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The beginning.

If you’re reading this, I’m not sure how you got here but welcome. I’ll be writing about a lot of things: film, music, books, my dysfunctional living situation with my ex and anything that’s occupying my mind at the time. If I say anything to offend you please let me know, not because I’ll apologize but so I can call you out for being too damn sensitive.

In this blog, I don’t think any topic should be off limits. Everything should be discussed and nothing should be censored. The only thing I have to fear is the realization that I am in fact mediocre. I guess we’ll find out together.

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Home.

She was a double amputee with dead eyes. She sat below a sign decrying the beauty of the city and its progression and change, while all around her roamed the gross and the weird of society. Nothing had changed; the punks, the drunks, the crack heads, the religious zealots they were all still there; the only change came with the installation of twinkling lights that shone above them.

People would drive by and awe at the structures, the buildings, the synthetic creations of the city, completely missing the reality of just what had amassed around them. The groups looked just like any other crowd from any other city but to stop and look would give you a true impression of the cesspool, of the freaks that meandered about in the moonlight.

I lived amongst them in the cheap motel apartments, I heard the fights and screams in the night and at times I was one of those to add to the noise and destruction. The difference between me and them was that I could see the city for what it really was; I just couldn’t see how I fit into any of it.

It was late and cold and I was sitting alone drinking vodka, and then Jack Daniels, smoking my stolen cigarettes and looking out into the vast wasteland. The glow of the red fluorescent XXXX sign in the distance was a comfort, a beacon above the dark streets that wound and unwound around me. Sirens in the background had become like the static of a TV; I had become accustomed to my surroundings and it felt unnatural to sleep without the whir of a jet plane, the yell of a drunken neighbour or the howling of some long forgotten soul left to freeze in the streets. Somehow this had become my home.

 

 

 

 

Plague-iarism: the internet’s silent killer

Today I was taught a valuable lesson about attributions and the internet.

Yesterday, I posted a tweet that gained traction and was retweeted and liked by a lot of people. This is all well and good, however the joke was not mine. I had seen it on the page of a friend and used it, without attributing it to him. I hadn’t even given it a second thought, it’s the internet right? But it wasn’t just posting a few words of someone else’s that’s the big issue here.

This guy, I shall call him Geo. has been a writer for a long time. He has one of the most unique senses of humour of anyone I’ve talked to and conversations with him seem like dialogue out of some great novel. He’s probably reading this and I want him to know I feel like a complete ass and that I hope we can still do some collaborating in the future. You’ve already helped flesh out one or two of my own jokes.

For anyone interested in seeing what I’m talking about visit https://trefology.com/

It’s honestly got some of the wittiest one liners I’ve ever read. So Geo. my man, stay awesome and hopefully people dig the site as much as I do.

 

 

A Sunday in Brunswick.

His face appeared before the music did;  young, incredibly handsome with a silent grin. Standing around the computer, there were five of us watching the video clip. It was my first time, it was their hundredth maybe thousandth viewing. We’d been talking and laughing but as the clip started the room fell quiet.

I heard a deep inhale and the words ‘oh god, just look at him’ coming from the mouth of Jack , the only one who was seated. The way he said it can’t be explained in words, I tear up just remembering. He had loved him. He had outlived him.

Together they’d been crazy youths, living the rock n roll lifestyle. One was dead and the other was dying. He’d been drinking since before I woke up and I watched as he wiped tears from his eyes. As the clip came to a close four of us headed outside while Jack stared at the paused image of his friend.

After a little while he came out carrying a bunch of pies, he had his favourite meat pie and mushy peas.   One of the others at the table went to put their pie down on the black book that Jack had with him.

“Careful there, my sister gave me that book, I’ve had it with me every day for almost thirty years”.

The others laughed, it was a running joke in their group he’d die with it in his hand. I asked if I could look at it and he slid it across the table with a nod.

“There’s some awful scratched out names in that book” Jack said through a mouthful of pie.

It was an address book. Looking down the list of names and numbers a tinge of excitement ran through me as I recognized some of these people. People I admired, that had and were pillars of the underground music scene, and the list painted a picture of what thirty years of hard living will do.

“Those scratched out names it’s either fuck off, dead, dead, he’s a cunt, dead” Jack said excitedly.

Next to one I saw ‘see ya you bastard!’ and a little cross.

“What did this guy do?” I asked.

