All of the preceding reminds me of my busted ass new theory.

Those ancient dudes that I studied back in the day, they talked about gods and whatnot, doing all sorts of crazy things. Like Zeus would turn into a bull and and run down a bunch of Spaniards soaked with spittle and smelling of semen. The gods had distinct identities and a handfull of specific stories to tell. Ovid's Metamorphoses tells several common tales, like Narcissus and Echo, and puts his own spin on it. The characters could be plopped into things like the Iliad or the Aeneid, and they could update the stories with references to current-day deals, or even invent new plots of their set characters. Like in the Aeneid, which was written in the early Augustan days includes a reference to a divine lineage, that Julius Caesar and, by extension, Augustus were actually the descendents of gods. Meanwhile, Hera can get all jealous and fuck with Aeneas and all that business. You had dramatis personae, ya know.

Well, I think that this impulse lives on today, but instead of gods, we've got celebrities. God isn't really a part of our common narrative in art or anything (apocalyptica and Lebowski aside, Jesus doesn't have a starring or even supporting role in most movies), so we have a whole host of minor deities who, thanks to the wonders of typecasting, have their own identities independent of whoever they are. So if you go see a Schwarzenegger movie, you'll see a strong, relatively taciturn fellow who likes to kill lots of people.

And when you talk to non-movie people, they all talk about how they go to see the Drew Barrymore movie or the like. They see movies based on actors, not directors (the favorite of the smirking class) or writers (the favorite of....well, the writers). They want to get their Julia Roberts, the hot chick who's not so hot as to arouse envy, who's feisty and even bagged Richard Gere in that one movie.

Thankfully, there's synergy in our entertainment media, so you can get heaping helpings of the same narrative in People or TV Guide or Entertainment Weekly. Golly, that Colin Ferrell is a randy lad! That Russell Crowe is such a rogue!

And so there's typecasting, which actors bitch about but is a necessary component of their mythic status. They are not individual human beings anymore, they are types, characters.

That's my busted-ass theory. Now with hyphenation!

When studying in school, the point was thrown at me again and again that it's a tempting trap to fall into, to draw too close a parallel between the modern you know and the ancient you don't.

Which makes perfect sense. I mean, it's far too easy to see similarity where there is none, and to fill in the unknown with the familiar. It's a trick of human cognition. Or so they say.

However, if one were to thoroughly vet one's ideas for hidden contextual bias, one would never say anything. And then, when the water cooler has heard the last talk of last night's CSI:Miami (CSI spins off, much like Survivor, with additional locations. I am hoping for a Seventh Heaven: Las Vegas where the father presides over a drive-through chapel and Jessica Biel does a guest appearance as the naked, lewdly gyrating slut I wish to god she truly is), well, what will one say?

Thank god the kids are all gone. They were fucking everywhere the other day. Fucking crazy.

So today was a slice of good old fashioned unemployment. Got up at 2, hit the gym, which was considerably less crowded than the normal hours - got to see many new faces around the place, some ultra-tattooed bald guy (the shaved head look is a lot less common in St. Louis than in other places), and I got to see that one really hot mom arrive at the Y as opposed to leave.

Since I never post links, here's one copped from Metafilter, an interview with Dirt McGirt aka Ol Dirty Bastard aka other things. The attitude of the interviewer is interesting, and really the picture on the page sez it all - dorky looking white guy, balding, with self-consciously nerdy glasses. One can almost see the smirk that pervades the article.

Reminds me of the appropriation of blues music by the hippies. There was a whole folk revival movement in the 60's, which meant a lot of attention was paid to dudes who had recorded a handful of 78's back in depression times and earlier. These guys were sought out in their southern rural homes and then plonked onstage at festivals. Some, like Mississippi John Hurt, were delighted to have a new audience to hear their music. Others, like Skip James, detested the new fans. Of course, one gets the impression from the music that Skip hated everybody, Skip James included, rather a lot.

Anyway, the bourgeois class continues to collect. So, peace out.

Actually, that isn't what I think. ODB has spent time in a mental institution, clearly seems to have some paranoia issues (in the article, he says that Bush and Clinton are/were out to get him) which tends to make one think he's got some mental issues. It's the smirking tone about all this which bothers me, the notion that the craziness is the ultimate goal in all this.

True, having some mental issues can mean that the art that you create is going to be interesting/good - there are plenty of schizo musicians who are pretty decent (Skip Spence, Syd Barrett, Kool Keith, Brian Wilson), but to treat it as such a novelty ignores the pain involved, and thus removes the humanity of the person. Yes, they are outrageous and troubled, but their work is worthy of contemplation. That is, there is real human artistry involved, they are not a firework - bright, shining and captivating while you're looking and to be discarded soon after.

But on another note, I can really only think of ODB's Dog Shit off of Wu Tang Forever, because I can understand the rap. A lot of his flows I just can't make out. I guess I could sit down with Enter... and Return... and ohhla.com and give him some closer study.

