Everywhere he went, he dribbled cum. He dribbled jizzum in sporadic squirts that sometimes soaked through his pants. Nobody ever noticed but the stains were visible. If they had noticed they might have thought they were ink stains or food or drink stains. They might have thought they were lingering droplets of pee that soaked through after he urinated. Rather than ask someone about this unusual bodily phenomenon or seek answers on the Internet or in books, he learned to deal with it. He wasn't alarmed. He just took it for the non-threatening slightly absurd thing that it was.

All day long he dribbled cum. At work. In church. At the dentist's office. Everywhere. It wasn't because he was sexually excited. It wasn't that he was eternally reaching climax. He just dribbled cum--like a leaky faucet dripping sluggish gobs of yogurt sludge.

He took God very seriously. But he felt self-conscious about going to church. Because he knew he was in the house of the Lord and it felt wrong to be dribbling cum there. He was a deacon at the church. When he got up to collect the week's tithing, he would stand at the end of the aisle with one fist clenched in his other hand over his crotch trying to shield himself from being noticed by easily-offended and gossipy church ladies. They passed the offering plate in a zig-zag pattern across every aisle, starting in the back. With each successive aisle, he dreaded being noticed.

I finished watching the film "The Saddest Music in the World" this morning. It's an experimental film by Guy Maddin. The film is set in Winnipeg, Manitoba where Guy Maddin is from and where he sets most of his films, apparently. I like that the film is artsy and at the same time because it relies so heavily on old-time movie cliches and absurdist scenarios and imagery, it never takes itself too seriously. It's refreshing to see an indie movie not take itself too seriously and still be funny.

The film stars two of my favorite actors: Isabella Rosselini (the crazy lady in Blue Velvet) and Mark McKinney (from Kids In the Hall fame). It's actually appropriate that Mark McKinney is one of the stars. The entire film feels like an extended Kids In the Hall sketch--one of the darker sketches. The dialogue sounds Kids In the Hall-ish. As do some of the plot elements. It's the same sort of irreverent homage to old movies and stock old movie characters and lines.

I liked the mix of technicolor and convincingly old-timey black and white. It didn't look fake. It looked like Maddin actually used the cameras (or film) they used back then. The few scenes shot in technicolor actually seemed poignant to me--they were pretty to look at. Not pointless.

At times, the film reminded me of David Lynch's films. I felt like I was watching a gritty dream. Each scene was crowded with stark black and whites, German expressionist set pieces and fake snow. The narrative somehow managed to get across to me without being straightforward. I understood what was going on--even when I didn't. The films just kind of meanders (in a good way) around the impressionistic plot of a beer magnate double-amputee who holds a international contest to find the saddest song in the world. It's a big-idea concept--highly fantastical. Which is why I think it feels like a dream.

There's an allegory in the movie about America's relationship to other countries (Mark McKinney's character, who represents America in the contest, eventually recruits the losers from every other country to join the "American" team, highlighting America's identity crisis or propensity to exploit other cultures in the name of winning--in this case, money) but I don't think it's Maddin's intention to make this the focal point of the story. What sticks out more than anything else is Madden's imagination. The film feels like a Richard Brautigan poem--the way it skims over intricacies in favor of poetic storytelling: the big idea.

I really liked the film and the only reason I'm writing about it is because I needed to write something and I couldn't think of anything else. So.....

stray musings

By definition: I am a modern-day hipster. "Modern-day hipster" because the original term "hipster" represented white youths who tried to imitate black culture in the early part of the 20th century. I am a modern-day hipster. I listen to obscure music. I'm somewhat fashion-conscious (or, I at least own more than two form-fitting flannel shirts). And, as of this past spring, I have a liberal arts degree.

By definition, though, I'm also not a modern-day hipster because admitting that you're a hipster automatically disqualifies you as a hipster since part of being a hipster is not recognizing that you are a hipster--or at least not admitting it to anyone because the term itself has become pejorative.

But that's neither here nor there. Unlike most hipsters: I am ready to renounce my hipster lifestyle of being highly creative yet not creating anything of any significant value in favor of something more...lucrative, let's say. I don't want to sell out. I just want to find a job that I enjoy because being a wage-worker and making art on the side just isn't cutting it anymore. I don't have many options--like i said: I have a liberal arts degree but those are pretty worthless. But I don't know what I want to do.