I slid the book over and pointed to the name, and Jack’s face turned sad again.

“That was the guy we were just watching inside”.

He’d died of an overdose the year before and I don’t think Jack could forgive him.

Age Appropriateness.

I’ve been watching a lot of Maron, the Netflix show where Marc Maron does his podcast and intertwines it with his (fictional I hope) personal life. The sad thing is how much I identify with it.

He’s twice divorced, bitter and struggling to find himself even after establishing a successful career in comedy. But he’s unhappy and finds relationships difficult. I’ve never been married, haven’t established any kind of career but when it comes to people I find them as complicated and hard to figure out as the maths equations I got in high school.

My best friend recently moved two states away and even though we’re in constant contact I feel like the one connection to the outside world I had is gone. Sure I’ve got ‘friends’ here in this city, people I could grab a drink with or whatever but she was the only one who got me and called me out on my bullshit. She set me straight when I needed it.

I’ve had four significant romantic relationships in my adult life, three that I ended and the fourth that was ended for me but I knew it was coming. And it’s sad. Out of these four guys, I never had one who got me properly. Does that ever really happen in adult relationships, or is it all about compromise?

It comes down to age too. I’m 28, almost 29. Almost 29 is almost 30 and with that comes a whole different set of life instructions and behaviors we’re supposed to embody to fit in. Does it mean I have to give up my collection of well loved, ripped band shirts in lieu of form fitting age appropriate clothes? Do I have to trade my comic books for those self help pieces of shit that seem to endlessly fill the bookshelves of the chain bookstores? Why isn’t there some sort of manual out there to help clueless people like me?

What about marriage and kids? I can’t even think of where to begin when it comes to that. I find filling out my tax returns each year anxiety inducing.

I’ve got one year and three months until I’m 30. Let’s see if I can’t figure out some of this for the other misanthropic people my age scared to death of just what to do next.

Forget it Jake, it’s Vaginatown.

The post I’m about to write is one of the main reasons I decided to start this blog. It’s about the absolute shitshow surrounding the film ‘Ghostbusters’ and the media’s role in decrying detractors of the film as sexist.

The 1984 cult classic is something many of us grew up loving, with the visual effects and humour standing the test of time. Ultimately anything that has a fan base is going to be rehashed, it’s something we have come to expect. There have been successful remakes such as Oceans 11 and Funny Games, and not so successful like Psycho.

Then we have reboots which take an original premise and completely scrap the continuity so as to create new characters, which is what the new Ghostbusters does. Now that we’ve got the definitions out of the way let’s delve in to the muck and mire of the so call misogyny being heaped on this movie.

David Sims at theatlantic.com claims the 800,000 plus dislikes on the film’s YouTube trailer to be an ‘organized campaign against the film’ and that people not finding the jokes in the trailer funny is’specious reasoning’ for criticizing it. He then points his attention to Cinemassacre’s James Rolfe who made a video citing why he would not be reviewing the film. Sims has the gall to insinuate that the real reason why Rolfe didn’t want to watch it was ‘it’s a tentpole genre film starring women’.

It’s a tentpole film you’re right, because of the already established fan base! James Rolfe never said a derogatory thing against any of the female leads but somehow David Sims saw through that charade!

I’m a female, I’m a Ghostbusters fan and I’m fed up with this bullshit. The trailers look terrible, I didn’t find them funny and I don’t intend to watch it. One of the film’s stars, Leslie Jones even tweeted:

//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js“>ITS NOT A MAN, WOMAN, RACE, CLASS THANG!! ITS A GHOSTBUSTER THANG!! AND AS FAR AS IM CONCERNED WE ALL GHOSTBUSTERS!! STAND TALL!!

Some of us really don’t want to see this movie. Anyone who says that gender doesn’t play a small role would be kidding themselves, but it’s not a sexist thing. The original film had two strong females who are fan favourites, whereas the one male star in the new one is painted as cute but stupid. I find it ironic that people are raving about sexism towards women but glossing over that. I’m going off track here, I just want to say that the media is the reason this has gained such momentum…and I bet that each outlet getting hits off posting these stories is loving every minute of it.

I bet the advertising budget doesn’t even have a dent in it.

Also, I have one final thing to add. The director of this film is Paul Feig and including Ghostbusters the last four films he directed have been female centric with Melissa McCarthy as a lead… and there hasn’t been a single claim of sexism as they all fared well. Hmmmm.lead_960