Sunday 6 September 2009
No hangover this morning. Thank God.
After failing to get a decent lie in I still feel tired and with nothing but moronic chat ruining my TV I decide to tear into my much mocked My So Called Life DVD boxset. While lying in bed I watch the pilot and the second episode and it remains pretty much how I remember it, the reminiscence that now comes with clear vision instead of the rose tinted glasses I was wearing the other day when I ordered it. In other words, it’s not holding up.
Suddenly I remember the last time I watched these episodes and it was in San Francisco in 2003. Our host for the weekend Rhoda was living in a snug/cosy shoebox down some back alley but it had a view of the bay to die for. This was immigrant living in the most expensive city in the world (I believe). Anyway to keep me and my co-travellers (my Gringo Records partner and his partner) occupied Rhoda put on the My So Called Life boxset and I found myself lying on a bed next to the Flanders watching the adventures of Angela Chase while those two bores cuddled up next to me. Obviously being the gooseberry of proceedings served to disgust me as it always did and with a sticky start it was welcome to San Francisco. So as a result watching these episodes and reliving that moment in my mind fails to make for the most joyful of viewings. Indeed unfortunately by the end of the second episode I find myself now looking elsewhere for entertainment on the internets before nodding off slightly.
It is fun however to note the band playing the weird grunge party. The band is a total rip off of “The Real Thing” era Faith No More and when I scan the credits they are called Animal Bag. I find myself almost tempted to scan the internet to see if they ever released any records off the back of this appearance. Fortunately I don’t plummet to that at the time but obviously I have subsequently since done so.
Afterwards I endeavour to get some writing done before heading over the olds at Balkerne Heights where their place sits empty. Unfortunately my attempts are not overly fruitful as what comes out feels laboured as ever.
Soon Big Brother’s Little Brother comes on Channel Four and this is essential viewing after having invested so of my time into the show over the past thirteen weeks and not even bothering to watch the final. I thought Sophie was a good winner because basically I fancy her. The real star of the series was Marcus and on this show it is repeatedly highlighted as he begins to send up his persona. There is a great cringeworthy moment when they interview Sophie and Chris at the bus stop and she rags on him over a news story he sold. All the way through George Lamb is jokingly handing out copies of the Russian’s album and at the end she sings them out as Marcus looks to the camera shaking his head mouthing “that’s really bad.”
Once that is over I pull myself together and finally head over to my parents place in the hope that a change of scenery will inspire me to write something good and creative.
Not long after arriving I find myself hitting the cupboards and stealing some lunch.
I spend the afternoon watching Ghost World. This movie has aged very well and really is unlike anything I have seen since. A few years when it was released this film meant the world to me and still I find it able to stir such emotions in me even though I am now far too long in the tooth to be actually empathising with any character other than Steve Buscemi’s Seymour character (who more than ever I feel more in common with).
It has to be said the movie does depress me. I was in my mind twenties when I first fell in love with the story but as I have aged Enid and Rebecca have not. Now there are elements of this movie that are clearer than ever to me and I genuinely think the world has changed since the movie (and the comic) came out, a change not necessarily for the better.
The movie feels presented in a kind of glow that no longer exists. There is a stink of optimism in the glow even if the situations in the movie appear bleak. Things were cool then but now this wouldn’t be permitted.
Briefly I nod off during the afternoon preventing any real productivity or creativity. When I come round it is a strange to place to be on my parents’ sofa on a sunny Sunday afternoon. It almost gives me a headache born out of guilt.
When I reawaken I begin watching Souvenir Of Canada again before taking the opportunity to play some Guitar Hero while the parents are away.
My evening leads into the glowing dusk of a summer Sunday evening. These can be the most glorious of times; the peace of it all is invigorating and sensual.
Eventually I head home with view to getting prepared, physically and mentally, for the new (working) week ahead.
Tonight TV offers up 9/11: Phonecalls From The Towers. I don’t really think that we should be listening in on these. It is probably with this sense of guilt in mind that means it sends me almost immediately to sleep.