I woke up, pulled off the pantyhose which were wrapped
tightly around my head and removed the pair which was in my mouth. I
discarded the one which was in my mouth and carefully bagged the other pair and
then lay in bed for a bit to consider what I might do with my humble
day. I purchased a book at Barnes & Noble Booksellers the other
stormy night and knew in my heart of hearts I would begin reading it this very
day. This affirmation provided me with excitement and comfort.
Through the wonders of innovative microwave technology I brewed a fresh mug of disgusting NesCafe and it was so vomit inducing I immediately brewed another, downing them both while also shoveling forkfuls of farm fresh eggs over-easy and hot buttered toast into my gaping maw. I considered throwing up my breakfast as an innovative means of losing weight but ultimately decided against this course of action. I watched a bit of MLB Central which is quickly becoming my favorite sports oriented program not counting actual games, matches, etc. Through today’s episode I realized I’d foolishly been ignoring a great rising star this season in the bronzed form of Jose Altuve. A quick look at his stats show the young gun is indeed quite a force to be reckoned with out on the grass and I will be keeping a closer eye on him in the coming year. Kudos to Laruen Shehadi for bringing this to my attention. I watched the Astros expertly deconstruct the Yankees in the rent Wild Card Game and walked away with new found interest in Altuve. Please understand I’m no Yankees hater at all but the sight burgeoning young talent was inspiring indeed. Show em’ kid. Show em’ all.
I saw Sicario the other day. And at last, after weeks of disappointing drivel, I was treated to a genuinely great film. My boy Benicio always delivers great performances (even in shite films like The Hunted) and this was no exception but I also want to highlight Josh Brolin and Emily Blunt who bring a lot to roles which were not necessarily that meaty in script form. Director Denis Villeneuve is quickly becoming one of my faves with an increasingly reliable body of work. And what can I say about Roger Deakins’s cinematography that hasn’t been said by a thousand more intelligent and better looking people than me? I just won’t say anything then. Except I hope he finally wins an Oscar at the next Academy Awards (not that I care about such things mind you). Another point of interest is the score. I know for a fact I’m not the only one on this planet who noticed similarities between Johann Johannsson’s moody work and David Bowie’s instrumental Sense of Doubt from the classic 1977 album “Heroes”. Bravo! I’m going to purchase the score ASAP and listen to it while driving around at night when I’m too afraid to go back to my posh flat.
I’ve been engaging in a lot of piss poor bass playing lately, attempting to learn several New Order songs and classic Red Hot Chili Peppers songs and failing miserably at both. But jeez, Peter Hook and Flea are inspiring folk! Listen to the bassline on Behind the Sun from The Uplift Mofo Party Plan, it’s juicy and funky and spacy! And hot damn, just fucking listen to the bass in Run from Technique, so elegant and beautiful, it makes love with the sounds of the other instruments. Or maybe it’s the bed where all the love making is taking place, not sure. Either way, I love it. I also love the new New Order album but it just isn’t the same without Peter Hook. You can’t replace Hooky!
I know what you’re all asking so here’s the reason why:
I was at the bank, cheesy smile on my face because I planned to deposit a fat check; dough I earned which I may then invest in some low risk mutual funds in case there’s a dip in the market. Directly in line ahead of me was a slightly overweight middle-aged man wearing a navy blue t-shirt, jean shorts and sandals. His hair was noticeably untidy. I only began eavesdropping on his business about halfway through when it became impossible to ignore the increasing tones of annoyance in his voice. It seemed he’d brought a plastic bag of loose change which he wished to turn into cold hard cash (or maybe deposit into his hefty checking account) and was positively aghast that the bank would demand he roll the coins and not simply dump them in a pile on their counter. Further eavesdropping dug up all sorts of golden factual nuggets including that this man had actually come from out of town (hopefully not just to go to this bank) and that he knew of several other banks which did accept change in this manner. I briefly imagined his nomadic lifestyle of dressing badly, crawling on hands and knees in the gutters looking for change and then asserting his manhood at local banks. I chuckled at what a judgmental bastard I am. The kind teller asked if he would like the papers to roll the coins and he made a grand gesture with his arms and said, “I guess I don’t have a choice, do I?” I wondered why such a pathetic individual exists and what must have happened in his life that taking five minutes to roll his precious coins was such an imposition. Perhaps he was on his way to a big business deal and couldn’t be late. Though another part of me suspected that bringing this change to the bank was likely to be the highlight of his month. He took the papers but did not stay. Exiting the bank requires going through 2 doors and he flung them both open as hard as he could for maximum impact. It was disturbingly easy for me to hate this man with every fiber of my being as he seemed to be a repulsive waste of life. I hoped for the betterment of us both that I would never encounter him again. Though I also knew that I am the foulest human being of all and if there were any true justice in this world that man would have been allowed to savagely beat me to death in front of the drooling patrons of this bank.
Of course, I had ulterior motives for going to this particular bank. There, to the left of the helpful teller who tended to my needs was Alicia. She did not smile at me, she did not wave. But she saw me, just for a second and with the slightest nod I knew everything was set.
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