But I also want to focus my attention on the new. I spend a lot of time playing genre or artists catch-up, I want to understand the current scene more, maybe I can find some way to connect to other people through the scenes. God knows that's not going to happen if I keep following music made in years with nines in them.

Since yesterday my ma and pa and, by extension, I have been babysitting my brother's six kids. Lots of noise and running around and shit like that. Sometimes I feel that being back in Saint Louis is nice cos I can be around the kids, sometimes....

Showed the kids Spirited Away, which they liked, and then the older kids stayed up to watch The Matrix, which was also enjoyed. I kinda wanted to show them The Big Lebowski, but I get the impression that the reaction would've been "huh? I don't get it."

So I'm unemployed again. Sitting around the house and stewing in a vat of self doubt and worry. When I read I sometimes get descriptions that I think are of what I'm thinking/feeling...a sense of being hopelessly lost, of being stuck in the middle of a giant, dimly-lit maze while an endless acid bassline endlessly loops. Your brain is moving along at slightly too high a temperature, and no matter which corner you cross, you're still in the labyrinth.

Which reminds me of David Bowie wearing powder blue tights. Is this the thought which haunts young Raskolnikov? David Bowie's bulging batch?

A giant fat monkey with a widened butt. Huge assed motherfucker. Pewter toe rings.

Since last September I've been temping at this place. That's a long time to temp, and for significant portions of my time there, the bosses talked about the permanent hire that was coming around any day now. That talk started around, oh, say, January of this year.

Now, keep in mind that I didn't really like this job, and that I really only wanted some money. By the time I hit St. Louis, I was pretty much at a nadir. I felt exhausted, dead, hopeless, and had no real desire to do anything but stare at the wall for hours on end. This job was a way to start to get some more cash and plan the next move. I had (well, still have, to be honest) several debts to pay off, and I needed to do that.

So the job talk at my temp place was tempting, simply because it would mean more money, and benefits like health insurance, which I haven't had in some time. A few weeks ago, the talk started getting more serious, and at the same time another job opportunity reared its ugly head.

This is a real job, paying something closer to a reasonable salary, and the work, unlike the job at my temp place, is something that would be engaging. I decided to go interviewing for this job. The day that I made my interview appointment, the temp place made a job offer.

I had to decline, because of this job interview. Three days later, they told me that the job offer was rescinded and that my temp assignment would be over on July 25. This was interesting because the place had just hired a couple of new temps through at least September, and they didn't know shit, whereas I did know the job quite well at that point.

Yesterday, the 24th, my boss pulled me aside and offered to extend my temp assignment until I got the other job or September 1st., whichever came first. I declined, and today was my last day.

When you're a temp, they have to sign your timecard at the end of the week, and you then mail this in to your temp agency. Every Friday I would hand this card to my boss around the middle of the day, she'd sign it and hand it back to me. Today, I gave her the card to sign, she took it and said she'd give it back to me later. This card requires a grand total of one signature. I only assume that I was not given the card immediately so that I wouldn't just bolt on them. Class act, those guys.

But that doesn't really bother me so much as the fact that I'm no longer gonna be around people whom I've grown to care for. It's quite sad, I'm going to miss the random people there at my job. Actually, not random. Specific people. It's a total bummer. I hated the job, true, but I was tight with a coupla people there. It's generally hard for me to get into a groove with people and feel comfortable around them and such, and it's especially difficult for me to leave them. And yet I seem to do this thing over and over again. Anyway, feh.

It turns out that Will Oldham will be opening for Bjork for part of her NAm tour. Hitting San Francisco on the 8th.

Bjork used to be good, I used to like Bjork, but no more. It's all very sad.

GameSpot had a sale - buy two used, get one free, so I picked up Metroid Prime, Shinobi, and The Mark of Kri.

MOK is a great game that went nowhere - nobody played the fucker, which is a shame, because it's a hoot. Basically, it's a Disney cartoon-styled Conan the Barbarian game, where you go around lookin all lilo n stitch and chopping dudes in half with a giant axe. It's PS2, and you use the right analog stick to select targets, who then have a button appear over their heads (square, triangle, x, circle) which you press to attack. You have a handful of combos, and though you feel a little sluggish in control, the animation is great as you blow through crowds of dudes, smashing their armor off their bodies and eventually decapitating them (or worse).

There's also a stealth element, largely in the form of a crow which you can send ahead of you in the jungle terrain which makes up most of the game. You can see through the crow's eyes and it's very cool. Well worth a rental or even a purchase.

I have a job interview tomorrow, and I'm extremely nervous about it. On the one hand, I don't really want this job per se, on the other I don't really want any job other than, say, Wu Tang Clansman, and this job (the one for which about in respect to I'm interviewing) pays a bit more than my current shitty temp job (they're also offering me a position doing the shit I'm doing), and is more intellectually engaging.

Actually, what I really want is something, anything to ease the pressures of my daily life, like having to tie my shoes.

Saw this bad boy today. Has several elements of weird humor, playing on Terminator conventions. I hafta say I liked it for a few reasons, which demand the use of the list tags: