Monday, February 26, 2007
Monday Nite: Funiculi, Funicula
Bringing it to you live (on tape!) late late Monday for your Tuesday pleasure. If you're actually reading this on Tuesday, while you are sitting, relaxing, not-working, bathing yourselves with the rough tongue of wet Pops-y goodness, know that I'm out there in the world being slowly annoyed to death by various members of the retail and service industries. Keep one eye on I'm pretty sure that's where you'll find the story about the guy who went fucking bat-shit in a sporting goods store with a hatchet and a Coleman stove, pushed one fucking errand too far. I'm not saying it will be me necessarily, I'm just saying there's a little space in the corner of my soul that will wish it were.

Meanwhile, back out in the real world of things that actually matter in a material way, I hear Martin Scorcese finally got himself an Oscar. Everyone's so happy and relieved and thank God it happened otherwise... I don't know. Something. I hear Jake LaMotta was threatening to kill a guy--Cathy Moriarty I think it was--if it didn't happen this time. Maybe that had something to do with it, maybe it didn't, but Marty won and we're all of us still alive, even Cathy Moriarty. So it wasn't all good news.

Not only that, but people don't realize that when something that is perceived as should happen finally does, something else invariably breaks loose. The longer the wait, the worse the potential karmic backlash. Think about it: Mean Streets came out in '73 and since then it's been one stellar achievement after... one unparalleled success followed by... uh... OK, so New York, New York kind of sucked. But that's not his fault, I mean, it had Liza Minelli in it. Not the good Liza like from Arrested Development either. This was the bad one that sings and dances and beats up gay men.

But almost everything else he's done has been brilliant. If you can stomach Leonardo DiCaprio (which I can't), his most recent work has been nearly up to the high standard he set for himself. The must happen just kept getting pulled tighter and tighter, storing more and more tension, more and more frustrated potential energy until everyone watching was less hoping and more praying it would snap just so we could get it over with and watch the destruction the delayed imperative fulfillment would wreak. If you need a visual, it's the same way we all feel about Joan Rivers' current face.

And it's not just that he wouldn't win, but Scorsese kept getting beat by all this hack actors playing at being directors. Redford in '80, Eastwood a couple years ago and... Jesus, I hate to even bring it up... Costner in '90 for that movie he made, whatever it was called. Race Traitor I think it was.

Then, last night (depending on when you're reading this... what up, Hawai'ian readers!) WHAP! Scorsese wins and we all hold our breath.

Big deal, Pops. You're being fucking lame again. You make all this shit up just to fill blogspace. Think we don't know, but we know. Also, you are probably fat.

Uncalled for, Reader. I have a metabolism problem, OK? I can't figure out how to get it to handle 22,000 calories a day.

Past that, you want to know what the Scorsese win could destroy?

How about the first viable female presidential candidate in US history?

Hmm, next day, magically, there are some serious questions raised about her ethics with regard to personal economics.

First of all, you can write off $5 million if you only give $1.25 million to charity if you just call it a "foundation"? Sweet. That's a 4x return on investment! Charity is better than heroin.

Secondly, a lot of the country was worried that Hillary was too much of a bleeding heart liberal to be elected president. And now look what the Washington Post of all things has caught her doing: giving money away. To poor people.

That's it. Campaign over. She's back in the green-room wrestling with Tom Vilsack over the last low-fat poppyseed in what was once a full muffin basket.

Equal and opposite reaction, people. I have the horrible feeling that this Oscar-launched Newtonian karma-whip of doom is nowhere near done with us. Everything from here on out for an indeterminate period is the fault of the released energy that's been building since Levinson won for Rain Man. Come on, one joke movie. Everyone knows retarded people are only funny for the first fifteen minutes.

Everything. Earthquakes, tornados, hurricanes, the Grammys, all of it stems from this.

And it will finally be true, what the Red Staters say: Hollywood will be responsible for the destruction of America.

What we can learn from this is that we must NEVER EVER EVER give Samuel L. Jackson the Oscar he so richly deserves. Not if you want to live.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 7.4




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