Featuring: The Exquisite Existential Horror of 16 and Pregnant
Ok. First and foremost: I am not here to praise this show.
A Feral Jungle Thunderdome of the Mind (Also, your one stop shop for Amputee Horse Porn)
Oh god yesThat's always a good sign. When I finally arrived at the Gingerman (at roughly 5:30, for those keeping score), I found Chaim (who was heroically warring with Sobriety and winning at this point), as well as fellow bartenders Chip Wesley and Dave Thomas in fine spirits. With them were Valued TMS Reader Nick V (whose real name, it turns out is Steve V), a friend of Chip's that I will call "Mark," to protect his identity, and my good friend, Dr. Scotch, whose company I greatly appreciated, considering that I was at least 5 hours behind everyone else on the booze front.2
Worst version of tiny dancer ever on the karaoke stage EVER! ;)So, I asked my companions if they minded swinging by, and when I assured "Mark" that there are tons of chicks at karaoke night at a gay bar (there are), and Chip that I wouldn't tell anyone about this (I did), we staggered drunkenly there. On the way, I almost got us lost twice, recieved a text that my fiancee was leaving soon, made it there in time for one more round, coninued to be collossally drunk, watched "Mark" make out with a friend of my fiancee's and mine, failed to sign Chip up for a song (I assume he was planning to sing "Two Minutes To Midnight" or something, but my memory is swimmy by this point), and finally left.
And I'm babysitting a sox fan glass. HELP!!!
2. Of course, I now know that any less than a 10 hour head start for Dave Thomas is not fair to the rest of the group...
3. I just googled the spelling. Huh. Two words. Weird.
4. Well, if you don't count the huge argument I started with my fiancee on the way home (entirely my fault; I was a mess), the fact that I had to get up at 6:30 am to work a convention, and that I spent all the next day shaking and covered in a thin, clammy layer of beer-scented sweat.
And that doesn't even cover the zany neighbor, Cyrus Wycheley - a retired Professor Emeritus of Parapsychology at venerable Miskatonic University, played by a heavily made-up Henry Rollins (who I'm going to sadly have to ask to lose enough muscle mass that he resembles his Black Flag days - also, he's got to cover those tattoos). Professor Wycheley's patrician "Old Arkham" ways will grate the irritable Wobble to no end, but delight and irritate Keith. Or the running gag that John has no sense of smell and cannot detect the odd odor of must that comes from the corner of his room that doesn't meet at a Euclidean angle! Or the work we're doing to get Charlie Manson furloughed for the Season Finale, where he plays Wobble's kindly Uncle Chuck, whose unstinting kindness will cause one of the cast members to commit the vilest and most unspeakable of crimes (I don't want to spoil the surprise, but here's a hint: the one who does it is a mighty irritable customer). Or the running joke where veteran character actor Dick Miller plays a series of different elderly gardeners and/or caretakers (each related to the previous in some way) who keep being found dead, with their gazes twisted into expressions of unimaginable horror!
Frankly, a show like this writes itself, so don't be surprised if I'm a household name by the next Emmys.
“I AIN’T NO GODDAMN SON OF A BITCH!
YOU BETTER THINK ABOUT IT, BABY!”17
Here at the Slog, we are fascinated by history of all kinds, especially the kind that never existed. And even more important than that, the kind that is particularly geeky and stupid. With that in mind, we bring you the first installment in the ongoing Secret Apocryphal History of the American Comic Book.
I hope that was helpful. See you in 3 months when I realize that I have not updated The Slog since this entry, and do this all over again!1
Shalom, y'all.
Desert loving in your eyes all the wayClearly, Mssr. le Georges' is having an encounter with a lover that withholds affection, analagous to the way a desert withholds adorable kit foxes from the rest of the world. Either that or the lyrics site I visited has a typo and the proper line is "Dessert loving in your eyes all the way," which could mean that the song is an ode to what's left of Val Kilmer's career:
If I listen to your lies would you sayOk. Now lets look at this line-by-line.
I'm a man without conviction
I'm a man who doesn't know
How to sell a contradiction
You come and go, you come and go
If I listen to your liesWe've hit our first genuine snag. One interpretation (the one I personally subscribe to) is that this desert-eyed rogue is an inveterate liar, and therefore never to be trusted. Under this implication, it is clear that Boy has never really listened to his lover's words. Which makes the relationship a hollow lie, and reveals a truly dark and hideous worldview that would be better reflected if it came out of the mouth of William Atherton, or some other bearded functionary. The other interpretation is that said lover is occasionally dishonest, as we all are.8 However, to read this into the song is to say that somehow Chico Jorge9 is subconciously aware of the lies, and filters it out. This is evident, because the second half of the line,
proves Steve10 has no idea what this person says when lying. So I must ignore this interpretation as needlessly convoluted.would you say
I'm a man without convictionSteve's lover is saying that Steve is a man without conviction. However, as established in the the first line, Steve's lover is lying (either situationally or constantly, this holds true for both interpretations above). This is a clear case of Material Implication, which is as close to a logical truth as anything, as shown in the following syllogism (wherein A=Steve's desert-eyed lover [hereafter DEL] is making a statement, and B= The statement is a lie):
If A, then B
A
Therefore B
I'm a man who doesn't know
How to sell a contradiction
You come and go, you come and goThe first of Steve's contradictions for sale. Who knows who's coming and going at this point? Well, Steve does. But that aint for sale.
