Nine Songs, Nine Sex Scenes, Big Whoop

"Nine Songs" (2004) is a weird little pseudo-porn flick about two dull young people who hang around at rock and roll shows and screw a lot. In between the filmmakers throw in a lot of stuff about Antarctica. There is some boring dialogue that's probably supposed to be existential, some okay-to-mediocre live footage of bands like The Von Bondies and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, and some explicit sex scenes between the cute girl and the rather greasy guy.

If there's a point to it beyond titillation, or promoting the bands (most of whom have faded into oblivion now, six years later) I can't see it.

And if you want a fuck flick you can easily find one that doesn't have long glacier sequences.

Two coils for the sex, but it's really not much of a show.

Hail Gym

The gym routine is starting to pay off. I clocked in at 165 lbs. this morning, and I couldn't pray my way into these 34 x 29 chinos a month ago.

That's right, 34 waist. (They're actually a hair under 35, I measured, but it's the perception that counts.)

I am now officially Pudgy, as opposed to a Fat Slob.

Some time back I bought a couple of Lands End slim-fit shirts because they were so cheap. I tried one on and immediately rejected it. But now...

The Daily Irritant for Sunday, Nov. 28

It would be helpful if websites, especially news sites, would not load up the pages with eighty zillion flashing ads, video clips and the like.

Why?

Because, geniuses, if you don't have the absolute latest machine and updates and all of it YOU CAN'T READ THE WEBSITE.

Coming up...

I have actual CACA material coming up, but I've been distracted by watching DVDs of Planning and Zoning meetings I missed when on vacation. I have to take notes and back them up and go over the mumbling — over and over. It's a process that makes me seriously consider suicide. If you think my posts have been gloomy lately now you know why.

But I have a Standard Devil Movie, a porno film disguised as a music video and a French New Wave thriller with laconic guys in cool suits — all coming up.

Let's get this stupid blog back on track.

Instabuddhist

So now that holiday depression is in full swing I am reminded of the first two of the Buddha's Four Noble Truths: Life = suffering, and the cause of suffering is attachment.

To anything, or anybody. It's all transient, temporal, unreal.

So you gotta cut that stuff out, boy. Especially with insane women.

Seems like a pretty crabbed way to go through life, frankly. But I'll try it, although not to the extent of giving up my thrift shop clothing collection or my arsenal of fly rods.

No wonder addicts like being instabuddhists. It doesn't actually involve any work. All you have to do is keep your head down and don't engage unless absolutely necessary.

Yay.

**********

So here's today's Instabuddhist itinerary — Deli, talk with old codgers in outwardly meaningful but completely disconnected manner (because I am an Instabuddhist and therefore don't really care for deep spiritual reasons); gym, to improve physical self (although it doesn't really matter because it's an illusion); take a ride somewhere I haven't been to in a long time, like Rhinebeck or Millbrook, N.Y., to see if things are as boring there (an illusion, of course, born of desire). I would normally go to an AA meeting tonight but I'm an Instabuddhist now and have no need for such temporal things. Plus they'll be talking about being thankful and grateful and we know those are just part of the big cosmic joke. Right?

Dog-Ass Holiday Thrills, Spills, Chills

Closeup of my world-famous lentil and split pea concoction, known as "Super Puke."

6 a.m. — Wake up to "Imus" rerun, very unsatisfactory. TV news has substitute infobabes speculating breathlessly on whether or not that crazy little hedgehog-looking mofo in North Korea's gonna start a war. I hope he does; I'll volunteer to go there and do something, not that the Army is that desperate. I am that bored, though.

7 a.m. — Gym open for four hours today, so I get in early before the metal-benders and the bitter-divorcees-in-tights. The Hippity-Hop Lite satellite radio channel is on and Sweet Tap-Dancin' Jesus does it suck.

10 a.m. — Make it to local high school for annual grudge match against arch-rivals. Our guys are out of the post-season but a win would deny other team a playoff bid. Looks good — down 13-12 at half. But midway through the third quarter our guys collapse. Freezing out. Shoot breeze with acquaintances while silently wondering why I only have acquaintances and no friends.

Our guys (in blue) fail to block punt from their guy.

The crowd got rather quiet in the third quarter. And it got colder.

1 p.m. — Eat bowl of Super Puke (I'm going to apply for a trademark) and watch Detroit stay close for a while. Fall asleep, miss all but final three minutes.

Super Puke gets better the further down you get.

3:45 p.m. — Smoke one of these new cigars that came yesterday. An evil-looking, black, oily thing, emits more of a vapor than smoke.

Taking a health break

4 p.m. — Assemble Official Dog-Ass Thanksgiving menu. Turkey "club" sandwich, meaning sliced turkey on toasted wheat with three pieces of bacon, cranberry sauce mixed with mayonnaise and some lettuce that was lurking in the bottom of the produce drawer. Half a sweet potato. Or is it a yam? Fuck if I know. And some sort of "Garden of Allah Spring Festive Delight Mix" veggie stuff out of a bag.

The Official Dog-Ass Thankgsiving meal, 2010.

4:45 p.m. — Eat exciting ODAT meal.

5:30 p.m. — Fart.

7:30 p.m. — Drive to next town in vague hope that regular AA meeting is on. It isn't.

8 p.m. — Saints hang on to win; begin ironing big pile of shirts.

Happy Thanksgiving! Now...

Enough already with the wishing me a great holiday and (on Friday) "How was your Thanksgiving?"

Should I tell them the truth?

"Oh, it sucked, thanks. I didn't do a fucking thing except smoke eight cigars and walk around town — which was, of course, deserted. I had a turkey club on wheat for dinner — for that extra-special holiday touch I used cranberry sauce mixed up with mayo. The only football game worth watching was on the NFL Network, which I don't get, and I ironed a shitload of shirts. Any more questions?"