This is the best thing I have ever seen

...well, it's the best thing I've seen today.


EL GUINCHO | Bombay from MGdM | Marc Gómez del Moral on Vimeo.

This music video is artsy as hell. If you can't enjoy topless women with assault rifles or... sparklers... you can't enjoy life. Plus it's rife with theoretical concerns about metaphysics and semiotics or something like that. I'm pretty sure it is anyway.

Hi.

I am going to start sharing pictures. My lovely wife gave me a Holga for my birthday, which is the camera-of-choice for hipsters everywhere. Though I suppose real hipsters would go for something more obscure, like some piece of shit toy camera that doesn't even have a name with Latin characters. Like the 牛阴茎. 


Weird.


Anyway, I am continuing to be detached from internet life. Maybe this will change things, but I really am only about a half-step away from completely deleting my Facebook persona. 

A famous culinarian.

I am red.

This dude is a famous filmmaker.

Famous writers.

Just lookin famous.

Famous movie stars.

As is probably apparent, I am not particularly adept at scanning, cropping, and editing my negatives. Plus the machine I used is kind of old and kooky. Just say the half-assed job I did with it is part of the lo-fi idiom of Lomography. Which they obviously are very good at marketing.

Anyway, these are just some party pics. They make my life look exciting. I do have a project in mind for the camera. More will come from that later. But for now I am sort of watching the Bears decimate the Seahawks. Unsurprising.

Detachment

My RSS reader has over a thousand unread items. I can't seem to keep it clear. People say things to me on Facebook. I get around to replying sometimes. Sometimes I don't. My desk is covered in paper and junk again. I feel like I am ready to disregard the outside world--ostensibly, even as I write this blog post for the outside world. I'd like to drop everything and go live on an island. I suppose this is a fairly common sentiment. The weather is nicer. Providing the island is tropical, anyway. Some island off the coast of Maine might not be as pleasant in that category. But in its isolation, perhaps that would be even closer to the ideal I seek. I don't mean this to come off in some depressed-sounding way. I am not looking to jump into the ocean and say fuck all to humanity. I just want to hang out with island people. And live on island time. And without technology. Or without too much technology. I mean, I do enjoy indoor plumbing, heat/air, gas stoves, electric lights, cable television, high-speed...fuck. I could rant all day about getting away from it all, but I am still hooked to this goddamn cable modem, and if you took me away from it, I might go into DTs, even in spite of the fact that lately I have let it slide.

Soon, I will go to work and sit in front of a computer for eight hours. And the fulfillment I get from that, you could fit on the point of a pin. So that's likely the source of my desire to escape. Hooray for the holidays.

That was creepy

I gave up on the self-portrait thing up at the top there. It was too creepy. If I want to see pictures of myself, I'll just look at Myspace or something.

I am off to work where work is becoming less like purgation every day. Whether it is moving toward the (probably false) light of redemption or down the abyss of a pure living hell, now that remains to be seen. Still I commute!

Blog as social medium

I'm still here, I guess. I freshened up the look of the place in an assuredly-to-be-futile attempt to write more. I dunno. Is this color scheme too goth looking? There's that camera-phone self-portrait too. If that's not a meta-comment on the absurdity of social media and personal projections on self-image, then I don't know what is.

So. What to talk about now that there's a fresh coat of paint on the walls?

Oh! Did you know that it's National Novel Writing Month? Yeah, I'm not actually doing it. I think it's something that I possibly could do, but why the hell should I? Sure, 50,000 words would be a great accomplishment at the end of a month, but for chrissakes, who needs 50,000 words of rambling, disconnected, Adderall-soaked prose? (I might if I could acquire Adderall, but I'm not exactly in college anymore, and drugs are bad, mmkay?) I tend to agree with Laura Miller. Still, I should be sticking to my goals, which I have been doing a pretty pathetic job of doing. Not a week goes by that I don't try some new method of getting/keeping my shit organized.

Oh well. I ought to get to work on something useful. There's some dirty dishes in the sink. And, oh yeah, there's that book I was thinking about writing. At this pace, I may have 15,000 words by the end of the month. Which ain't exactly a big stinkin deal, but it's still progress, and we all know progress is a good thing.

A post about nothing in the future...

I'm working on this thing right now. A story, chapter, vignette, TV pilot, whatever. Somehow this character in it has become a hapless fucking idiot and I don't think he realizes it. I think he actually believes he's a pretty smart guy, although he sees -- or perhaps because he sees some of his limitations in the "life experience" department. But either way, he's not too smart. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But he's kind of a racist. Not the exaggerated kind of violent political racist who burns crosses on a lawn or anything, but still a somewhat disturbing caricature of a guy who makes a little too much fun of someone else simply in light of his difference.

Of course, in revision, these issues will become irrelevant. So by the end of the weekend, he'll probably still be stupid, but quite a bit less un-PC, or at least only un-PC in ways that I am comfortable with. Nobody will ever read this first draft. I just felt like sharing.

Self-fulfilling prophecy or self-aware inevitability?

I have said that I would eventually abandon this blog.

This, of course, is the usual "It's been a while" post, though I am loath to use that phrase, since one might associate it with that godawful song. But I suppose that since I opened this thing up, I might as well write something about something.

I just don't have many ideas. I spend my nights drinking and sometimes working on something I want to call a novel, sometimes working on things that nobody sensible would call "cover letters" and waiting either for rejection letters or not to hear anything at all. Of course, I am aware that this pity-party bullshit is not what anybody wants to read. I know, because as I reread it, it is making me sick. I just don't feel like hitting the backspace key because, if anything, I am at least building up a word count.

Anyway, there's no reason I shouldn't be writing something here all the time. I am sure I can find some way to entertain myself by writing something. About something. But not tonight. We'll just call this bit of nonsense... well, come up with your own metaphor for something that loosens something up.