Karma karma karma karma, karma chameleonThis is indeed fascinating, as it clearly combines High Medieval Christian numerology with Hindu mysticism and herpetology.
Fyrst he watz funden fautlez in his fyue wyttez,Okay...um...that really didn't help my point. Let me provide a translation for those of us who don't speak the Midlands dialect of the 14th century (italics mine):
And efte fayled neuer þe freke in his fyue fyngres,
And alle his afyaunce vpon folde watz in þe fyue woundez
Þat Cryst ka3t on þe croys, as þe crede tellez;
And quere-so-euer þys mon in melly watz stad,
His þro þo3t watz in þat, þur3 alle oþer þyngez,
Þat alle his forsnes he feng at þe fyue joyez
Þat þe hende heuen-quene had of hir chylde;12
For first he was faultless in his five senses; and his five fingers never failed him; and all his trust upon earth was in the five wounds that Christ bare on the cross, as the Creed tells. And wherever this knight
found himself in stress of battle he deemed well that he drew his strength from the five joys which the Queen of Heaven had of her Child.13
And really, who doesn't think chameleons are neat-o?
For the record, both of the preceding quotes were in Verdana, he Official Blog Font of Arthurian Source Material.
You come and go, you come and goOddly, this line is now redolent with the meaning missing from its first occurence. Fortuna lashes against Steve.
Loving would be easy if your colours were like my dreamPer Wikipedia, the Official Source of All Truth and Knowledge In Our Current Dystopian Climate, red-green colorblindness is prevalent in roughly 7% of the male population. It's a somewhat safe bet to assume both Steve and DEL are male (This is Boy George we're talking about here), so it is not a large leap to assume that one or both of them suffer from some inability to percieve color14 in the same fashion. It is also safe to assume that Steve and DEL both dream in color,15 despite Old Wives Tales To the Contrary.
Red, gold and green; red, gold and greenNote two of the three colors are red and green, the most commonly confused hues in colorblind subjects. They are also the traditional colors of Christmas, a holiday originally founded on the notion of generousity and giving, but since given over to the Gods of Commodity Consumerism. The third color, gold, which is clearly equally discernable to both parties is so obviously symbolic that it is almost an insult to the reader's intelligence to note that this verse is clearly a counterpoint on the failure of modern consumer culture to meet the spiritual needs of the participant. Everything is indeed for sale, and Steve (like his spiritual predecessor, Willy Loman) is being crushed by Fortune's Wheel, as evidenced by the events that spiral out of his control.
Didn't hear your wicked words every day
And you used to be so sweet
DEL once worked for a renowned Belgian chocolateer. You can look this up.16
I heard you sayAh, selling us contradictions again, eh Steve. I'm beginning to doubt that you're even named "Steve."
That my love was an addiction
This line is troubling. How can love itself, as a concept, be an addiction? Love can be addictive, in theory. And an addiction can be mistaken for love. But Love qua Love <> an Addiction. Even Homer nods, so we must assume this is an error on the songwriter's part.
When we cling our love is strongClearly Steve (or Boy George himself) is being either naïve or disingenuous. Love clings when it is at its weakest. A strong lover can relax, confident that the object of his or her affection returns this affection. Another strong signifier that Steve's reality is a dangerous and shifting thing.
When you go you're gone forever
The mix of a Christian afterlife and the notion of of Karmic retribution from the chorus are suddenly and violently belied by this sudden rejection of the spiritual. I suspect this isn't meant to be a simple statement of an Atheistic or Agnostic worldview, achieved through soul-searching and application of science and/or logic to empirical data, but rather an expression of the nihilism inherent in what Steve likes to pretend is his soul.
You string along, you string along
Petty bitching from the now very unlikable Steve.
At this point the chorus is reprised. The juxtoposition of new knowledge on Steve's character and personal ethos adds a harrowing note to the original message.
Then we are taken to the bridge.
Every day is like survivalThis is the point in the song where I differ from nearly all interpreters. As I have stated previously, Steve is a truly unreliable narrator when relating his relationship to DEL. The reason for this is clear to me, and can be truly grasped by following the simile:
You're my lover, not my rival
Every day is like survival
You're my lover, not my rival
Every day is like survival
You're my lover, not my rival
You're my lover, not my rivalAre not really addressed to DEL at all.