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:: Step 3: The distilled essence of blogging, in which Morland pontificates on pop culture ::
Monday, August 09, 2004
As little as I've been watching television recently, I'd forgotten just how good of a time-waster it could be. On a lazy Sunday, deathly hungover and recovering from a night spent singing karaoke (Joey TOTC was right) and casing the mean streets for a fix, it's a bleary-eyed man's best friend.
I learned about the construction of the Oakland Bay Bridge. I found out the band Europe were Swedish, which I should have guessed for myself. And I watched almost all three hours of Patton, during which I heard him praying, trying to allay the barbs of his critics:
My soul has kept very close behind You: Your right hand has upheld me. But they vainly sought after my soul; they shall go into the lowest parts of the earth. They shall be delivered up to the hand of the sword; they shall be portions for foxes.
I had little ecclesiastical inculcation as a child, a result perhaps of the highly dissimilar faiths of my parents (they knew not to "cross the streams" religiously - did I mention Ghostbusters II was on Comedy Central this afternoon?), so I had not heard this before. It stuck in my brain because of the phrase "portions for foxes", which happens to be the title of a track from the upcoming Rilo Kiley album. I felt the compulsion to look up the full passage.
The level of theatrical bombast in the psalm at first stuck me as quaintly anachronistic, but as I watched Patton I began to notice echoes of the same hyperbolic posturing, from which moody indie rock as well certainly suffers no shortage. And why not? Art is all about addressing the epic. Even when tackling the mundane it does so epically.
I therefore resolve that this week will be epically mundane. I will not "take care of that right away", I will "make alacritous haste, as Hermes o'er the Aegean Sea". Instead of walking home I will stride with certainty of the highest order. I will beseech the currymonger for a Pad Thai bereft of iniquity as there is light yet still in the heavens.
Let he who stands in my way be, um, mincemeat unto opossums. At the gallows. With lice. And plague. Plaguey lice.
Posted by morland @ 12:49 AM
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