this reminds me of a friend’s story about seeing david bowie in los angeles a few years ago, performing at a showcase for music industry execs. while she was ecstatic to be there, there was a disconnect between the luminescence of the performer and the nonchalance from the audience. i remember thinking, damn, life’s far too short for that!
oh bob parsons (CEO of godaddy.com) - quite the fool one must be to film oneself killing elephants, but scoring your amateur video to FULL METAL JACKET? that buys a permanent seat on the HUBRIS EXPRESS, right next to michael vick, mel gibson, sarah silverman, john galliano, gilbert gottfried, prince harry, john terry, silvio berlusconi, alexandra wallace, the uss enterprise, donald trump, max mosely, glenn beck, don imus, russell brand, mark foley, and, of course, sarah palin. CONGRATULATIONS!
btw, i love how your online handle includes DR! winning!!
if you like elephant killing videos by multimillionaire internet entrepreneurs who refer to themselves as doctors, and who enjoy indulging in the suggestion that said elephant killing is helping the helpless hungry villagers of zimbabwe, then here you go!
maybe i’m just sick of stipe and his spring awakening.
he’s everywhere in this damn town. i can’t go to a gallery without him popping up, undercover style, while all the art student girls and chelsea boys fawn over him.
i go to my favorite bakery, and there he is, trying to lay low while the espresso jerk drools over him.
i go to get my vietnamese pedicure and he’s fucking there, in the corner, hiding out, chewing on a straw like it doesn’t matter but everybody sees him and he knows it. asshole.
that new video? the one that sam taylor-wood directed? that might be aaron johnson dancing in it but he’s just a proxy for michael stipe. a younger, more fabulous, more stiped michael stipe. can’t stand it, that dancing video. what happened? it’s like watching bob fosse direct rocky balboa.
i’m on my way to my periodontist, and michael stipe is sitting in the waiting room, trying to be all cool and shit, without anybody noticing, but EVERYBODY notices. what the hell?
i’m at the fairway: he’s there, over by the organic cippoline onions, checking out the plantains.
i’m on the subway platform at york station: boom, there he is. i can see him behind one of those rusting iron beams, wearing his winter cap and three day stubble.
i turn on my ipad, open up the new york times app: yeah, michael, i see you. i get it.
"We all have our little solipsistic delusions, ghastly intuitions of utter singularity: that we are the only one in the house who ever fills the ice-cub tray, who unloads the clean dishwasher, who occasionally pees in the shower, whose eyelid twitches on first dates; that only we take casualness terribly seriously; that only we fashion supplication into courtesy; that only we hear the whiny pathos in a dog’s yawn, the timeless sigh in the opening of the hermetically-sealed jar, the splattered laugh in the frying egg, the minor-D lament in the vacuum’s scream; that only we feel the panic at sunset the rookie kindergartner feels at his mother’s retreat. That only we love the only-we. That only we need the only-we. Solipsism binds us together, J.D. knows. That we feel lonely in a crowd; stop not to dwell on what’s brought the crowd into being. That we are, always, faces in a crowd."