Wednesday, June 30, 2010

T Shirts.

I now have a spreadshirt page where you can buy t-shirts I've designed if you want.
I've been sitting in front of my laptop, staring just past it out the window watching everyone in the apartment building across the street from my place go to work/school/their drug dealer for the past 3 hours, typing out what was going to be this blog post. Then, a few minutes ago, I deleted the 15 paragraphs I wrote as I quit smoking a few days ago and, everything I say, or write, or do right now has the vibe of a suicide note, or a serial killer manifesto, or a Paul Schrader screenplay, or a love poem to cigarettes, or an opera about my issues with my father, or negative criticisms of everything anyone has ever said or done, or vaguely insulting limericks about my dog, or choreography for a musical called 'I Hate You, Me', or a stereotypical blog post.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Things I Accidentally Posted On Other People's Facebook.

I had a dream last night that I volunteered to help clean up the oil spill, and ended up on a beach surrounded my hundreds of people, and helicopters, and jeeps, and large vacuums, and lifeguards. One of these lifeguards asked me if I wanted to go up in a helicopter and hang off the side 'Vietnam-style' and I was like 'No. I'll die.' And he said 'How do you know?' And I said 'Trust me, dude.' And then I waded out into the ocean with a shovel, but got nervous that the undertow was going to drown me and swam back to shore.

When I got back, everyone was really nice and chill, like volunteers sometimes are in their volunteer community and not online where they sometimes accost you for your semantics when talking about politics. Another lifeguard, who was sort of a mixture of SJ Chambers' husband, Josh, and a stereotypical, BAYWATCH cast member told me he heard I was into comics. I said I kind of was. I tried to downplay it because I was tired from swimming and didn't want to get caught up in a conversation with a dream lifeguard. He told me there was a famous cartoonist that had a studio nearby and we could go see if he was there. So we went.

The 'famous cartoonist' was sort of like Dave Sim. At first, I expected him to be an asshole, but he was very polite and talked endlessly about the stop-motion movie he was making. After a few hours, he asked us to leave because he had to work. I kept thinking that I should get his autograph. I reached into my bag to get a piece of paper and realized it was ripped on the bottom and everything was falling out of it. I said 'Why is this happening?' And the dream lifeguard said 'that's what always happens when you put too much stuff in a bag.' I was still nervous about asking for an autograph. I lied to the cartoonist that I had read everything he'd ever done, even though I had only read about half of his comics (in my dream past). While still fumbling for paper I pulled out a gigantic bag of Skittles and spilled them all over the floor. I was sort of horrified. I attempted to pick them up one by one, while the cartoonist acted frustrated that we weren't leaving.

I woke up.

Things I did before I went to sleep last night:
- Read about the oil spill.
- Watched a couple of interviews with Dave Sim on Youtube.
- Played a war videogame featuring helicopters.
- Thought about going to the beach.

I'm one of those people that mostly remembers every detail from their dreams. Sometimes I write them down. Sometimes I use them in comics, or on Twitter. I'm sometimes tempted to tell them to people, but I don't think anyone actually wants to hear about other people's dreams. It's boring. I tell them to Aleks, but I tell her boring shit all day. There's a part in Paul Bowles' THE SHELTERING SKY where the character that's essentially Bowles says something like 'dreams are only interesting to the people that have them.' Then he dies of malaria or something. In the movie that character is played by John Malkovich. It's terrible. There's these two weird, dream-like scenes though where the real Paul Bowles is sitting in a bar and he's giving voice-over narration by reading from the book, but his mouth isn't moving. It's like the director is suggesting the entire film is happening in Bowles' head or that he's telepathic, and it's jarring and reminds me of that scene in MULLHOLAND DRIVE where the dude goes behind the diner to see if his nightmare is going to come true. That scene is the scariest, most realistically frightening thing, I've ever seen in a movie, I think. Even though the dream dude kind of looks like the Predator.

I have a feeling that scene was based on an actual dream David Lynch had, and he told it to people and they were bored, but they feigned interest because he's fucking David Lynch. And then when they saw it in the movie, they were like 'that's actually a decent metaphor, maybe I should pay attention when other people talk.' And then they tried that for a few days and realized everyone is actually speaking in metaphors all the time but it's never really about anything interesting, and slowly they went back to half listening and thinking about taking pictures to post on Facebook, or a really good sandwich that they ate, or a dream they had the night before.