Saturday 11 April 2009
This morning I awaken in a strange mood. Last night was good, right?
I wake up at 7.30 to catch the morning news. It is a slow day.
Today I finally bother to wrestle and persist with Youtube in order to watch My Breakfast With Blassie. I have been wanting to see this for years ever since Tim from Electro Group told me about it during the great Gringo Records tour in 2002 with Hirameka. It is a wonderful thing. Kaufman comes over as charming and hilarious while Freddie Blassie likewise is likeable but also very gruff and alpha male, the kind of grumpy old man that has seen and done everything without becoming cynical about the world. Based somewhat on My Dinner With Andre (a movie that completely fascinated me when I discovered it in the Harlesden house) the conversation flows as an interesting rate and when there is interaction between them two and an adjacent table you begin to wonder how much of it is kayfabe and staged. It is funny watching the pair of them turn from charming to what appears to be them revealing their real uninhibited selves. It is relieving however to discover that the guy at the end is actually Bob Zmuda.
Not long afterwards I head to Sainsburys to collect the Saturday newspapers in a change from Asda. It’s nothing really to write about.
With the day still early I put on the final episode of the Lost Room which I have had sitting on my computer for about a year to watch. It fails to hold my attention and my mind wanders as I fail to take it in even though Margaret Cho looks stunning whenever she appears in her scenes.
Briefly around midday I find myself on MSN chatting to Iain about Twitter and why his Facebook status says that he has been officially convicted in the eyes of the law. It turns out to be speeding related. It’s a funny coincidence that we are chatting at this time because I was just on his fantastic View From The Shelf blog yesterday which features a lot of coverage of the MLS and I get to tell him about the little obsession I used to have when I was younger with American soccer and the NASL and MISL.
I continue to wrestle with the concept of writing but it feels stunted and forced, very laboured and not flowing. When the postman calls he drops off the Easter booty in ordered with view to stunting boredom. Amongst the DVDs that arrive are the second Grindhouse trailers compilation, the Born Into This Charles Bukowski documentary and BAADASSSSS!
In the afternoon bored I wind up watching the Grindhouse trailers DVD but there is a distinct lack of energy on this release and I don’t have the enthusiasm for it that I had for the first compilation, to the point I find myself falling asleep. I know they are not meant to be anything but, but these really are cheap and nasty.
Back at my desk I continue to attempt to write only managing to scrape out a burst of words here and there. On TV I find my attention twitched by Finding Nemo followed by Doctor Who – this really is not healthy.
The ultimate slap to my psyche occurs when I find myself actually gawping at Britain’s Got Talent. No it has not got talent.
Eventually I throw the towel in on a very unproductive day as Little Miss Sunshine pops up on Channel Four. I will always remember this movie fondly for when I saw it one Monday evening at the Curzon in Soho and the collective audience response was the greatest sense of unity I have ever felt from a cinema audience. That ending really does come from left field. Little Miss Sunshine also represents the first time I saw a glimmer of personality in Zoe when she lent the movie on DVD to the chav girl at Baker Street and I was excited by her apparent good taste.
Saturday then has closure.