It’s a movie: Wiener-Dog

wiener-dog-movie-1A man said to me today, “Y’now, it’s Pierce Brosnan. He’s not a woman.” I kind of understood what he meant but at the same time I backed away with the speed of a prom queen in a slasher movie. So, this is not to be confused with the excellent documentary “Weiner,” about Anthony Weiner’s penis. This story of poor Wiener-Dog or as they say in Irlanda Cú-Sausage is an anxiety-filled ride taking in all that exists in Todd Solondz’s’s’s universe including dysfunctional families, some more dysfunctional families and eventually dys family ain’t no fun. Actually, they are. Greta Gerwig fulfils her role as indie darling by playing an indie darling doing her best to hide behind that indie darling. Most actors would look affected if they played the parts Gerwig does, but she seems to perfectly inhabit any character’s awkward angst with world-weary knuckle chewing. She seems at home with the inevitability of things going wrong as if a win is something other people achieve. The Culkin who is not that Culkin looks like he has been dragged screaming from some fountain of youth. Surely those kids are in their 70s by now. wienerAlso, Ellen Burstyn appears in the final act as kind of an end-of-days version of her end-of-days character in “Requiem for a Dream.” Everything in Todd Solondz’s Universe is supposed to jar and this film seems a bit lighter than say “Happiness.” Later as I walked my own helmeted dog while handing off strangers and screaming at traffic, I thought about “Wiener-Dog.” In a Solondz movie, you miss a lot. So, what the fuck was that bit about? Why was that guy’s brother into THAT extremely violent video game? What was his wife scared of? Why did they do what they did at the end so many fucking times? Why is Tracy Letts in everything, yet I can’t remember what? Finally, in my 40s I have now learned that I have always thought Julie Delpy was Julie Delphy. Not as easy to put into a dishwasher. How dumb am I? The film is owned by Danny DeVito who really has gone past all that 80s and 90s stuff and become a brilliant actor. Wonder what Rhea Perlman is up to? I miss her. As for Arnold, well.

VERDICT: Great date movie if the relationship is going nowhere fast

NOTE: Do not confuse this movie with “Wiener Dog Nationals” and vice-versa!

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Roads to nowhere

“How can it feel, this wrong?”

Two versions of the same song. Portishead and Gone is Gone doing “Roads.” Mastodon’s Troy Sanders may not have Beth Gibbon’s beauteous voice, but when a song is this strong, it’s hard to do a bad job of it. Makes you want to curl into a ball and chew on Xanax, which is never a bad thing. I have stomach cramps today, so I think this is a song about that, because how can it feel, how can it feel, this wrong?

The Cramps go to prison!!

Where they should have been!! Fantastic footage

Ideal Christmas Presents for Loved Ones No.6

Stretchy Christmas

So, your son is sitting in his room reading Nietszche, Baudrillard, Jameson and some pretty damn fine radical literature.

You say,

“Why don’t you go out and meet some girls? You are in your prime lad”

He says,

“I’m just reading Dad.”

You say,

“Postmodernism never got anyone laid son!”

“Don’t say that Dad, there’s some really good ideas in here.”

“Good ideas never got anyone laid.”

“I’m gay.”

“Bullshit, gay guys don’t read Nietszche. They are out. Out listening to ridiculous dance music and cruising guys while wearing ill-fitting shirts.”

“That’s a fucking generalisation Dad.”

“Is it fuck? All I’m saying is that reading that shite will have you sitting around a table talking to other losers about the nature of television or why owning one Count Basie album makes you defeat the iPod shuffle crowd. One day, one of our loser friends will bring a loaded revolver to the meeting and shout out some spiel about how there needs to be a blood sacrifice so that people take you guys serious and that you need to unite in the struggle. After a few moments of really excruciating silence, you all to a person will think the same thought. “I HAVE to get laid!” Then you will very carefully work out a way of getting away from your disturbed colleague. I suggest that you order him sternly to pay for the coffee and say something wanky like “meetings adjourned gentlemen and of course lady, pardon my manners.” This will confuse him and give you a short window to go like Buffy and get the fuck out of there.”

“Thanks Dad…I eh never thought…”

“…Stop ya there. Hey pal, don’t worry bout it. Once you’re a little older, you’ll realise how pointless everything is. Here, Happy Christmas. I love you. Here’s your present and maybe neck this Hoffman. It helps with the visuals.

Magical Musical Monkey Speaker

A cure for postmodernism

Trails not included...may need something stronger for that to happen...

click on my munki detritus for details

Now here’s something to chew on

Here’s Amon Tobin with a motherfucker. Genius

and here’s Bonobo’s excellent mix of same track. More genius.

