Novelty Has Not Worn Off

I'm still riding my bike through the 'Hood most everyday, about forty miles a week. I'll be having some pictures soon, but I don't think anyone really reads this. My motivation is for myself.

Stiff working on a few posts for TV and movie stuff, as well as some stuff about this Wasteland I see everyday.

I'm loving it, though...

Missing for Too Long 2

I was trying to finalize a few ideas to briefly mention a nod to the "Pop-Culture" part of this blog, a sort of 'I know I've been gone but does anybody really care?' post, maybe briefly mention having seen (and sneaked a  canteen of g&t into the theater) Star Trek 14, or whatever edition they're on, when a commercial caught my attention. (I'm huddled over my lappy with ST:TNG on in the background (I'm johnny-come-lately to the whole phenomena).)

The commercial was for Cheerios. A little girl maybe five years old asks her mom if Cheerios are good for your heart. The little girl is a cutie with a chocolate milk complexion and nearly blonde frizzy hair and the mom is an alabaster toned hipster with dark hair and dark rimmed glasses. She blandly reads the box to the little one.

The next scene is the dad, presumably, asleep on the couch, waking up to see his chest is fully covered in Cheerios, his daughter having poured the box's contents onto him. The dad is black.

Their house show's they're fully upper-middle class, which is refreshing, but how awesome is it that it's so casual to have an interracial couple in any commercial? It used to be illegal to marry someone of a different race.

Progress in the Pop-Culture Wasteland...

Missing for Too Long 1

I've been away from posting here, having missed February, April and May. I had a post I wanted to put up, one I will in a bit, but life out here in the Wasteland has had a full set of new wrinkles. I'm trying to start a novel life project: I'm plotting to be an LA guy without a car, an LA weirdo on a bike.

We'll see how long it lasts...

Saw a Bit of Myself...

I missed February, but only because I was busy with other shenanigans. I'm planning a few neato pieces for this Pop-Culture Wasteland blog. One is a lengthy breakdown of prime-time animated families since the Simpsons, culminating with the idea that Fox's Bob's Burgers is the rightful heir to the quirky-and-slightly-dysfunctional-but-loving-family mantle that the Simpsons created back in the early '90s. Another is about the main antagonist of that show, Louise Belcher, and how she's a nice mix of Lisa Simpson and Eric Cartman. Another post is a retractive post about how I talked shit when I shouldn't have, and it concerns Disney's animated feature The Fox and the Hound.

But right now I have a picture I took that I'd like to share. It's from an episode titled "Our Town", episode 24 from season 2 of one of my favorite shows growing up, and after rediscovering it again on Netflix, it has become one of my favorite shows anytime: The X-Files.

The episode revolves around a town that's been ritualistically killing and eating humans for years, and after some creek dredging, they find bundles of bones. In the picture above, Scully is able to identify a government inspector who'd gone missing (he was presumed to have run off with a young lady) by the metal on his femur.

I saw that and thought, that's me! My bar's a little less, but it'll survive me being boiled, that's for sure.

I Swear It Was Him

So, when the missus and I run out of coffee, we jump on the bikes and head over to our local beanery. Those are some of the perks of the Wasteland: pleasant weather, beach-side bicycle paths, and coffee bean roasters a jaunt down the way.

We rode to the spot and then turned left, heading into the crowded neighborhood that separates the fancy shopping drag with the sand and ocean. The road was one-way and dense. The ride lazy.

As we went along a man was heading to his car, saying something to his passenger. He looked over to me and the missus, gave a weird smile and said Heya or Hiya. Howdy, I called back with a smile. Maybe he thought we recognized him. The missus asked after we turned right down another one of the tight streets, Do we know that guy?

It was totally Steven Spielberg. I swear.

The car was dark and sleekly unassuming, like one of the suppository Benz's. The pair were kind of in a rush to get in the car and get going, but not frazzled by any means. The clothes this Spielberg doppelganger wore were the kind that look like a nice pair of jeans and nice sport coat, but on closer inspection you can tell that the jeans were probably five hundred bucks, and the coat three times that. The man was the right size and had the same facial features, the same look in his eye, the same hair and facial hair (but he had shaved recently) as the famed director. Who's to say that Spielberg couldn't know somebody who lives in that particular expensive neighborhood? Our little berg has its charms...

They way he said Heya or Hiya with his weird smirk led me to the conclusion that he felt we recognized him. At least the way both the missus and I responded to him--pleasantries in kind--made us the cool ones that afternoon.

We're all just so friendly down here in the Wasteland.

Literally: Part 1

"April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain."

Lines 1-4.

I like the irony anger that's right on and under the surface in calling "April the cruellest month", especially followed with the "breeding/Lilacs out of the dead land." That just smacks of horror imagery, and following it with "mixing/Memory and desire" sounds like the clarion call of the embittered.

Bitter zombie lilacs coming to bring cruel and chilly sunshine mixed with rain. Seeing April and the coming spring as cruel can only come from someone who is dead, or dying, or angry and bitter at all the life, and this is reinforced by the title of this section, "I. The Burial of the Dead".

I'm not a professional critic, but I like to play with things and let my imagination run wild, so let's see where else it goes. For me, Chef Gonzo, "stirring/Dull roots with spring rain." is like a commentary on family. Family--your "roots"--dull and boring, is only barely moved by the cruel machinations of the annual rebirth.

Bringing of life is annoying and cruel, but only when you're dead, or in a state that today we call "depressed."