Pretty awesome typo in Us' transcription: “I want to meet someone whose hair cut is symmetrical, who likes BlueTooths, Ed Hardy T-shirts, tractors and doesn't mind that I already have eight-and-a-half white babies.”
Of all the memorable moments that happened over 4th of July weekend (spent in Chicago for the 3rd of at least 5 weddings I’ll be attending this year), the highlight was probably watching children gawk as two chimpanzees licked their own fecal matter off the glass partition at the Lincoln Park Zoo (one regularly washing its hand with its own urine during the feast). Had to wonder if chimp butts are naturally distended or if they just can’t keep their hands out of there (it was hardly the only shit-smear visible), but none of the factoid displays surrounding their habitat had any butt-related info. As if anyone wants to know about anything else after witnessing that.
To be fair, the follow-up to Travistan (an album I still enjoy) left me cold, and I’d prefer this to a sadsack “The Dismemberment Plan Reunite To Cover Emergency & I On Tour” headline. But I’m still kinda bummed.
A Scene From "South Of Heaven, West Of Hell", The Only Movie Ever Written And/Or Directed By Dwight Yoakam
Paul Reubens attempts to rape Bridget Fonda against a wall, while Michael “Evening Shade" Jeter tries to mount Reubens from behind, saying "I can’t get to her too!" Fonda breaks a gasoline lantern over Reubens’ back, setting him on fire, before jabbing Jeter in the crotch with what’s left of the lantern. Vince Vaughn, dressed like a bandito, screams for his partners in crime, as Jeter inspects the bloody remains of his crotch and emits a piercing wail.
The movie also includes a riveting dining scene, with Billy Bob Thornton (blessed with strikingly long, blond hair) holding court alongside a mute Warren Zevon, and a romantic interlude between Bud Cort and a naked whore in a bathtub. This movie is basically Unforgiven meets Hobgoblins.
Dwight Yoakam on his sole venture as a triple threat, released on DVD in 2001: “[My character] says to Vince Vaughn’s character, ‘I’m not sure of my existence, only my intentions.’ Which is just about all that any of us can say about anything: Do we exist beyond this place, or are we existing here only as some sort of weird hologram? Is reality real, or are we tricked by a facade of reality?” This movie needs a cult now.
“New Yorkers think an interesting life is more important than a happy life. What you really pay for with the exorbitant cost of living and the hard lifestyle is to be surrounded by strong performers, huge ambitions, and constant need for change and innovation. To live in New York City, you have to trade happiness for this. To most New Yorkers, it’s a no-brainer. They would take that trade any day. To most people outside of New York City the trade-off is crazy.”
I deride the loaded word choice of “happiness” in this paragraph, but I won’t pretend I haven’t been pondering some variation on the theme lately. Having been in NYC for about a year and a half, I definitely feel like I’m sacrificing some calm and comfort. It’s like the top of a mountain - the air is thinner, there isn’t as much leg room, and the fall looks more threatening.
But to say I’ve sacrificed “happiness” is to ignore how age and the increase in responsibility to myself and others it involves plays a part in my perception of happiness, and to forget really just how “happy” I was before moving. Does anyone honestly believe they’ve sacrificed their “happiness” when they move here? Do locals think they were born without it? What about commuters from New Jersey?
That country-mouse calm I miss felt a little more like stasis when it surrounded me, and some people wouldn’t feel happy if they didn’t climb that mountain. Also, visiting old friends lately - friends I miss far more often than the towns themselves - it’s clear the economy is pulling the ground out from under everyone. I understand why anyone would reconsider their decision to live here these days, but people owe it to themselves to dig a little deeper than this.
“U2 opens the U2360 Tour. Bono calls Barcelona ‘the capital of surrealism.’ He dedicates ‘Angel’ to Michael Jackson, and sings bits of ‘Man In The Mirror’ and ‘Don’t Stop Til You Get Enough.’ After ‘Little While,’ U2 does a lengthy linkup with the Intl. Space Station. People walked around the catwalk with Aung San Suu Kyi masks during ‘Walk On.’ A Desmond Tutu video about the ONE Campaign plays before the encore. ‘One’ is a mess, and the band has to restart the song.”—