Hurts inside.

it’s not how you fall it’s how you land

Here’s some nice moosic from La Haine and then “La Haine” by ADF. The circle is now complete say Darth Vader, who only go an fackoff to Kebab shop and not buy nuffink for nobod on way bak. Prick.

Wot a weird day?………….dotdot I have so much to tell you, but my hand is over my mouth in an over dramatic gesture, so you’ll just have to wait…By you I mean the people who search for “Glenda Gilson” and “…pick a body part or action.”

It’s usually “Glenda Gilson DEAD” but today it was “Glenda Gilson leg.” I’m not sure which one. Probably her right, because that’s a good 5-inches longer, due to the smokes, y’know?

The YoYo effect

Yo Yo! Stretch Strung Up.

Seem to be neither hither nor thither at the moment. Musically, this munki is one minute sitting tearfully listening to Cinematic Orchestra’s “To build a home,” then it’s jumping around to the Cramps “Bikini Girls with Machine Guns,” driving around screaming The Misfits “I want your Skull” and then “Twinkle, twinkle little star” on one of Squishy’s many many head destroying devices. Up, down, around and around. Can’t get no consistency no mo.

Recently I heard a “Music Scientist” from Glasgow University talking about the way music is used these days by people as a mood enhancer. Whereas in the past, music was a pastime, a side-stage in life, the act of pulling a record from its sleeve or winding up a gramophone was on the whole something you had to create time for. Nowadays, of course, we are plugged in to sources blasting out “the soundtrack to our lives.” This munki will be driving to work and put Motorhead on to gear up for a hectic day. The dual effect of making me pumped up and also completely deaf is a useful tool. Upskilling I believe it’s called. Upskilling is like guesstimate, Wanker-English. The type of words that make Douglas Coupland spit out his cornflakes in delirium.

 

Not exactly Cheers

 

Anyway, if this constant soundtrack is being used as a way to help you through your days, whether you are experiencing problems at work, relationship deterioration, family issues, birthdays, deaths or even potential relationships, is there a possibility that the flip side is that people are now being overcome by music. When I was a young Stretch, I used to have the occasional superstition, well two superstitions. The first was that magpie numeracy was a factor in how life turned out. When I was sixteen, this ended after one of the fuckers shat on me, as another looked on. The other kinda superstition related to spending every second night in my local pub, drinking with vigour to forget where I was and to aiding my lust toward a girl working behind the bar. Before, I went to the pub, I would put a Pavement album on. At the time, the choices were Slanted and Enchanted, Westing (By Musket and Sextant) and Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. For some reason, this little ritual would mean that I would have a great night, and shite nights would occur without this new device.

This continued into my early 20s, but ended due to my high usage of various chemical substances. Well, I forgot to listen to Pavement in that way anymore, although I did use the CD box to cut up speed. The girl had changed and so had I, and part of my littul munki head realised how arresting this was to my development. So, a folly of the young. Oh hawhawblahblah. BUT, these days I notice the way certain music makes me think. Especially with a shuffle device and having 80gbs of music with me at all times, certain songs might turn up in my earphones or on the car stereo, any my perspective changes completely. I noticed that The XX’s music tends to put me in a dreamlike state where I think about a particular thing which is bothering me, coz their music reminds me of that thing.

So, yeah, what the fuck, who cares? I know, but when you are in the Dubalin town and walking, scurrying about the environs, you watch people. Most of them have headphones on, and most of them have huge problems/issues in their lives. Who doesn’t? Well there are people who don’t, but no one likes them. So, say a guy is walking along to his bus and a song comes on that he

 

This is kinda like the one I drove through, but y'know completely different

 

heard this girl that he fancies say she liked. He’ll immediately think of her and maybe it can help some kind of proactive situation occur, unless it’s Slayer’s South of Heaven, which will be hard to dance to at their wedding. Or, as happened me the other day, a song came on in the car, and a phrase from the song BANG, put me right back in my mother’s hospital room the morning she died. My soul lurched, I drove straight on to a roundabout narrowly missing a stupid SUV. He blew his horn angrily. I felt ashamed until I remembered it was an SUV, where my guilt left me. Stupid SUVs

Maybe it’s just me…What’s my point? Well, be careful when listening to music and driving while tired. Never believe a magpie has any cosmic relevance; they don’t unless you are smaller than one and live in a nest. Never believe the girl working behind the bar who hasn’t been drinking all night will find you attractive and highly amusing after five hours in the premises. Never believe elves are that big Mr Peter Jackson. Don’t live your life with thousands of songs rolling around your head, telling you what way to act or feel or live, or you’ll end up like me.

and that can’t happen. Get away from me BURD.