You may have read that I am technically “signed on,” by default, to be an executive consulting something or other - which is a relatively standard protective clause for a creator in my position. Guys like me can’t actually just be shot and left in a ditch by Skynet, we’re still allowed to have a title on the things we create and “help out,” like, I guess sharpening pencils and stuff.
I’m not saying you can’t make a good version of Community without me, but I am definitely saying that you can’t make my version of it unless I have the option of saying “it has to be like this or I quit” roughly 8 times a day.
The same contract also gives me the same salary and title if I spend all day masturbating and playing Prototype 2. And before you ask yourself what you would do in my situation: buy Prototype 2. It’s fucking great.
In the pilot episode of this television series, the token mad scientist had joked about retrieving information from a corpse. Nearly 90 episodes (and numerous threats of cancellation) later, when the stakes were built up appropriately to apocalyptic proportions, we have Rebecca Mader guest star as a baddie with crucial information on how to save the world. Except she died twenty minutes ago and her brain waves are dampening.
I can understand the nosedive in ratings that Veep took in its second week, because most of the jokes qualify as amusing rather than actually funny. But any type of political satire where a weapons-grade retard/intern screws up a tweet and the VP nervously jokes to the public about being “hoist with her own retard” guarantees me as loyalist.
Enough bullshit about chronology. It doesn’t really matter lately what I do and who calls me when. It matters more what I’m thinking, which is that I haven’t been making art. Yet I have a fierce desire to be an artist. Having a body of my own work seems more like security to me than anything. Setting up a studio, having shows seems like one of the few worthwhile things there is for me to do. Today I had zucchini bread, cheese crackers, wine. — Tiny Furniture, which features a cast that reminds me uncomfortably of people like Diana J and Daniil K. Daniil and every other guy who thinks his bad jokes are the shit.
“And so what we start to see now in their history is a pattern very similar to that of the Greeks and Romans…” Brilliant.
This is more than a week old, but I am saving this for myself so that I can watch it again and again at my convenience.
“It’s a myth that tracing logic all the way down to the truth is a cure for neurosis or for anything else.”
“Is there a cure for neurosis?”
“Love works.”
me: also, this kind of thing makes me wonder what I would write if I had to do this for everyone else I knew…
Faye Valentine: T_T you are such a good liar, you liar!! \*o*/ THANK YOU!! <3
me: You’d be surprised/creeped out by how much of that I truly believe…
My mind is blown by the sudden realization that Whit Stillman’s works have always been somewhat absurdist in nature. Also, I forgot how much joy I experience in watching sophisticated youth self-actualize in all the wrong ways.
