une nouveau genre de le cinema des disatres
it’s kinda interesting all the unrest going down in France at the moment. It’s not like they don’t have it coming for being so damn rude, never mind how they treat their colonized peeps. It should be disgruntled Americans setting cars on fire and lobbing Molotov cocktails. That would be a good movie “Pissed off Americans in Paris”. The movie theme song could be a country version of “We’re not Gonna Take it”.
I always thought that Paris would be an ideal city to stage a disaster film, probably because it would quickly degrade into a comedy when it dawns on them that no one is going to come to save their baggetty asses. It’s always New York that is getting ravaged by Godzilla, Tornados, Ice Ages, and Space Aliens. Paris is a city that never makes it into disaster films, unless you consider Romantic movies to be of that genre, well some are! I would love to see the Eiffel Tower used as an enema by King Kong. Have to get working on the screenplay or at least a blog entry.
various forms of “delishas”
derisiose derisious derusas
derisurs delishas belicious
delicics dericias
The following are a few variations on the word “delicious” I corrected for a spelling test in September. I’ve noticed that Japanese school children are very Zen (all or nothing) in their approach to academics. You usually get 100% or zeros with little in between. Even for the ones who didn’t apply themselves (whether it be out of cultural pride, a distrust of American Imperialism, or perhaps sheer boredom), I had to lament their closeness of missing the mark, which was oftentimes razor thin.
It got me to thinking, is a word really wrong if you know what a person is saying? I intentionally misspell words all the time, just cause I like playing with them. However, I guess you have to know the rules before you can break them.
Doesn’t every country that adopts English add their local flavor to the stew? I figure if “ebonics” can gain a foothold upon the English-speaking peoples of the free world, perhaps there’s room at the top for “nihonics”(not to be confused with nihilists). What’s wrong with allowing the Japanese a little leeway with the English language? You need only consult a Japanese dictionary to realize the amount of assimilated western words into their vocabulary, (rajio, pen, basu, fooku, resutoran, and chichi). Now, Westerners would consider these words spelled incorrectly for the most part, but to Japanese ears, they make perfect sense. Think what avenues that would open up to fledgling students when the English teacher would say, “I know what you mean, you pass the test”! Of course someone would have to sit down and write up a phonetics book and dictionary, which I’m certainly not prepared to do.
Inevitably there will be someone who simply wouldn’t be able to handle the infinite variety of spellings and pronunciations that would accompany a simple word such as “delicious”. I think if anyone at my dinner table said my cooking was “delishas”, I wouldn’t be offended. I’d say, “you’re alright in my book”.
Unconscious Political Comedy Writing Workshop 101
I read somewhere that it’s possible to program your dreams or access your unconscious imagination, just by simply thinking about a particular topic before you float off into the ethers. Although it wasn’t a conscious decision on my part, Sunday night I was thinking, wouldn’t it be funny to get the retired presidents together and do some skits on SNL around their retired life? This story is true by the way...
Monday morning I dreamt about the opening monologue of SNL with the former presidents coming out Ford, Carter, Bush Sr., and Clinton when the announcement was made “ladies and gentleman, the former president of the United States”, like they did with the two Paul Simons, the singer and politician. “Hail to the Chief” was playing in the background and the four men stood there dumbfounded about the embarrassment of the situation. Eventually they all started saying that it’s obviously about them. Bill Clinton said, “It can’t be about you three losers. I’m the only one twice elected. I’ve done more good than the three of you rolled together”. George Bush Sr. stepped forward and in his best John Wayne voice, “Now hold on a minute there, Mister! If anyone is going to lie to the American people, it’s gonna be me. We got a great show, “Insane Clown Posse” is our musical guest”. Fade to black...
Following the opening monologue was Dana Carvey in a commercial, but it wasn’t him impersonating Bush. Carvey was a hired Grinch who ruined other peoples’ Christmases for a fee. Like he’d hook up a cable to the front porch of a house and pull off the facade in the middle of winter while the family was away shopping. The family would return in the midst of a snowstorm, looking forward to the warmth that only their home could provide, to find their house gutted and knee deep in snow. The audience thought it was hilarious, this indiscriminant sort of viciousness.
