my opinion of the Confederacy all over the engraved names of 100+ dead Confeds.

Certainly, what I did was childish, illegal, and tremendously satisfying. The monument was removed a few years later, and I like to think me and my bowels, along with the bowels and graffiti of countless others, played some small part in that.

I’m absolutely in favor of toppling Confederate statues and monuments. Move them to museums or blow them to smithereens, please. Monuments in the public space are intended to remind us of the past, and Confederate monuments are simply blips of insanity and embarrassment, intended to interrupt your day with a advertisement that slavery was great and all hail Robert E Lee and other such rot best forgot. 

Wherever people want to change the names of places and things, I’m all for that, too, and also in places where people don’t want the changes. At work, my eyes roll and my heart sinks every time I’m mailing an insurance policy to someone who lives on a street or highway named for Robert E Lee, especially because it’s always 'Robert E Lee Blvd' on the street sign, never just Lee Blvd. In your face, Yankees, was the sentiment in naming such places, and it’s been a while since the Civil War but I’m not of a forgiving mindset, so I’d say In your face, you treasonous bastards, as those street signs are replaced. Every Robert E Lee Street Drive & Boulevard across the South should be renamed for Malcolm X.

There’s lately a small but (maybe?) growing push to rename parks, buildings, and businesses with problematic names, because their original namesakes are known to have been bastards or the name was appropriated. Here in Madison, the owners of the Winnebago Arts Cafe, on Winnebago Street, got woke and realized Winnebago was a tribe before it was an RV and a street. I thought that was beautiful, and wish the RV-maker would do the same.

For reasons I’ve never understood, even American military facilities have been named to honor people who turned traitor against America. The Defense Department is now — finally — in the process of renaming Fort Benning, Fort Bragg, Fort Lee, etc.

Locally, there’s an effort afoot to rename Madison Park, because it’s named for James Madison, one of the many (most?) founding fathers who owned slaves. Of note, he’s the same slaveowner for whom the city itself is named, but (so far) nobody’s seriously suggesting renaming the city of Madison. So far.

If the locals or legislature vote to rename the park or the city itself, I won’t be outraged or even inconvenienced. Rename the famous Madison Avenue in New York City, while we're at it.

Rename Seattle; its current namesake was the local Indian chief, who specifically asked them not to name the city after him.

Alabama and several other American states were named after native tribes that were basically evicted there; rename those states.

Back here in Madison, a 42-ton rock was recently removed from the local university campus. The rock had memorialized Thomas Chamberlin, a long-dead geologist. I’ve heard nothing particularly disparaging about Chamberlin, but due to the rock's natural shape it had sometimes been called ‘N-word head’. 

That last example was widely mocked as too much political correctness, but the people doing the mocking seemed to be the kind of people who'd be happy to live on Robert E Lee Boulevard, so I’d ring up the rock as a victory. Symbolism is important, and sometimes it's a good thing to haul away a giant stone on a flatbed truck. 

Well, that's one man's opinion, just spreading it around.

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

The 'rally'

Leftovers & Links #51 

A boss's philosophy:

"Always be happy when an employee finances a car or a new house. It means they HAVE to work and will put up with more before they quit."

♦ ♦ ♦

Here’s a company that’s working on creating humans in laboratories, without such inconvenient old-fashioned concepts as fucking and pregnancy. They want to do it all in vitro — in test tubes, Petri dishes, and other manufactured environments. 

I love science fiction. Some of it, though, probably shouldn't come true.

♦ ♦ ♦

A hospice nurse relates two unexplained phenomena that often happen in the last days of a fatally-ill person’s life. I don’t think it’s woo-woo stuff; too many people are saying that it’s common. 

Quote: This happens to patients so frequently, they will educate families of the phenomenon so they don't feel such a total devastation when their loved one dies suddenly.

The first recurring anomaly is that a terminally ill patient might ‘rally’ — briefly seem to be recovering, before the end. The second is, the doomed often believe their already-dead loved ones are beckoning for them.

I’ve never seen the second phenomenon, but I don’t doubt it. It sounds like something you'd almost expect, springing from the imagination as folks who know or suspect their time is almost up come to terms with it. The first phenomenon, though — the ‘rally’ — I’ve seen twice.

In the 1980s, a friend in his mid-20s, hospitalized and dying of leukemia, became so lucid and energetic that we left the hospital to go for a walk, and he outwalked me. I thought he was having a miracle recovery. He was dead two days later.

The second ‘rally’ I saw was my wife. She’d been hospitalized, in intensive care, barely and rarely communicative, until one day she was awake and completely herself again. I thought she’d turned a corner, really got my hopes up. The next day she was effectively comatose, and by the weekend she was dead.

