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you're breathing so I guess you're still alive
Saturday, September 18 1999
I smoked some pot before I wrote this entry.
Lisa the neighbor girl came over with little Scotty today and we all watched the Princess Bride. I've been a long time out of childhood, but every now and then I relate to what that little kid says (or does) like I'm his peer. Sadly, the thing that makes little kids fail at being fully human is their failure to understand irony. I don't consider myself particularly sexist, but a lot of women are bad that way too. But now, to show how fair I am, I'd like to say that, in my experience, I've found that a woman who understands irony is better than any man.
Now, about the Prince's Bride. It's chief remarkable attribute is the fact that it features lots of action scenes where the combatants are simultaneously engaged in intellectual dialogue. There's a real geek appeal thing going there that would have all the makings for a cult flick if it was only made by someone genuinely weird like my brother, Heather Bissel, or Monster Boy.
I make those links and I look at the way I organized my website in 1996 and I come up realizing that this was a period of my life that was more formal, that veered towards being dandified and anglophilic. I wonder how many American kids showcase their first inklings of rebellion by siding with the British in the American Revolution. I was never quite that weird, but my brother was. A way to be even weirder, given the right parents, would be to proclaim homosexuality. A way to be weird given another set of parents would be to proclaim an interest in things.
You know the raver-targeted radio advertisement for Wendy's, the one trying to get ravers to come to Wendy's when they have late night Ecstasy-spawned munchies? They end it with the voice of Dave Thomas, the purportedly racist founder of Wendy's. I'm still having difficulty with the idea of juxtaposing a stab at youthful energy with America's tired white businessman past. I think it's only just that we as a nation keep white men from being businessmen for the next 100 years.
I took Sophie for a walk tonight and for some freak reason we headed down Brighton, northwest from Cable. Suddenly we encountered an older male black lab with a suspicious serial killer look to his eye. It turned out that he was much more positive than his face was letting on. He ended up following us almost to the corner of the block. In the curbside garden of his Dave-Matthews-playing masters grew a healthy twelve inch tall marijuana plant.
Something sappy I've been saying about Sophie the Miniature Schnauzer of late: "I didn't know things in the universe could get quite this cute!"
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