“Why do I do it? I’d be doing it even if they didn’t pay me. Quite simply, I just hate people”, he’d say with a laugh.
Next part of the skit, he slides down a chimney and steals a whole family’s Christmas gifts out from under the tree. The family comes home and it’s the father of all people crying, with his wife and kids consoling him.
“It’s okay Daddy, don’t cry”, his children said patting him on the back methodically.
“Fuck man! I spent my whole bonus to show my family a nice holiday and we was robbed!” the father sobs throwing his hands to the air.
Pull back to a long-shot of the violated family’s home and Dana the Grinch drives into the foreground with the window down, “Yeah, fuck ‘em. I don’t care”, says Dana with a devilish smile. “So next time you want any random, indiscriminant cruelty done, call me for me by name”.
“Hey Grinch,” a bundled kid throws a snowball in the face of Carvey. Loads of applause, but it seemed a little mean-hearted even for my unconscious mind to take in. Last time I have Indian food before I go to bed.
First political skit of the night, George Bush Sr. and Bill Clinton are relaxing from shooting holes at Kennybunkport in a golf cart.
“Whew, hot enough for you?” Bush Sr. says cracking a icy beer fresh out of the cooler and handing one over to Clinton.
“Sure ‘nuff is”, says Clinton taking a deep drink. “Hey George, I’ve been doing some thinking (burp), and it seems to me that you did the presidency all wrong.” Clinton says chidingly. He removes his cap to wipe his brow but doesn’t establish eye contact, looking straight ahead at the next hole.
“Oh, how do you mean?” Bush Sr. says turning around defensively, removing a driver from his golf bag.
“You had a whole staff under you and you didn’t take advantage?” Clinton says one leg aloft, screwing a tee into the ground, cracking a wry smile.
“We’re not having this conversation again.” Bush glares back momentarily, before looking back into his golf bag.
Clinton is crouching down back to Bush, measuring the shot, near wetting himself at Bush’s agitation, but lets the silence build. George makes a motion like he’s going to swat an oversized fly with his club, but restrains himself.
“Of course not, I’m a married man,” Bush says warily still standing awkwardly.
“Man, you crack me up. You can’t tell me that in all of your years of public service you’ve never been tempted once?” says Clinton near hysterics. “You wasted a perfectly good presidency”, Clinton says striding towards his bag.
George whispers agitatedly at Bill as he strides past, with one glove cocked to the side, “Barb would have my head on a platter, are you kidding”?
“So what you’re really saying is, you’ve been tempted, but it’s not the sanctity of marriage that keeps you in check; it’s mortal terror”, says Clinton going into his warm-up swing pose, waving his rump in Bush’s face.
Bush Sr. is momentarily shaken by his apparent lack of manliness, but soon recovers himself. Having a recent brainwave, Bush saunters along side Clinton and leans one arm upon his shoulder, “Well confidentially, off-the-record, when I was the head of the CIA in the 70’s, there was this little number at the Panamanian Embassy.” George puckers his lips and makes the form of a female body with his golfing gloves…
(Rumble, rumble)
Aw man, another fucking earthquake! End of that dream. I was jarred out of bed at 2:30 exactly by a tremor. They seem like a daily occurrence here, I’m fast losing my ability to be scared. I ran down to my doorway and watched the telephone lines sway between the poles like tired double-dutch jump ropes.
Will never know how that skit might have ended, can only imagine. Would’ve been ideal 15 years ago, cause you would’ve gotten Nixon and Reagan into the fold, but then you wouldn’t have a retired Clinton, who’s been the funniest president ever in my opinion.
It still needs a punch line! I’m considering doing some more comedic thinking before I head off to bed and set my alarm clock for 2:30, just to see what happens!
