Tuesday, March 6, 2007

I'm Afraid of Americans

I don't understand this place that i live in, it baffles and confounds me each day, this way of life that we preach, the consumerism that is forced down our throats from the time we sit in a baby buggy and scream at all the bright colored toys stuck in the aisles of the grocery store, it's all about the sale it seems.

My best friends love movies, video games, dogs and i love books, soccer and cats, don't get me wrong cuz i'd take a bullet for the above mentioned it's just the world i live in, i often think that one day i will sit down and watch every movie that The Rock has ever made but it always seems like there's something better to do even if that something is watching the grass grow and the kids play in the park... i mean to see movies, i really do it's just that i never get around to it and they seem incredibly contrived and boring, when i do watch one it's usually Jaws, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, any of the three original Star Wars or Platoon, i don't dwell on it, though last week i did watch The Sun Also Rises starring a bunch of famous actors whose names i can't remember, it was old and moved very slow, a bit like Hemingway before he nibbled on the barrel which i must admit made me smile. Sorry Ernie.

Soccer is another obsession of mine and it's been dubbed a "cult" sport here in the land of milk and honey, a cult sport? does this mean at any given time all us cult members will wait for a comet in shin guards and the latest boots by Beckham and then take or own lives or does it mean we'll start a place called Soccertown and wait for Pele to tell us to drink the Kool-aid, i don't really know, maybe it's just that i like a sport without commercials, played with integrity and honour (sometimes), in stadiums where i'll never see The Wave, where the fans are organized enough to start riots and sing songs. Just remember never to insult my sister on the pitch or you might get a nutter right to the chest poofty.

As i type this piece of post modern light bulb changing tripe my boy Luis Garcia Shinobo Diego Rivera Marquez lays behind me, paw on my shoulder, breath stinking, purring and generally happy as a clam if he wasn't a cat. I've had to save Louie from being tossed onto the street by the woman because he tears the living shit out of the house, no matter what i do he does not learn, beatings, soaking him with water, he just keeps on doing what he does even though he knows the consequences, my attachment i feel may come from the fact that he and i are so much alike, we know the consequences but we do it anyway. Louie and cats in general just don't give a fuck and man is that refreshing.

So what the fuck does this have to do with being afraid of Americans? fuck if i know, i know i don't really appreciate the Puritan work ethic we have in this country, how they've managed to sell that load of shit to generation after generation is mind blowing, if only that good Ol' Mayflower would of sunk of the coast of Massachusetts, the natives wouldn't be running casinos and i'd get more time off to actually live, but the rest of these nut jobs just love to work it seems, God wants them to, given the choice between church and Angel Dust i'd gladly take the latter even after i swore it off years ago.

So the sun will rise tomorrow Ernest and i'll listen to the Stooges new album, i won't be able to discuss American Idol, Survivor, CSI, current cinema, though i may finish my third Pynchon book in as many months, i've read Phil Dick's biography, a book on being idle, Roddy Doyle, Philip Roth and Chinaski all since the beginning of the year, my co-workers would look at me as if i was some sort of pariah and i might have to agree, though i'd quote Hank Chinaski and tell them.... Some people never go crazy, what horrible lives they must lead. And they'd stare blankly and i'll smile.

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