So things have been uneventful since my return to purgatory, which is to say that I have worked a total of five days since returning 3 weeks ago. That's the constuction business I guess, especially when your boss and his administrative assisitant can't see the forest for the trees. I'm not going to get into heavy detail cause it's extended family and I don't want to leave a trail of gasoline along I95 next week when I light the fuck out of here for good. Yes, the time has come, St. Pete has given me my walking papers out of purgatory. But enough about that until it actually happens—no jinxes here.
With all the extra time not working, I've been able to rewatch some old ER episodes that TNT was kind enough to recycle for me in time for this idle period. I've been stripping the scrap wire in my garage in order to recycle it and finance the trip back up. I've been in touch with the Chairman about employment opportunities although he has mysteriously disapeared since my call last Saturday, much like the Prince of Darkness used to. I've been trying to get more devil's work from the bastard (aka the bastard in my side) to little to no avail. Although to his credit, he seems to know how it feels to have no reliable paycheck coming for the past three weeks—nor a foreseeable paycheck in the future, while trying to move one's life 1,400 miles, while telling one's Uncle and his daughter they have no idea how to run a business and that's why they are in the mess they are in—(If Woody had gone to the police, none of this would have ever have happened, and if they had listened to me a year and a half ago, they be flying along without a care and I'd be a quarter of my way through my Texas—Arizonia -PCH road trip)—I mean I love you brother, but there's absolutely no way you could understand that. But I didn't mean to get heavy here, just letting out some steam here.
When I woke up this morning and turned on the ol' tube, VH1 was going through it's top 20- countdown, how they tabulate it, I don't know and don't care but it's a top 20. Anyway, I realized that pop music has taken yet another turn lately—I should say that I steer clear of pop music and dig through various source materials in order to find any new music that is actually worth listening to. I've noticed the amount of bleeding heart piano/guitar bands there out there these days. Weather it's Five for Fighting, or the Fray or James Blunt or whatever the name of the band whose video I saw this morning, there's been a absolute pussyfying of the pop music that is going to threaten mankind as we know it, that is unless something is done about it soon. I call it pussy-pop. It's closely related to emo which I renamed pussy-punk a couple of year back. It's a poor excuse for heartbreak/folorn/wonton music that has always been a staple since the birth of the blues. I mean if I wanted to listen to some fag tell me how to save a life I drop some 'Mats, or some GBV, Buffalo Tom or some Nick Cave—something with some balls. I mean those guys knew how to hurt, they did it like men and spat it out like bile on wax. These bands today saw the WTC fall on TV somewhere and think they know what it is get kicked in the gut by the universe. I blame Coldplay and for that matter VH1 which is why imediately changed the channel nad caught the second half of the Harrison Ford vehicle Random Hearts, which turned out to be a decent telling of a Senator—Kristin Scott Thomas (who has since disapeared) as a congresswomen and Ford as a DC Cop who both lose their spouses in a plane crash. It turns out they were having an affair. It's your run of the mill Sydney Pollack vehicle, which is to say it's an opportunity for Pollack to make a cameo as the one guy in the entire world who is ethically superior to all others and then will explain to why you are not and what you should do about it, —see The Player, which you in fact should see, or Eyes Wide Shut, which you should not. Anyway, I was struck by Ford's performance, and how it was reminiscent to every performance he has ever made, even Regarding Henry which I caught on HBO Friday afternoon. I call it Han Solo acting. Now, don't get me wrong, If I could be anyone in the universe, real or fictional, I'd be Han Solo everytime, no question and I'm not trying to take anything away from the man who owns most of Wyoming and enjoys sleeping with coat hangers, but it did strike that he has been playing Han Solo for 35 years. In fact, American Graffitti was on last Saturday and he was doing Han Solo before Han Solo even existed as the cowboy hat wearing redneck who tries to outrace Paul LeMats character, who buy the way is rocking the Schneider before Sullivan did on One Day at a Time. Although Pa Dukes was rocking it before LeMat, in fact I fantasize that LeMat's character is actually taken from the life of my father in his teenage years—pa dukes doesn't talk of the salad days.
Point is, because I fell that Han Solo is the greatest of all action heroes there aren't any actors these days worth there salt to pull that kind role off. And Hans getting a little to old to be jumping over cars, like ion the Devil's Own, (also on this week) and using his whip to corall Spielberg's wife or chill with Chewy or shoot ol' Greedo. The solution is to have Ford to open the Han Solo School of Acting. This way Hollywood wouldn't be devoid of such a personality once he passes on to hang with Obi, Anaken, Yoda and Abraham Lincoln. Think it over Han—we need ya'.
mofo
so the phone rings this morning and it's my father, the shrink. now the shrink called me yesterday too. he told me that he wanted me to come over for dinner last sunday but he couldn't get it together and that's cool, the bastard hasn't been so much with the phone calls to the rents lately, life has been going on around him and it gets busy. the shrink understands this. the shrink is also getting used to the fact that the bastard is dating again (yeah, i meant to tell you that but, i didn't, so there) and that's a good thing.
