Excess Baggage
A 30 Second Film Review from The SJW society For Better Cinema
I just watched Dr. No, the very first James Bond movie, made way back in 1962. How quaint the world was then, some 55 years-ago. James Bond, the super cool spy, sexually harassed or raped at least 5 or 6 women. Beat up several minorities. Condescended to women and Native peoples, who were obviously living under colonial domination and the not-so distant specter of slavery. He even physically abused a woman and then callously used threats of violence to have sex with her. She to, was raped by Bond, the perfect male archetype—the alpha-rapist embodied. That is Bond. James Bond. Sexist cymbal of a dying patriarchal culture.
Sincerely, Zelda Twitsgerald
I just watched Dr. No, the very first James Bond movie, made way back in 1962. How quaint the world was then, some 55 years-ago. James Bond, the super cool spy, sexually harassed or raped at least 5 or 6 women. Beat up several minorities. Condescended to women and Native peoples, who were obviously living under colonial domination and the not-so distant specter of slavery. He even physically abused a woman and then callously used threats of violence to have sex with her. She to, was raped by Bond, the perfect male archetype—the alpha-rapist embodied. That is Bond. James Bond. Sexist cymbal of a dying patriarchal culture.
Sincerely, Zelda Twitsgerald
Joe Don Baker - by Alexander Solzhenitsyn.
Jo Don Baker was a man who seemed like he should have 3 names. Billy Bob Thornton has 3 names, too. But Billy Bob Thornton is not Joe Don Baker. No one but Joe Don Baker is Joe Don Baker. Except, Joe Don Baker.
Jo Don Baker was a man who seemed like he should have 3 names. Billy Bob Thornton has 3 names, too. But Billy Bob Thornton is not Joe Don Baker. No one but Joe Don Baker is Joe Don Baker. Except, Joe Don Baker.
The Muse? Or, The Musette?
A man must follow his muse. But never a woman. A woman does not have a muse. They are a muse. Therefore, they cannot be both, the muse and the musette.
To have all the wealth in the world, would mean nothing, if you were dead. But, if you weren’t dead, it could be pretty fricken awesome.
Jazz is an acquired taste. But so is beer. Once you have the inclination—at particular moments—nothing will taste better.
If somebody had the power to grant me eternal life on earth, as it is, I’d have to turn it down. Imagine the end of the world, or something close to it, and you’ve got the rest of eternity to endure it. Alone. No thanks.
Does music have meaning beyond human perception, imagination, and purpose? Is there some universe where this can be quantified objectively? I doubt it.
Perhaps, on the planet Zuton X?
Perhaps.
Buford Pusser
A man must follow his muse. But never a woman. A woman does not have a muse. They are a muse. Therefore, they cannot be both, the muse and the musette.
To have all the wealth in the world, would mean nothing, if you were dead. But, if you weren’t dead, it could be pretty fricken awesome.
Jazz is an acquired taste. But so is beer. Once you have the inclination—at particular moments—nothing will taste better.
If somebody had the power to grant me eternal life on earth, as it is, I’d have to turn it down. Imagine the end of the world, or something close to it, and you’ve got the rest of eternity to endure it. Alone. No thanks.
Does music have meaning beyond human perception, imagination, and purpose? Is there some universe where this can be quantified objectively? I doubt it.
Perhaps, on the planet Zuton X?
Perhaps.
Buford Pusser
Work Hard Play Hard Live Hard
I can’t wait for the day when men go back to looking only modestly fit. I get tired of seeing some guy with a six pack. And I don’t mean the beer kind, either. Somehow they manage to look like Superman, minus any hint of actual masculinity, which is no easy feat. I want to see men who don’t give a crap about how they look. Because real mean don’t think about such things. Smashing a wayward grizzly bear, should it challenge them when they’re in the wilderness, kind of men, is what I mean.
Work hard.
Play hard.
Live hard.
Now, let me go off and shoot my sawed-off shotgun at a couple of ISIS members. If that don’t work, thunder and lightening, should do the trick. I’m talking about my left and my right, just in case the poetic imagery was lost on somebody. And believe me, the use of poetic imagery doesn’t make me less of a man…….am I clear? I hope so!
Your's Truly - Vic Flamethrower
P.S. using the words “Your truly” doesn’t make me less of a man either!
I can’t wait for the day when men go back to looking only modestly fit. I get tired of seeing some guy with a six pack. And I don’t mean the beer kind, either. Somehow they manage to look like Superman, minus any hint of actual masculinity, which is no easy feat. I want to see men who don’t give a crap about how they look. Because real mean don’t think about such things. Smashing a wayward grizzly bear, should it challenge them when they’re in the wilderness, kind of men, is what I mean.
Work hard.
Play hard.
Live hard.
Now, let me go off and shoot my sawed-off shotgun at a couple of ISIS members. If that don’t work, thunder and lightening, should do the trick. I’m talking about my left and my right, just in case the poetic imagery was lost on somebody. And believe me, the use of poetic imagery doesn’t make me less of a man…….am I clear? I hope so!
Your's Truly - Vic Flamethrower
P.S. using the words “Your truly” doesn’t make me less of a man either!
If Only
As a boy I had an epiphany. Maybe, it would be more accurate to call it a revelation. I realized that I was not the handsomest boy in the world, as my mother and her friends had told me, so many times, when I was a little boy. How could I live with this epiphany? Knowing that I was not the handsomest boy in the world, probably not even in the top five.
It was, at this moment, that I began to question everything.
Fast forward many decades and I am still questioning everything. And I am always, likewise, stunned by further revelations about the limits of my personal humanity. Our shared humanity. Because, as one of us goes, so go we all.
Now this could be thought of as projection. Me—projecting onto you—my personal foibles. And, as time and revelation have taught me, my foibles are many. I am a many foibled man. A man with a surplus of foibles. A cache’ of foibles, even. (Enough about the foibles, for God’s sake!)
Anyways. That’s how it all began.
If only I’d never had that damned epiphany.
If only.
Bust'a Crab
As a boy I had an epiphany. Maybe, it would be more accurate to call it a revelation. I realized that I was not the handsomest boy in the world, as my mother and her friends had told me, so many times, when I was a little boy. How could I live with this epiphany? Knowing that I was not the handsomest boy in the world, probably not even in the top five.
It was, at this moment, that I began to question everything.
Fast forward many decades and I am still questioning everything. And I am always, likewise, stunned by further revelations about the limits of my personal humanity. Our shared humanity. Because, as one of us goes, so go we all.
Now this could be thought of as projection. Me—projecting onto you—my personal foibles. And, as time and revelation have taught me, my foibles are many. I am a many foibled man. A man with a surplus of foibles. A cache’ of foibles, even. (Enough about the foibles, for God’s sake!)
Anyways. That’s how it all began.
If only I’d never had that damned epiphany.
If only.
Bust'a Crab