I don't want a "creative" job because I can't be creative under pressure. And I don't want to be in a situation where my livelihood is dependent on my creativity. Because even if I do consider myself to be creative (or more creative than most) I'm still not very confident in what I produce. That is: I can't see anyone paying me money for what I produce because I don't know that it has any value or that my creative potential has any value--that it would be an asset to a company. I don't think I'm "creative" or smart enough to be rewarded with money for my creativity. Plus: once you bring money into it--that's just way too much pressure. Creativity isn't something you can monetize (well, something you can, probably, but not something you should monetize) because being creative is about expressing yourself freely and if there are parameters you're usually working against them to create something. I can't imagine myself writing for money because a.) I just don't consider myself talented enough for someone to want to pay me for my writing and b.) it's just not plausible. Even if I did get a writing job, writers get paid shit. With art, it's similar--though there is never a demand for art. Same with music. People like music. But there's no demand for the kind of music I can make. So, I'm OK with not doing any of these creative jobs. As long as I can still do it on the side--that's fine.

What I need, I think, is a job that gives me the freedom--the autonomy--to actually use my brain--to feel like an actual human being and not a slave or a machine--and pays me well. I'm finding this to be a near-impossible task. I've applied at a lot of places and I never hear anything back. I've researched other options--possible career paths. But none of them sound all that appealing.

I don't like what I'm doing now. But the pay is decent and there's a real chance for me to move up--to potentially get to where I want to be. What I want is a job--and I've seen people doing these kinds of jobs--where I don't have to wear a stupid uniform (where I can dress in business casual clothing) and sit at a cubicle and get on the Internet from time to time and be paid handsomely for it. But how do I get there? That's the question. How are those people able to work such cushy positions where they are allowed the excess time to fiddle-fart around on their computers or take hour-long lunches at the mid-range restaurant uptown or call friends and family during working hours and still get paid more than I do now where I could get fired for leaving my post for longer than it takes to go to the bathroom (I should say no longer than it takes to pee since I've actually been verbally reprimanded for taking a poop and being gone too long)? How do I find these jobs?

My dad's worked a decent job for the past twenty-five years or so. He says he started out like I did and worked his way up. But by the time he was my age he already had a house (two-story) and a wife who he could afford to do nice things with when he wanted to. He and my mom were already talking about having me by the time he was thirty. Here I am: on the thirty-end of the twenties spectrum and I'm barely getting by. Every week when I go to the grocery store I buy a jar of peanuts and just enough food to get me through the week alive. I am literally surviving on peanuts.

A lot of people say that it's just the economy right now--that the climate has shifted considerably since the seventies when all the baby boomers were finding jobs--the same jobs my generation are hoping to fill, eyeballing them like ravenous predators, once the baby boomers retire. Maybe it's true: once all the baby-boomer are gone two things will happen. They'll eat up all the social security (which I'm OK with--whatever). And two: there will be more jobs for us. More of those cushy low-responsibility positions that pay far too much for the kind of work they require.

Hopefully.

The Internet

Is it just me or has the Internet made it impossible for anyone else to meet new people? Well, not the Internet by itself. But my 21st century dependence on it as a one-stop destination for all my shopping/social needs?

It used to be: you went to the store--you went to the mall or a concert and that's where you met your future wife/new friends/potential enemies. But I never leave the house now. I don't have to. Netflix and Youtube have eliminated my need to go to a videostore to rent physical copies of movies. Amazon and--ahem--other sources have eliminated the need to go out and purchase new music or books. And if I want to talk to my friends, all I have to do is log into Facebook (I don't actually have a Facebook--but you get the idea) or send them an e-mail with an interesting link. Back in the proverbial day, you saw an interesting news story or heard a funny joke and you waited until you saw your friends, or people in general, in person before you could tell them. You had time to think about it--to add to that joke or news story. Now, all I have to do is copy the link and send it to them with my reaction summed up in text lingo ("haha" or "wtf?") so they know how to interpret my reaction had I shared the joke or story with them in real life.

I think, because we spend so much time on the Internet now and because there's so little need to actually venture out into the world when we need something, concepts like online dating sites are going to become more acceptable--no longer the stigmatized virtual pick-up joints for socially retarded gamers and computer nerds that they've been. People will make friends (they already do) or meet potential romantic partners (probably do that too) via social networking sites. It's so much easier to evaluate people online--all their information is right in front of you. It used to take months sometimes to find out that your friend secretly likes something you don't like: Pirates of the Caribbean, say. By which time you were already friends so it didn't matter. Now all it takes is a quick skim through their Facebook profile. The Internet makes everything faster, instantaneous--even disappointment.

fuck it

The rhythm of life is unpredictable. But there is some consistency to it. It's all mathematics.

