U R Ghey

Writing, recently, has been something of a struggle. I have found myself walking around struggling to remember the name of the first nascent 'hipster' film that A* and I saw, back in the day, that was filmed in edgy black and white at the UCLA (Berkley? Who?) campus in America and involved 20somethings dealing with their lack of direction, etc, zzzz. It also contained the excellent scene where the 'writer' man leaned back in his chair, over powered by ennui and writers block and catalogued the things around him. "Ceiling. Shelves. Chair. Wall. Roof. Fuck."



Yep, pretty much.

If I were him I would be writing "fucktard morning crowds at spencer street, ugly people, how hot is it, fuck"

So nothing exciting then, obvs. Or even remotely worth reading.

Thank god I've finally re-remembered things that I enjoy.



To whit:

• Writing offensive emails to Tone Loc that are systematically rejected by his server. There's only so many shitty forwards a finger puppet can read before the need to inform someone that they suck dick comes into play
  
• Lying, pointlessly, at parties. Yes, yes I am allergic to lavender. Violet! You're turning violet, violet! Was totes a catch-cry from my childhood whenever I was thoughtlessly forced to handle the near-fatal substance known as lavender.

• Actually, now that I'm reminded of it, being told that I have 'Gene Wilder curls' which I gleefully translated as being told that I have curls which remind one of a (potential) kiddie fiddler
  
• Instructing my mother in the art of saying "no". Saying "Nein" "Nee" "Nyet" and "Non" are all things I enjoy doing immensely and with aplomb
  
• Having HumanRash (nee Spakattak) woefully confess that he is now a walking, itching, human rash at a party and then hearing JZ yell across said party a few hours later "hey! Rashman! Oy! Human Rash!" Ah. Good times.
  
• Assuming the moral highground with two of the more ideologically aware people I know.
  Herbert: No, of course coffees are out of the question!
  Hotness + B: Oh.. but.. isn't that food?
  Herbert: I can't believe you! I'm appalled! What is WRONG with you people? Don't you know that that's contrary to the whole spirit of the experiment???
  Hottness + B: [silence]
  Herbert: [self righteously shaking out the saturday paper whilst sitting in the wading pool, cleaned and filled with water during water restrictions] I just can't believe you people sometimes....
  

Bells Palsy

So my weekend kicked off with two rather sad occurances.

I had to bid a final For Reals farewell to mah Park, which involved incredible amounts of denial on both our parts and a resolution to meet each other in argentina for some rose eating and spontaneous combustion, and also a trip to the dentist.



I found, as I tottered out of the dentist forty five minutes after arriving there, that there are few things more destabilising than hosting two strangers' hands in your mouth for almost an hour. Particularly when they are weilding small things with hooks and strange vacuuming things that suck on the inside of your cheek. Particularly when they leave you with the feeling that you have four new teeth in your mouth and none of them like you.



There is nothing about a trip to a dentist that has not been covered before by science fiction writers and directors but that doesn't make any of it less true. Going to the dentist is fucking wrongtown, people. Damn.