My diet in the last month has consisted of beans and rice. Quinoa. Tempeh. Seitan. Tofu. Things that have been making me fart on the regular. Regularly farting. But the farts aren’t regular. They have a distinct odor of stench. Basically, the farts be stinking.
Which brings us to the other day at work when two customers were asking for ice cream samples…
They were nice older gentlemen. I served them samples of Honey Mango flavored ice cream on wooden spoons. They tasted. They enjoyed. So they asked for another sample. This time of Sunflower Butter Kiwi. It was then that my fart hit me. So I let it slip out between my butt. There was no noise. So I served them another sample. It took a few seconds for that distinct odor of stench to hit my nostrils.
So I started moving towards the register in hopes that they would follow me. But instead they stood planted enjoying their samples. Then one of the gentlemen started sniffing. He proceeded to take the spoon out of his mouth and smell it. He smelled the wooden spoon.
“Your wooden spoons smell.”
“Yeah, they have a scent,” I said.
His friend smelled his spoon too.
“He’s right, these spoons smell.”
They both stood there smelling their spoons. I could hear the acute odor infiltrating their nostril hairs. I walked back behind the ice cream. They pointed at Chocolate Hemp.
I could feel another fart soaring down my intestines, nestling inside of my butt.
“Are either of you allergic to nuts?”
The fart snuck past my defenses and escaped into the known.
“No… I have too many friends that are nuts!”
Both gentleman laughed at one gentleman’s play on words. I laughed too. But it was predominantly a fake laugh because so much of my attention was focused on how to get out of this funk of a situation I planted myself inside of.
It was then that his nostrils started fluttering again.
“I can smell it again. Do you smell it?” he asked me.
“No. I don’t smell anything.”
The other gentlemen’s nostrils fluttered as well. He shook his head in agreement and furrowed his brow to let his friend know he smelled the mystery scent as well.
“You know, I recognize that smell. I have a real sensitive nose, ya know.”
His friend went through the facial motions of agreement again. For fear of getting pinned down on my farts, I attempted a cheap pun to clear the air.
“I have a real sensitive nose too. Whenever my friends make fun of it it cries.”
I faked a sneeze to illustrate a nose crying. They both laughed. These gentlemen were into wordplay.
“I know what it is!” he said.
His friend’s laughter trailed off. Mine stopped abruptly.
“It’s the smell of something rotting. There’s something rotting in your store.”
His friend breathed in deep through his nose and then agreed once again. This was my chance to tell them I farted. And thusly ending this fart situation I imprisoned myself inside of.
“Really? I don’t smell anything.” Nope. Not going to tell them I farted.
“Come over here.”
I made my way around to their side.
“Do you smell that?? It’s definitely something rotting. It’s horrible. There is something horrible that’s rotting in here.”
“Let me check.” I got on my hands and knees. I looked beneath the ice cream cabinet. There was nothing there.
“There’s nothing here.”
They both kept smelling. I could see inside of their nostrils. Lots of hair.
“You don’t smell that?”
“No. I’m not sure what you’re smelling. Are you sure it wasn’t the wooden spoons?”
“YES. It was definitely not the wooden spoons.”
A third fart was floating around inside of me. I clenched my butt tight enough to turn a hundred farts into one.
Both of them walked out. I continued feigning a rodent lookout in case they looked back. I softened my butt. I was ready to let it out.
“Find anything?” the door swung open.
“Nope.”
“Okay.”
He left again. I farted again. It smelled bad. Lately they’ve all been smelling bad.
http://www.mediafire.com/?c6lrd8p0377qda7
Everything is 128, the punkest of all the bitrates. The tracklist is as follows:
UCB tattoo ftw. On the leg of the guy who takes these photos.
Ordered a Crisis of Conformity t-shirt today. Awesome.
(via xlynwoodx)
This is the future of street maintenance. I hope.
(via occoteinniv)
hahaha I love so much about this.
Record of Week 07 ‘10
Burzum - Belus (2010)
The last time Varg Vikernes fucked me was back in 1996. He gave it to me hard with Filosofem. He cuddled me even harder with his synth ambience. When he was convicted of murder, Varg promised me we’d keep in touch. But fuck me he did not. Now, nearly fifteen years later, my asshole is once again gaping like a black hole: sucking that Burzum dick deep into my intestines.
If you didn’t catch my drift, you’re wondering, “Does Belus suck or slay? Get off that homo tip, Zed, and be literal. Please.” I’ll never get off that homo tip, but worry not, friend, rejoice: Belus be killer.
Belus isn’t as ferocious, noisy or ambitious as Vikernes’ previous output. There is occasional singing. There is even some spoken word. The recording is hi-fi enough where bass notes can be distinguished. Belus is a beast: no synth, no ambience, non-stop black metal head banging. There’s no reliance on novelty or gimmicks. But you still can, and should, enjoy Burzum in 2010 because he’s really fucking good at writing kick-ass songs.
Did prison make Vikernes’ go soft? His inspiration for Belus comes, “from the wind and weather, from deep forests and running water, from the sky and the sunset, from misty mountains and from yellow leaves falling from age old trees.” Not sure about soft, but the man is either druid as fuck or on some hippie level shit. Regardless, let’s not forget, Belus will be heard as “noise” and “screaming music” to ninety nine percent of the population. And hey, Odin damn it, these songs, mannn. There are eight minute plus jammers that’ll knock you into a hypnotic trance. Not too far removed from the atmosphere contemporaries Wolves In The Throne Room instill. Oh mannnnn, some dude definitely has his nuts in a bundle about that WITTR reference.
And so what if Vikernes is questionably NS/WP? He can hate the shit out of my Jewish ancestors and myself, because, motherfuck, Belus’ lyrics are Norwegian and about Belus, an “ancient European solar deity of light and innocence.” Sounds good to me. Let’s be adults; we can separate art from the artist, yah? And, as an adult man who waited ~fifteen years for a good ass reaming, it feels good not to be disappointed.
This post will have spoilers in it.
I went into Shutter Island, confident with spending $12.50 without reading a review because: I’ve heard the book it’s adapted from is awesome and it’s Scorsese. You know the guy, the director guy who’s good at his directing thing. And if the source material is good, described to me as a “total mindfuck,” fuck my mind, I’m in.
With Shutter Island we delve into the “psychological thriller” genre. In 1954, Leonardo Dicaprio and Mark Ruffalo are on Shutter Island to find a missing patient. Did they escape? Were they helped? The first half of the movie feels mystery-noir-ish. The island is filled with patients who are criminally insane. Nutjobs who have broken the law in a violent manner. The second half of the movie is a…mind-fuck. Conspiracy theories are thrown around, and we, the audience, begin to feel uneased at what is real and what is not. We eventually find out Leo is one of the island’s patients who is so delusional he has forgotten his crimes and the doctors have role play alongside him for two years because reality isn’t where he lives.
The main cast also includes Ben Kingsley (the head doctor) and Michelle Williams (Leo’s dead wife), all of whom do a great job. Whereas in Revolutionary Road Leo’s acting felt overshadowed by Kate Winslet, here, he shines. His third act breakdowns are gut wrenching, they’re heart wrenching. Kingsley plays a normal psychologist who isn’t a cartoon villain trying to cure all patients with sedatives. He feels real. At the end of the movie when he confronts Leo about the fact that he killed his ex-wife and that he wasn’t an FBI agent, he tells him roughly, “If this doesn’t work they are going to lobotomize you.” The anguish in his voice and face is so pure and sad. When Williams eventually drowns all three children, her step into looney town is uncomfortable and genuine feeling.
Scenes such as the time dash backwards to the lakehouse where Leo shoots Williams, wide panning shot of the US troops executing the Nazis under a barrage of bullets, insane zoom in on the car that Leo and Ruffalo board when first boarding the island will be chilled into your memory and will slip into your dreams. Every dream sequence Leo has is fucking beautiful: the Kubrick-esque bloody children with the mom, Williams burning as the room fills with ash…it’s something that wouldn’t have fit in The Departed, but feels perfect in a movie where you can never be sure what is delusion and what is reality. Not that far off from the surreal scenes in Williams’ past acted Synecdoche, New York. Just in terms of disturbing imagery, the Holocaust scenes are a disgust. The Nazi captain who mis-shot his suicide, brains hanging out the side of his head as he twitches…ugh!
I don’t recall the soundtrack being prominent in Shutter Island, but whenever it came in, like the violins in There Will Be Blood, the already uncomfortable scenes were splattered with aural unease. Whereas most movies in this era are filled with doowop and rock ‘n’ roll, there are no musical era influences anywhere to be found on Shutter Island. The movie easily could’ve taken place now, but then they would’ve had to deal with texting and computers, so the nineteen fifties are perfect for an isolated feeling of horror.
I’ve read some “critics” complain that they figured out the “twist” of Shutter Island in the trailer. Well, that’s unfair. If figuring out an explanation of Leo’s delusions for five minutes was predictable, that still leaves over two hours of enjoyable film. When we watch Titanic, we all know the ship is going to sink. But we still enjoy the lead up to the end. In our culture nobody wants a spoiler. Vonnegut would reveal the ending to the reader in the first few pages of his novels, but everybody still read and enjoyed. We need to get over the spoiler. If you want to be surprised so badly, play peek-a-boo with your uncle. My only complaint with now having seen the movie and knowing the ending is that I now want to see it again (spend another $12.50) knowing what Leo (and all the other characters) are going through. It should also be said that I hated The Machinist because of the ending, which was essentially, “It was all a dream!” Even though Leo envisioned unreality on the island, everything else (not in the dreams) did in fact happen. Which makes it more like Fight Club/Sixth Sense in the sense that it’s not a cop out ending.
Let’s discuss the ending, the final scene, which I’ve read some confusion about. After finally being cured, Leo says a line that appears as if he’s fallen back into his state of delusion. Ruffalo’s reaction is that of abrupt disappointment, sadness. He knows this means Leo will be getting the lobotomy. Scorsese so nicely lets us see the doctors with long white napkins in their hands, never showing the scalpels, but we all know they’re hidden there. The final line of the movie, by Leo is, “Live like a monster, or die a good man?” At that point we know the radical treatment worked and that Leo is finally aware of reality. But, he’d rather undergo the lobotomy then live aware of his children’s deaths and the murder of his wife. What an epic ending line!
I’ve heard Wolfman sucks, so see this instead. Shutter Island is the first movie of 2010 that I’ve been stoked on. It’s that good :)
I said, “I hid my erection from you the whole time.”
She said, “That’s a disgusting thing to say in public.”
Another she, a stranger, interjected, “I thought it was funny.”
Record of Week 06 ‘10
Best Coast - Something In The Way (2010)
I don’t know about your city, but today Brooklyn’s streets are cold. Snow banks between cars, under cars, and on top of cars. Coffee’s hot, but that brings you to fast, loose stools in that coffee shop’s bathroom. So, like, February is so gross. So, how about some summer escapism? Perfect timing, Best Coast, drop that warm lo-fi beach sound on us! You know when the sun is setting on the Pacific and everything looks gold? That’s what Best Coast sounds like. That, or, more literally, contemporary sisters such as Dum Dum Girls. Early sixties pop structured songs that are okay with shitty production. “How did something this good come out of nowhere?!” you ask/exclaim. Well, singer/guitarist of Best Coast, Bethany Cosentino, was previously in hippie-drone Pocahaunted. If you’re okay with better weather, catchy choruses, and crushing on girlie vocals, Best Coast is your ticket to June. And perfect lyrics? I’m always waking up with something in my head/It’s 6 a.m. and I’m in someone else’s bed/I wish he was you/I wish he was you Yes, perfect lyrics. All the meanwhile Bethany overdubs “Ooh”s and “Ahh”s. Hurry up, Summer! I wanna jam Best Coast while wearing shorts and shades!