Crazy for a few more years

I haven’t been listening to music lately, and I think it’s had a negative effect on my writing. Writing without music just leads to flat words and sentences that don’t groove. And the grooviness of writing is essential. Without the groove, you have nothing. Writing is, at the basic level, just an ordered collection of letters separated into words with arbitrary whitespace. It’s the groove, and sometimes the funk, that adds that certain magic that makes it good. Or bad, I guess. But, really, what do I know about bad writing?

The correct answer is very little. Very very little.

Updating every day is difficult. Especially when the majority of your day is spent lying around in bed. I really don’t have a lot to report. I guess I could review the three episodes of The Cosby Show I watch every day, but there’s only so many ways to say “Theo is hilarious!” I don’t want to repeat myself, you see. This website is all about being fresh and exciting and new. And, failing that, this website will be about hardcore pornography and lots of it.

I just finished watching the season finale of The O.C.. I don’t fucking know why I watched it. I never really got into FOX’s teen dramas. I never watched 90210, Party of Five or Melrose Place. It’s not that I have any active dislike for them or anything. Its more that I retained the television-viewing habits of an 11-year-old boy until I was well into my teenage years. “Screw that drama shit,” I’d say, “I’m watching Power Rangers!” One day I think I’ll write a stageplay about the Green Ranger’s debut arc, using Tommy’s struggles with the evil machinations of Rita Repulsa (Or was it Lord Zed? Need to research further.) as a metaphor for the internal struggle we all face in this corporate world.

But that’s hardly the point. The point is that despite having no real interest in The O.C., I watched the season finale. It featured the song Hallelujah which is beyond overused in television drama. Also I liked how everyone reacted to Ryan moving back to Chino like he had been SHOT AND KILLED right before their eyes. They’re all crying and filled with rage, brows furrowed and cheeks grim, and I was just dying for someone to point out that the kid is moving an HOUR AWAY. Yes, it’s sad when people leave, but Jesus Fuck, all these O.C. people are so well off that they’re buying golf courses and restaurants and helicopters like the rest of us buy postcards featuring golf courses and restaurants and helicopters. But “Oh Ryan!” they cry, “if only someone would develop a rudimentary method of transportation that would make visiting you possible!”

Adam Brody, however, is one of the finest young comic actors working today. I was hoping that, as he sailed away, he’d have a Truman Show moment and strike the end of ‘his world’. And then season two of the show could have a subplot where his character comes to grips with the fact that he’s part of a fictional television show where everyone is rich and unable to comprehend driving to other cities to visit people. And then for the season finale he’d wake up as Dave Rygowski on Gilmore Girls and he and Lane Kim would get married.

The best part is that I’ll be watching the season premiere next fall. Television is a disease. A happy happy disease.

It’s become increasingly clear as I write this post that the medication I’ve been taking is not quite out of my system. For those of you who don’t know, I had back surgery last Friday to prevent me from becoming even more like a sixty-year-old man. As I’ve spent the last week lying in bed and complaining about my brother’s Blink 182 CDs, I’m not sure it’s been completely successful.

More tomorrow!

Matt