I had a really bad day, one that started in a courtroom and ended in urgent care. Don’t even ask, everything is more or less okay now.
After urgent care, I curled in a ball on the couch in an attempt to relax and made things slightly worse by 1) flipping on the TV and watching the his-and-hers face lifts of Gene Simmons and his wife (nothing like sloppy five-thousands, I always think when I see him), which was so disgusting that I then 2) changed the channel to watch part of American Psycho, a movie in which a 1980s psycho, sex-addicted yuppie played by Christian Bale descends into homicidal mania. I finally had to turn it off when he started chasing a woman down a hallway, wearing only his sneakers while wielding a chain saw. Two images - of a beautiful woman’s head in C. Bale’s character’s freezer, and of the Simmons couple with their heads wrapped in gauze - seem somehow mirrors of each other.
There’s a time capsule at the Griffith Observatory here in LA that I am very interested in. I’ll be dead when they open it. But the idea of what people will think about the age of media (that’s what I’m dubbing the last hundred years and the next hundred, too) is so interesting. We are leaving strange relics. And they’ll never get through all the blogs.
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