I'm noticing certain things happening in repeated cycles. People entering/leaving my life. Corresponding emotions that I've felt before in past cycles. Themes emerge. Movies I watched so many years ago around the same time something similar happened cropping up again, whether I want them to or not. Movies I actively sought out four years ago my mom is watching when I come over--and the events surrounding these incidents are exactly the same. Why do these things reappear at the same time? I'd be crazy to look for a correlation--draw lines where none exist. But it's all very weird.

Girl From the Internet

There was a feature on NPR this morning about the Shinto Japanese islands creation myth. It's pretty crazy. It involves brother/sister incest and maggots crawling out of lady orifices--what one commentator on the show calls a "classic story".

It makes me wonder: how many drafts did this have to go through before the current story? Like: who decided that this was going to be the story and not something else? Something--oh, I don't know...less insane sounding? Seriously: a brother god and his sister goddess have sex and then maggots crawl out of her vagina and--boom!--the Japanese islands? That's fucking crazy. No one believes that. I mean: not really. It's just a neat little folktale, right? Someone had to make it up, though. And I want to know who it was and how--my Lord, how the hell--he got so many people to believe him. Can you imagine?

"And then they fucked each other--see?--and then these maggots...and that's how Japan was born!"

A crowd of listeners is standing around him with furrowed brows and their chins resting on their thumbs as they nod in thoughtful agreement. "Sure. That sounds plausible."

I have nothing against other religions. But...wow. I mean: I'm not totally blown away at the absurdity of the story--just that someone was able to not only pass off but widely propagate such an obvious lie--the kind of creation myth a psychopath invents to explain why he worships drywall configurations on the ceiling.

In other news: I want to write an essay-thingie about how its now acceptable for people to meet romantic partners online since the Internet has pretty much killed any need to actually leave the house for anything. The Internet is the new one-stop Department Store/Pick-up Joint/Bar/Television/Radio/Telephone, etc. Not to sound like an old man, but you really could live your entire life on this thing.

Stray Observations

I heard a story this morning on NPR about John Darwin--the British former school teacher who faked his own death. He did it, apparently, for the insurance money. Only he and his wife knew that he was going to do this. So, while he was off in Panama, she stayed home and played the widow and collected his life insurance money. He said he needed the money because he was having trouble paying off his mortgage--or something to that affect.

I found the story somewhat inspiring. I guess there's a criminal element to it--I'm supposed to hate John Darwin for deceiving his sons (making them believe, falsely, that he was dead) and collecting money fraudulently--but I think he was somewhat justified in what he did and that, by extension, not all criminal cases are "criminal" in nature. People in extreme circumstances will do what they have to do to get by--to survive. There are so many motivations behind every act--it's not always senseless. Senseless violence. Senseless mischief. Senseless stealing. There's a reason people do what they do. And often, I think, it's because they can't meet the demands of modern living (socially or financially). I'm not saying we're all entitled to take what we want because we can't get it any other way--but I like what Darwin himself said in the interview this morning: sometimes a person just snaps.

I don't know.

I also heard an interview with a man who was addicted to climbing mountains. Legitimately addicted. He said the reason he decided to start climbing mountains was because in his hometown there was a mountain (still is a mountain, presumably) and he couldn't look at it--couldn't see it--without thinking it needed to be climbed. "I'd see this mountain and I thought: I should climb it."

I thought that was pretty funny. But then he started talking about the risks involved in mountain climbing--and that he made things especially difficult for himself by refusing to use oxygen (whatever they use when they climb mountains) other than what was naturally present. He also talked about frostbite and people losing toes and fingers and other parts of their bodies. I know it's nothing profound to say that climbing mountains is crazy but I think a lot of people like to think of it as "heroic" or "adventurous." And not just adventurous--but adventurous in the way that people equate adventure and thrill-seeking with heroism. I don't disagree with either of these: but I think there's an almost naive quality to people who climb mountains. Like: young boys who climb trees because they think it proves something. I guess I've just never considered how weird it is: to want to climb a mountain or, even weirder, as many mountains as possible. Like...that's a legitimate hobby. Some people play guitar. Some people shop. Some people like to run (actually: these are all starting to sound weird the more I think about them objectively). And some people like to climb really big rocks. It's weird to think about what people do to distract themselves--what people do to stay sane. Nothing seems meaningful or purposeful when you consider what they really are and what sort of satisfaction they yield. "I climbed a mountain. I lost my left leg. But I just had to do it." "I learned how to play Stairway to Heaven on guitar. Now I know how to play a song that a lot of other people know how to play. I also wrote a song about a feeling I had that I considered interesting. It's unlikely that anyone else will think it's interesting. But I wrote it. The feeling is still interesting to me. I've documented it now--via song. But I haven't gotten rid of the feeling. It's still there. But now I have a song about it." It's really weird. I'm not sure I understand the human mind at all.