Sure wish some doctor, nurse, or nurse’s aide had said something about the ‘rally’ phenomenon. There are a thousand things I would’ve wanted to say to my wife that day, if I’d known or even suspected that it was our last conversation.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Is it nutty to compare NFL auditions to a slave market? 

Quote:  I thought it would be like a job interview with a Fortune 500 company, but then I walked into a room filled with a lot of older men. They gawked at me in a way I’d never been stared at in my life. I finally knew what it felt like to be objectified, the way so many women are. It was also clearly on me to impress them, to act like I was cool with the poking and prodding. I felt like they were Kardashians and I was an NBA starting center.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

The Art Institute of Chicago has ‘fired’ all of its 122 active docents, who were mostly unpaid volunteers, because … they were too dang white. They’ll be replaced by paid docents, people the museum hopes will be less white. 

Smells like a lawsuit to me.

♦ ♦ ♦

Here’s a Reddit post that explains why Kyle Rittenhouse walked

♦ ♦ ♦

Let’s ban cars. 

Quote:  In summary, cars are disgusting and if you live in a city you are morally obliged to use public transport whenever possible. 

Sounds good to me. By far, the best car I’ve ever owned was when I didn’t own a car, and got around San Francisco on buses, streetcars, and trains.  

♦ ♦ ♦

There are more than twice as many births than deaths, every day. 

I'm doing what I can to help. 

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Do-it-yourself railroad cars cross tracks on dams connecting islands that are flooded 50 times a year. Awesome!

♦ ♦ ♦

Oh, Remi, Remi, Remi. Now he’s pranking UFO-believers. 

♦ ♦ ♦

I saw my doctor a few days ago, not because anything’s aching or inflamed, only because he’d refused to renew my permanent prescriptions unless I made an appointment and saw him, in person. Co-pays are pure profit.

A woman in front of me at check-in, with her two children, was told that she owes them $90 because they'd forgotten to collect her co-pay on some previous visits. She was on the verge of tears. "I don't have an extra $90 today, or ever."

Why does someone who obviously can't afford it have to pay $90, for seeing a doctor? What bastards set up this bastard system? There are days when I hate this country, and what the Republicans and Democrats have done to it — often with grand bipartisanship.

Universal health care? Sign me up.

A public option? Sign me up.

You got any other pinko commie ideas? Sign me up, probably.

♦ ♦ ♦

 Mystery links  — Like life itself, there’s no knowing where you’re going:

—①—
     —②—
          —③—

 Sing along with Doug:
Nothing, by the Fugs


Sincere tip 'o the hat:
BoingBoing
Captain Hampockets
Follow Me Here
Hyperallergic
LiarTownUSA
Messy Nessy Chick
National Zero
Ran Prieur
Vintage Everyday

Voenix Rising

EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS:
Becky Jo
Name Withheld
Dave S.

Leftovers & Links 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →  

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

Blowing bubbles at 36

“Would you write an account of who you are and how you came to be living in a bum hotel?”

I'd sent a copy of my zine to the publisher of a small-town newspaper nearby, the Anderson Valley Advertiser, and that was the reply. Hmmm. I’d never tried summing myself up in one article, but that was the assignment. 

Readers with long memories might recognize a sentence here and there from back issues of Pathetic Life, but if you can’t plagiarize yourself, who can you plagiarize?

I was one of them — a good Christian, registered voter, hard worker, young man with a promising future, sometimes a ladies’ man, always a fine boy from a traditional family.

Let me tell you about the family. They’re not crazy. They’re fairly normal, I think, and that’s what’s crazy.

My mother is a Christian, which is all you need to know about her, since that’s all she knows about herself.

My father was a hard worker like me, stubborn and smart, warmly aloof, always working extra hours at the office, so sometimes a stranger to his six kids.

Hazel, the oldest, eloped too young, and tried to kill herself during an argument with her husband a few years later. She almost succeeded, but instead of dying, she’ll never walk or talk again.

Katrina has a job she hates, takes drugs every weekend and occasionally sells the stuff. Her husband died while she was divorcing him, so she’s half a widow. Lately she’s been “living in sin” (says Mom) with her dealer.

Dick is a convicted child molester, I suspect, but who knows? Nobody is willing to say. Any time you want a family get-together to go absolutely quiet, just ask why Dick is in prison.

Clay and I were the closest, until Jesus came between us, and now he’s so Christian I don’t know him any more. It’s like Invasion of the Body Snatchers — he looks exactly like my brother, but he’s completely changed.

