Friday, August 26, 2005

...on divine right of kingship

you know, the neighbors used to be so cool. two girls who worked in film and television. not from here. trying to make it happened. thing1 was nice and thing2 was not so nice. eventually they became socialble and we got along. we tried to take our demands to the landlord every now and again. we talked about shit. we were friendly. then thing2 wanted to date someone in our circle. it didn't work out so good. they became uncomfortable. like alot of people i know who work in that field, they play the govt. a guy i know in the set designers union would work 6 month out of the year and collect unemployment for the other six and then go to work on a movie. it's their system. the union gave him bennies and then when others in the union needed to work he would take his hit and live off the system. i assume others do it. thing1 does it but, now she's in the home business kind of business. the kind that has you in the house all of the time. i know how this works. you stay in for your 8 to 10, then you stay in and eat dinner. then you watch some tv or listen to music and then you go to bed. after a few weeks of being indoors for a long period of time puts the zap on your brain. it's the solitude. the only dealing with people by e-mail and phone. it makes you paranoid. it makes you nasty. you become a shut in. then one day you wake up and your act like the old lady in the corner house who has the 35 cats.


we comply. no more kid on the roof playing. it's cool. like all things that i don't like but have to do i get used to it. the bastard has made a life out of getting used to other people's shit. but a funny thing happens in the evening. usually on fridays. sometimes on other days. but always in the evening. the 85 year old bitty that needs total silence while she "works"(collects) at home turns back into a 30 something year old hipster. we call hipsters that old "cryptsters". too old to be hip but young enough to try and get away with it. i gave up trying to be hip a long time ago. it's a job being hip and a hard job. it's a young mans game, this hipness is. and i knew when to get out. you declare victory and then walk off of the battlefield and dress like michael cain in the italian job and convince yourself that you look good. anyway, she mystically transforms back into a 30 something and cranks that deep house music right the hell up. silence my ass. jerk.

—the bastard


mofo said...

The thing is being hip or cool (kool as to distinguish it with a term defining cold, or chilly) is not attained it is in-bred, you come out of the womb with it. You can be 50 years old and be the koolest fucker walking the rock, look at Sam jackson, or Steve McQueen before he bought it. Keith Richards is still walking around with his membership card,for the love of Pete. My point, if you've always had it, you continue to hold it, if you didn't by the time you fall into that "Crypster" category, you need to leave the quest behind, for you have failed. Anytime you want her torched give me the word, I'll light a fire under her unkool ass, cause believe me when I tell you, house music is, was and never will be filed under kool.

bastard central said...

don't worry mo. i prefer the revenge in the klingon sens of the word. best served cold.

"house music all night long...say what?


mo said...

I was thinking of that tag line-"house music...", but I think after your last comment I should just say, "Hey, that's Reverend Jim!"

jimmy3000 said...

I think you should return the favor with Probot.
mmmm... Fast acting Probot!

bastard central said...

i should get probot. i was thinking a gentle mix of the "land of rape and honey" by ministry coupled with a smattering of venom's "calm before the storm". or the bastard can pull out the old mp3 walkman and run it straight through for 10 hours. actually 3 hours. it only runs for 3 but, i can set that up one morning and go out kayaking. come back and reap what i sow.

funny ending on this though, saturday night was greeted with more thumping right as we walked in at 12:30 am. the nice lady closed the door and we made fun of the neighbors demands to "make sure you lock the door at night, there are miscreants running about" audibly and then up went the bass.

i turned in @ 2am. the music was turned down but still going. thing1 was letting out her jackie michaelus style laugh so i knew the drink was on. i wake up @ 10 the next morning and put the kettle on make coffee in the bodum (cause you know the bastid keeps his drip machine @ the office). kettle whistles and i'm doing dishes and i'm not done. the kettle whistles on. i dry off the hands, the kettle still whistles on. i realize that i should have a t-shirt on when i'm near an open window. i go to pick one out and the train keeps a rollin. after about five minutes of whistling, the kettle finally goes off and out comes the coffee grinder (cause, you know). and then i start with that. as soon as i finish up, someone on the other side of the wall starts stomping to life. probot may be fast acting but mundane monotonous noise always trumps probot when the sapporo hangover kicks in for thing1 and thing2

—the bastard