Sunday, May 16, 2010

Update: Sylvester the Cat, Felinus Domesticus (Video)

As you might recall, the pink one was trying to get rid of me.  His efforts fell flat.

If anything, I am persistent.  Just ask the large, pink one.  Basically, I gave him two choices in my relentless endeavor to carve out a happy niche for myself, in life.  Feed me, or kill me.

Thankfully the pink one chose the kibbel over catocide.  My fate was never actually in doubt, because I know a secret.  Modern, urban humans, like the pink one, are really just big-hearted pussies.

I've settled in nicely.  As you can see from my photo, I'm taking on a more rotund and healthy glow.  Every now and then I slip in through a door left open and really make myself at home.

As I lie, luxuriating, I often wonder what the poor cats are doing today.

Sometimes the pink one and I watch a little TV together.  This is my favorite show:

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Mawwage! Oh, Mawwage! (Video)

Nothing says eternal bliss like I do.  And nothing says, "screw you," like, I do, when the waltz across the clouds comes crashing to the ground.

The Priest:  Do you take this man/woman to be your husband/wife through all kinds of insufferable hell and turmoil not matter what?

The Infatuated Couple:  I do.

[Exit The Priest and one half of The Infatuated Couple; Enter The Judge.]

The Judge:  Regarding this here decree for the dissolution of marriage, do you swear that the testimony that you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?

One very disgruntled, vengeful, soon to be divorcee:  I do.

I do, in the context of marriage, is an alpha and omega, fateful bookends, a joker on the left and a joker on the right.  And nothing illustrates the point more poignantly than THIS interpretive dance in two acts.

Note:  Less any esteemed reader of this distinguished, award winning blog should interpret this post on a much deeper level than it was intended to be, let it be known that The Lawyer remains in exceptionally good-graces with Mrs. Lawyer aka She Who Must Be Obeyed, and intends to keep it that way, especially if he ever wants to be in her amorous embrace anytime soon.

Act I

Act II

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Gen X's Revenge

We're the middle children of history.... no purpose or place.  We have no Great War, no Great Depression.  Our great war is a spiritual war.  Our great depression is our lives.  ~From the movie Fight Club
In the midst of the endless cycling of Flock of Seagulls and Culture Club videos, featuring she-men fluttering in front of the camera in outlandish costumes, with whimsical hairdos, wistfully abusing synthesizers on MTV in the late eighties and early nineties, a pressure was building.  My generation was coming of age and chomping at the bit to burst on the scene like a volcanic explosion.  And then it happened.
The gate blew open, and flew off the hinges, when a three-piece band, from Seattle,  grabbed the baby boomers, and the greatest generation by the ears and screamed, "WE'RE HERE FUCKERS!  Time to quit sucking."
The Greatest Generation had given us nightmares populated with mushroom clouds on the horizon.  The Baby Boomers gave us hippy-dippy, pie in the sky, unworkable ideations of peace and love, disco and then the unbounded greed of the free market and cheesy commercialism.  We gave them Nirvana, and put them on notice that the rules were about to change, because theirs didn't work.
Gen X was to be the generation of the authentic.  Postmodern, multi-perspectival, pluralistic deconstructionism was the cleansing agent we offered to scrub all the bullshit away from America's eyes so that the territory ahead could be better seen.
One day, Kurt Cobain crawled into a bath tub with a shotgun and blew his head off.  We graduated from college in the middle of a Republican, trickle-down fueled recession.  The mosh pit lost its steam.  Oh well, whatever, never mind.   
We are turning 40 now.  Some of us have had kids.  Some have gone to rehab.  Some have done both.  But if you have made it this far, Gen X, you know now that our strengths and talents are not in standing out front and leading the charge.  There simply are not enough of us to make the loud, out-in-the-open demands and changes that the Boomers have made and Gen Y is poised to make.
Besides slipping in and out of each day, marinating in a cocktail of absurdity, what's a Gen X'er to do?  Boomers have a lock on the market they are constantly wrecking and, irony of ironies, making it impossible for themselves to retire.  Gen Y, raised on positive vibes and psychotropic drugs to cure their various insanities that didn't exist when us Gen X'ers were kids, will take the reins from the Boomers.  
Face it X.  This world, outwardly at least, will always be about them, not us.  We had our time, and it ended in a splatter of blood and brains on a bathroom wall in Seattle.  Our place will always be behind the scenes, tinkering and tweaking, to do our best to keep it real, and to keep the world from completely sucking ass.  
Most significantly, our place and purpose is to undertake what really is the only solution to all that ails us:  to find our own personal paths to salvation, and let everything else roll out of its own, unfolding accord.  Ours is an inner conquest and exploration, and that's where we shine.  
In the final analysis, there is no way up and out without going inward, and that's what's real.  And that's where we don't slack.