Has everyone seen the new-ish Filet O’Fish Commercial that rips off one of my all-time favorite movies, Wes Anderson’s The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou? Bad enough that this wonderfully quirky, subtle piece of off-beat cinematic brilliance is being draped in ugly commercialism, the Golden Arch-Villains employ a snotty, superior, hipsterish ironic tone to the commercial–this is a mockery, not a tribute, and clearly they’re expecting their audience to laugh at it, not with it. Who would have thought a big, hungry corporation (bigger and hungrier than a Leopard Shark!) wouldn’t get the joke.
I include a link to the commercial with one important caveat: YOU MUST NOT ALLOW IT TO SEDUCE YOU INTO BUYING ONE OF THESE (allegedly) SEA-BORN GREASE PATTIES.
Of course, there’s a certain degree of humor to be had from the idea the hipster sensibilities–that whole “look for something unique in order to bathe myself in that uniqueness just long enough that I can abandon it and say, well, I remember when that was authentic, long before they sold out”–being co-opted (not co-op, Pointdexter) to market these deep fried atrocities. There ain’t nothing authentic about Filet O’Fish, which is pretty much catfood on a mushy bun.
If you haven’t seen this great film, rent it yesterday–the soundtrack of David Bowie songs is worth the rental price alone, but the real treat is the fantastic cast, including Bill Murray, Anjelica Huston, Kate Blanchett, Owen Wilson, Willem Dafoe, and Jeff Goldblum.
If it weren’t
for this shovel
I would write
so many poems;
But, if I didn’t
have to shovel
I might not have
more poems to write.
Starting things off with a poem that winks back at you when you stare.
Hey Babe I think about all the miles
And the dishes and the diapers and dolls
And the I’ll cook and you can do the dishes
And the hours days months years decades—
Damn, Babe, decades! And I don’t want
To tell you I’ll grow old with you, or I’ll never
Leave you or, jesus, I see little goddamn stars
And rainbows and think of you and I sure as Hell
How sure is hell, though?—shit!—
Don’t give a damn about the flower I give you
When, what I really want, right at that moment,
Sitting across the table from your mom and your pop,
Is to light you on fire in a hurricane, laugh, and sing.
Coming up on the beginning of the holiday season, our town kicks things off with the annual “It’s a Wonderful Night In Indiana, PA” light up festival–there will be a parade, the mayor will wave from his car, and the marching band playing Christmas songs; next up is a bonfire, hot cocoa and all sorts of fun stuff for the brats–er–kids. Oh, and Santa’s coming, too. In honor of all that, and because I don’t feel like writing anything more thoughtful, here’s a few more things about the town I call home.