Ralph is a petty thief who's not good at his job — he always gets caught. He’s been in and out of prison so many times, I’m not sure whether he’s in or out at the moment. In jail, he’s always very Christian. It helps with the parole board.

And then there’s me, the youngest, and the black sheep of our good Christian family.

When I became a man, I put away childish things, and Christianity was the first thing to go. God Almighty, what a silly concept! All around us there’s chaos and confusion and death and disease; I’ve seen a baby born without a brain, smelled gunshots on the sidewalk, known a woman whose face was covered with wart-like protrusions, watched a teenager die, and heard the music of Michael Bolton. There is no God. And if there was, He She or It should be condemned to burn in Hell, certainly not worshipped.

Later, I gave up on voting. I had always believed in democracy, worked for campaigns that seemed important, and my causes and candidates usually lost, but that’s not what disillusioned me. It’s that even when the good guys won, they were barely better than the liars and puds they'd replaced. No-one better is allowed on the ballot, though. Slowly I started to understand that there’s really no “lesser of two evils,” only evil in different forms and dosages. It hardly matters who wins and loses, because we the people always lose, and they the powerful always win. People who want to write the rules, I've decided, are exactly the people who shouldn't write the rules.

I’ve never had many friends, and eventually I noticed that fewer friends was better, so I've kept trying to drill down the number to zero. Most of my ‘friendships’ were shallow and superficial, people I went to ball games or bars with, sharing a laugh or a hamburger, but I didn’t know them and they didn’t know me and a hamburger tastes just as good alone. When the friends faded away, it was no great loss, and when only one or two friends remained, even they were getting on my nerves.

Likewise there’ve been lovers, thank you ma'am, but the legends of ‘happily ever after’ seem wildly exaggerated. “I love you,” I thought I heard her say. I said it too, and thought I knew what it meant. “Though you care about the strangest things, your politics are ass-backwards, your values are worthless, and your family is even stranger than mine, let’s get married.” With somewhat sweeter words I asked that question. We gazed deeply into each other’s eyes, saw nothing there, and walked away — a divorce without bothering with a wedding. Darling, I never knew you, and you never knew me. Rinse, lather, repeat. Presently I’m available, but not really looking.

For years I gave my job my best effort, shared bright ideas, put in extra hours, took projects home, and sincerely tried to be the employee I’d hire if I was in charge. For my dedication, I was laid off. The most brilliant workers (not me, to be clear) are ignored for promotions, while dimwitted young college kids or the boss’s son land the corner office, where they announce new policies that make the work more difficult, the company less profitable, and customers more frustrated, all while the padlock on the suggestion box slowly rusts. To survive, I’ve become the employee every company seems to want — I do what I’m told, without thinking or caring, and glance at the clock every few minutes.

One fine Sunday, after visiting my sister in the nursing home, declining the acid my other sister wanted to sell me, being nagged by my mother for not attending church that morning, and dreading the next day’s return to the office, I walked into my empty apartment and took a good look around.

I hated my life. It was time to put a bullet in my brain, or make some less fatal changes, as if my life depended on it. I began packing that night, and didn’t go to my job the next morning, or ever again. Goodbye, Seattle. I won’t miss the rain. Soon I was driving south on the freeway. Next stop, California.

Here in San Francisco, I believe in good pot at reasonable prices, though I haven’t found any lately. I believe in taking nothing seriously unless it’s impossible not to. I believe in helping others, if they need and deserve it and if I’m in a good mood. Mostly I believe in me, since I’m the only person I can count on.

It's just me, living in a dilapidated residential hotel, where I like to sit and blow bubbles out the window, onto the utterly normal people below.

Once, I was one of them — a good Christian, registered voter, hard worker, young man with a promising future, sometimes a ladies’ man, always a fine boy from a traditional family.

Now I’m none of the above. Once or twice a month, I call Mom to let her know I’m alive, but other than that I’m alone. God is only a cliché, something to holler when I hammer my thumb. I’m not registered to vote, so no matter which boobs get elected, I still feel clean. I have a few acquaintances, but no real friends. I’m having a lusty love affair with a tube of Vaseline. I have a job that sucks, same as the old job, but there’s an idea brewing that might maybe make that problem go away.

I’ve been told it’s a pathetic life, but it’s the life I’ve chosen, and it’s better than the life left behind. Sure, there’s nobody, and nothing much to believe in. No hopes and dreams, but damned few worries. These are by far the happiest days I’ve ever known. I’m enjoying it, and therein lies the meaning of life.

From Pathetic Life #8
Friday, January 20, 1995
("bonus rant")

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.

Pathetic Life 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →

itsdougholland.com 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →