Random Life Blogging (Get Over it)

August 18, 2008

Oh boy, I almost forgot. About you, that is.

And, better yet, I’m not going to apologize.

Consider it a lesson in tough love. You come here and you take, take, take and you leave so very little in return. Oh sure, I get my share of private emails cheering on my haughty outrage, egging on my juvenile rants, and urging me to go further and higher in my contempt for the contemptible. Whatever.

But sometimes a writer has got to earn some money, you know. Or maybe you don’t know. Because writers get no respect. Boo-fucking-hoo for me – and thee.

Indeed, I have been tending to my growing list of writing clients of late. You know, the people who understand that if you want to say it right, you hire someone to say it for you. Just like you hire a lawyer to tend to your legal matters; an accountant to handle your books; and a lap dancer to tend to your …. oh, never mind.

I’ve been busy. I’ve been supporting the arts. I’ve been working. I’ve been charging by the hour instead of by the log – or the cord. And I’ve been wining and dining a wife and rolling out the red carpet of summer activities for a daughter who is facing that dreaded prospect of school starting in one, ever-so-close week. Remember that dread? I do.

This morning, for example, the child and I went bounding up Elmore Mountain with the puppy. I thought it would tire them both out. But then we got home and I was the one on the couch and they were the ones asking for more, more and more. Quick, call a friend and let your father make calls, crank the writing music, and go into the coffee-inspired land of “communication.” It sounds so professional and all.

Wait, did I say I was “supporting the arts”? Yep. I was even breaking picket lines to support the arts last weekend. Oh, the sacrifices I make for fucking artists. Or just artists, because I have no idea if they’re fucking or not.

You see, the wife and I went to see the new flick, Tropic Thunder – the one being picketed by mental health advocates because it uses the word “retarded” a few too many times. Oh please. I’ll bet not a one of them bothered to actually see the movie first before getting their politically-correct panties in a wad over the stupid language of it all. Because, if they had, they’d know that the movie was nothing but one, big, juvenile insult to about everything and everyone, including (and most especially) the movie industry and its “stars.”

But I may be biased. Because the co-writer of the flick is my brother’s good friend, Justin Theroux. And also because I’m a sucker for such movies. You know, the kind that seek sacred cows and gore them with the bountiful glee that pre-teens still have for a fart joke? Or something like that.

Simply put, the movie’s a hoot. Or toot. Or both. But if you’re inclined to “protest” it for its use of the word “retard,” I guess you’ll also have to protest its portrayal of drug addicts, of soldiers, of Hollywood executives, of Hollywood agents, of narcissistic actors (is that redundant?), of, of, of…just about everything and everyone. In three words: Get over it.

Tropic Thunder is layer upon layer of wacky fun, with Robert Downey, Jr.’s portrayal of a black soldier (oh no, another sacred cow!) being nothing but worth the price of admission. It’s brilliant and, better yet, funny as all hell.

It’s also refreshing to see my favorite juvenile film action hero, Jack Black, play a rather supporting role in a cast that includes Downey, Ben Stiller, Mathew McConaughey, Nick Nolte, and – are you ready for this: Tom Cruise. Oh my, who farted? But, actually, Cruise plays along brilliantly as the bloated and disgusting Hollywood badass executive you want to spew chunks upon, especially when he does his cheesy little dance routines. Ew.

Come on, just see it. You know you want to laugh.

I mean, what else are you going to do for humor, read dopey local blogs, watch train wrecks try to imitate political campaigns, ponder the meaning of Obama’s slippery hope, or sit starry-eyed over the next move of Michael Phelps (I think I love him. No, wait, I think I’m having inappropriate thoughts about him. Oh hell, I’m so confused about him.)

Whatever. Go forth and find joy, you miserable fucks.

Posted by M. Colby | Filed Under blog 

Comments

One Response to “Random Life Blogging (Get Over it)”

  1. Little Old Montpe;ier Peace & PC Lady on August 18th, 2008 3:33 pm

    Why the nerve! The filth! It figures. A degenerate like you suggesting people pay money they could donate to American Friends to sit through two hours or whatever of inappropriate language and behavior. Have you no sense of decency? I suppose the R word and the B word and the C word and the F word mean nothing to you, but they mean something to some of us, you fucking sonofabitching bastard retard blog-sucking mother! What will you defend next? Nuclear Weapons? I’m so mad I just shit my diaper! If you really want to support the arts, why don’t you and your ass-licking media friends get together and do a movie about the Life and Struggle of Anthony Pollina, a decent American trying to enable those challenged by his own example. Land Sakes and Eat My ____!

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