jackshoegazer | How am I not myself? I see the blanket truth.

I have once again realized I haven't meaningfully updated in a while. Such as that is, I will attempt to write a real post. I swear there were things I wanted to tell you, little tidbits I had stored away, amusing anecdotes, razzmatazz, and rigmarole to regale you, my dear audience.

Perhaps if I try a reverse tactic, starting from the most recent and slowly work my way back. I can work faster if you like. I know we are a generation with Sesame Street attention spans, thus I will attempt to keep it interesting. Maybe if you knew the answer to a mystery would be at the end you would wait, would be propelled to dive into this narrative like an overzealous Olympian, um, diver.

Maybe at the end I'll tell you where the phrase "the cold shoulder" originated. Maybe I'll give you the answer to life, the universe and everything. Maybe.

Yesterday morning I dreamt that I watched my father die in a bloody shootout with Danny Glover in front of Jacqui's house. I remember the rage and pain erupting through my body, a fiery tsunami engulfing me and I screamed, "FUCK!!" to the heavens and whoever lives up there. I immediately awoke and was relieved to discover it was just a dream, but it shook me the whole day and I never quite felt at ease.

Though, after reviewing the dream in its entirety, I mined the meaning and realized that it was essentially about transcending the past and how my life is moving toward what both my mother and father were never able to provide, the structure of a healthy, loving, creative family unit. I must also stop letting my father save me, especially financially, because it will kill him (figuratively.)

That's twice my family died in a dream. The other time, my friends Brian and John, who don't even know each other, came over to visit. They left for an interval and when they returned, they were dressed as superheroes. SuperBrian and SuperJohn went on to explain that they were at a bank, in a major battle with BigEvilSuperVillains, and in the melee of chaos, my family, all except for Ethan, were killed. I got very upset, started crying and went to the basement and SuperBrian and SuperJohn couldn't understand why I was so upset.

In other news, I watched Everything is Illuminated, which was unbelievably amazing. I have a new, profound respect for Liev Schreiber and will definitely be buying both the DVD and the book, which is by Jonathan Safran Foer. "I made one for you" is all I have to say.

I watched several other movies. I finally watched Citizen Kane and realized it was the sled movie, so it was ruined for me, otherwise I might have liked it. As it is, I felt the rich, troubled, flawed, unstable entrepreneur was done better in Scorsese's The Aviator.

And I realize that Kane is a classic. It came first. It's supposedly the Best Movie Ever Made. Like the Beatles. Who I don't like much. Why? Because it seems old, antiquated, ordinary. Nothing special whatsoever.

Then I realize that this is because they did it first. Everything we have today, they did first. We've just polished and perfected it; taken the Model A and turned it into a Ferrari. Sometimes I think I'm deficient because it is hard for me to like old movies, old books, old music.

So I remember this and though I think modern people are more attractive than Neandrethals, I'm glad we had them around at the time. They made good clay which we have shaped into much better molds.

Alas, I believe I have run out of steam for this particular entry. I move in ten days. I will be packing all weekend. I promised you the answer to a mystery or two.

Well, "the cold shoulder" refers to a polite snub used in medieval France. A chateau guest who was served a cold shoulder of beef or mutton was intended to take it as a gentle hint that he had overstayed his welcome.

As you should well know, the answer to life, the universe and everything is forty-two, as explained in much detail by the late, great, Douglas Adams.

One more, a bonus, an encore if you will...

On November 24, 1858, at 10:00 a.m. by Dorset clocks, a Dorchester judge ruled against a man involved in a land battle because he was late for the 10 a.m. hearing. Two minutes later the man arrived and claimed he was on time - by the station clock in his hometown of Carlisle in Cumberland. The case had to be retried, and in 1880 Parliament ended the confusion by ordering the whole country to set its clocks by Greenwich Mean Time.

Also, have you ever noticed how much Donald Rumsfeld looks like Frankenstein's Monster?