anonymouse

I'm staying in tonight. I've decided to only go to parties that have gift bags. I like free stuff, don't you?

Today, I caught up with recent episodes of This American Life, and I started crying because there was a segment (or "act") on one of my favorite movies, The Beaver Trilogy. It's one of my favorite movies. It's... not a sad segment. You can listen to it here. But I received my copy of The Beaver Trilogy from Isaac, the co-proprietor of Lion Video in Coral Gables. He passed away not too long ago, and it was really fucking sad. He had his little "God, protect me from Your followers" and other bumpe rstickers all over the counter, and he... was awesome. And he made me a copy of The Beaver Trilogy because it is NOT distributed anywhere. I don't know how many copies are out there. Twenty? Thirty? ...Ten? Well, it's fucking sad. I would rent Richard Kern flicks, and he would smirk knowingly, and I would say, "I have to read this because Nick Zedd is on my AOL buddylist!" And he would say, "Suuuure," and I would say, "It's true! Go read his livejournal!" And this was before Friendster was around, where you tried to figure out if that really was J.T. LeRoy's profile (it was -- I had a brief email correspondence with him pre-Friendster, because I don't remember why -- I was... 15, 16, then? I liked his stories, his novels. And Asia Argento is now filming an adaptation of The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things, and Peter Fonda and Lydia Lunch, Winona Ryder and Jeremy Sisto are in it, but so are Marilyn Manson and Tim Armstrong -- weird). At the time, I felt it was really important to know people. I don't feel that way any more since I see lots of C-listers floating about like so many turds in an overflowing toilet. Dennis Rodman is currently the saddest one I keep seeing everywhere. I changed banks and stopped shopping at Wild Oats because OJ Simpson patronized both places. That was a while ago, though, and he's hardly a celebrity any longer. He's more infamous than famous, I guess.

I went off on a tangent. Anyway... Lion Video isn't the same. It's at the same location, it has the same huge library of foreign films, bigger than any other video store in South Florida, and... It's sad. But I invited three friends over to watch The Beaver Trilogy, the copy Isaac made for me years ago. And I need to find a VHS tape I can do without and pour some malt liquor on it in tribute. Or light a candle. Isaac, you were brilliant. And this movie, it's a brilliant movie. The first part is a documentary, the second part is a shot for shot reproduction of the doc starring a young Sean Penn, and the last part is a Hollywood version starring Crispin Glover, who every girl who once dyed her hair black and smoked cloves LOVES. It's true. You know it. Did you dye your hair black once? Did you smoke cloves? How do you feel about Crispin Glover? You love him? Get out of town!

I stole this picture from Lux's pics. He's playing the Orkly Kid, and he's dressed up as Olivia Newton John. He's singing "Please Don't Keep Me Waiting."



I don't know if Lux dyed her hair black as a teenager or smoked cloves, but she sure is pretty. And awesome. She reminds me of Robin, the first girl I ever had a crush on. Okay, not the first girl. The first girl I had a crush on was Cristina, in the third grade. She was mean and had wonky Jewel teeth, but she had a great ass. I clearly remember staring at her ass during a game of dreaded dodgeball. I was behind her, out of the game because someone beaned me in the head with one of those vile red rubber balls, a ball that looks softer than it feels. And I stood there trying my damnedest to not catch a ball, and I stared at her ass. And a ball fell into my arms because God hates girls who likes girls or something. But Robin... I guess she was my second girl crush. I was in the eighth grade. She was into witchcraft and Sailor Moon. She thought it was really important that everyone know how to properly pronounce Uranus. It's yoo-rah-nes, not your anus. She had green eyes and light brown, almost blond, hair. And I thought she was the most beautiful girl on earth, if slightly weird. But not too weird. She didn't try to look weird. She just wore jeans and tee shirts, and looked cute, and... she was who she was. And I think that's why I loved her. And that's why I remember her name. I don't remember anyone else's name from the eighth grade, except for the people I still talk to and the girl who beat me up in the girl's bathroom that one time (you learn to hold it in). And I remember Ricardo. We went to see the re-release of The Empire Strikes Back. And we made out. I remember that, too, because it was my first kiss. He was from Brazil, and he liked me liked me.

Anyway, I need to buy a copy of this show. It's not online like most of the shows for This American Life, but I need it because check this out:

It's almost scary how we're all so much alike. There are people out there who feel like they're unique and original, that no one understands them, and they usually grow out of that post-adolescence. But that's a lonely feeling. And it's comforting to know that everyone experiences the same horrible, crappy, nightmarish things we've gone through. There isn't a single indignity you've suffered that someone else hasn't suffered as well. That's not schadenfreude. That's... something else entirely. That's, "Oy, tell me about it. I'm glad that's in the past."

Oy, tell me about it. I'm glad that's in the past.