Friday, April 20, 2007

Is It a Coincidence this came out when it did? Frustration, A prequel, It's spring after all...

SUNDAY, APRIL 15th, 2007

The area known at one time as Mesopotamia is a mess. Charlie (Manson) and Company wanted a race riot? Said, the Beatles’ unnamed “white” album, (an all white cover, without title), told him to…Frustrated unknown, unable to get a contract or album made through myriad sources he met, finally made his own contract, with peeps (then known as followers, at one time good people,) ah, all disenfranchised YOUTH! And, but, it didn’t work. It just kept people paranoid, scared, and rightly so. See, told ya’! Youth, Hippies, Drugs. What good they ever do? Crapping in our own pants. That’s what that was. Follow the CIA rule, get Both countries neighbors fighting against one another and sit back and see the results. Pay for both and maybe we can move in later and work with them, whatever’s left…didn’t work. Not in Vietnam, not in L.A., not in the Middle East certainly.
Some say we’ll go to war with Iran next. Who do you think’s funding what’s going on right now? IRAN, SYRIA, CHINA, RUSSIA, whom-ever has a vested interest for us to fall flat on our tuckus.
THE U.S. has for a long time been the big bully. Soviet Union fell. Oh boy. But where is it now? It was long thought we’d fight one another. Do we still? Was all of that falling an illusion? Is it ready for a real fall? Is CHINA really behind all of this like they were in Southeast Asia?
THE U.S. didn’t want any thing to do with any one or any thing after World War I. Some people believe our powers that be, knew and allowed the shit in Hawaii to occur so that the people’s will would convert and we’d get into what was WWII. Same thinking with 9/11. Whatever. Same people think that who complain and go to lengths explaining red tape and issues as idio-crazy how things work/don’t work with the gov-ment. How can both be true?
How can there be an expertly guided, flawless cabal, and still the sludge with all this in-competence? That’s the beauty of it, you think, they are idiots. That’s the plan. (They want you to think that.) But really, it’s all under their strict control.
EXACTLY, yes, we all want that. Charlie did. Patty Hearst did…we all do…but we come to find out, we aren’t in control. It frustrates us, no? Who is in control, any one or thing? We (maybe) will find out, in living life, that no one is, that there is absolutely no light at the end of the tunnel of life. Do we go, oh well, or do we go out in/on a rampage? Which is best?

Greendik--Frustration Is Felt By All--Some times more some times less is done about it.


"Since we weren't here at the beginning, we might as well be here at the end."
--John Boyer, ARTIST.

I was laying on my back in my bedroom the other night after a full day of contemplation and doing some more, I decided finally, to call a friend in the porno business to see if she had that job we had been talking about all month that I was very reluctant to take. She couldn't talk. She was too excited.
"She's getting married", her friend picked up the phone and said to me. "Isn't it great?" her assistant screamed in my ear. "Yeah, sure. I guess." came my feeble response. I was in shock. I hung up quietly. They wouldn't notice, too scatter-brained. It's all too sudden for them, I thought. It'll never work. But then, I've never been married, so who am I to say? I live alone or try to and I just can't seem to get my shit together. Dammit, once again, all my plans washed away like so much snow in the rain. Oh well. I'll have to come up with something else to pay the rent. I was holding out on the porno gig for as long as I could. With a wedding on, that stopped everything. The moving to the city, everything.
I got to wondering...drifting off...staring at the blown stucco-like acoustic ceiling nonsense, I started making out faces in the chaotically placed material. I didn't know what to do. Leave town and work for a paper that could be sold at any moment in too many states too far away?
Suddenly this long, horn faced vision came to me. Yes. Who? What? What was that? I saw Satan and he spoke to me. "You are the one. You are the one who shall lead my people into hell." He said: "Here!" And then the long, goat/horse/old man face I conjured up in the ceiling noise abatement stuff was replaced with the most horrific hallucination I have ever seen. A ginormous festering green donkey's dick. "Here," He said. "Suck on this and you will be anointed." I'd be dead, I thought.
I got off that bed of contemplation slothful sin so damn fast. I never exited the sleeping slumber spot so quick in all my life. My heart was racing. I needed a swim. I got in the pool and thrashed around.
Dammit. Gat-dammit. What the HELL is going on here? Who am I? What am I? What is it with all this apocalyptic visitation crap? Might as well be here at the end, indeed! Who knew? Who knew? Am I here again? Reincarnation? Was I here before? What is all this nonsense? This isn't the story I had to tell. It's totally different from my original notes. The papers I have laying about me have the most heinous lies...disgusting rumors...I don't know where to begin. I thought I could write it all down simple as pie. The clean stuff. Tell them the nice one here. But nonesuch.
Last night after the vision, I got to pen and paper as fast as I could. What kind of allegory or what as that would this tale be able to relate? Some kind of sacrifice? Martyrology? Me? Heavens no. But, what was I to do? What was to be done?
I needed help, but had no where to run. No one would help me with this nonsense. They'd lock me up. Bad-assed, moterfinger music on full blast to drown out my nervousness and shaking. I felt like the bottom was going to fall out. All along the way of the freeway to my previous town's home. Los Angeles, out from behind the Orange Curtain once again. Shit. What up with that ugly vision? Who came up with that hackneyed crap?
There was no one there in the car but the music, and me in my 1988 Chevy, no levee to drive to. Besides, Don McLean has already tried that. Drinking rye whisky or whiskey and rye. The song doesn’t make sense. (I know exactly what I'm saying here.) He sang "they were drinking whiskey and rye." Well, you don't drink whiskey and rye. You drink rye whiskey. And if you are British, you drop the "E" in whiskey. This is the point I'm trying to make, to get you to understand by those comments. I need to clear out the pipes of my mind here at the same time. Clear the pipes. Yeah right. Porno reference. Get laid. Everyone's answer for everything. Sure. The beginning of the end really. They say your sex life ends at marriage. But enough of that.
I'm driving on the freeway, not of love and it's not in a pink Cadillac. It's a maroon sedan that's actually a single person vehicle. If any one sits in the shot gun position parallel to me, they get the headliner falling from the ceiling on their noggin. If any one sits in either of the back seats their feet get blood poisoning from no circulation. There's no room. I can't move my seat up any more forward. The thing tilts back permanently, but cannot move forward. It's got nothing to adjust it with. I have to have the seat rail all the way back, because I need room to drive. Else the steering wheel is in my face.
On the road again. I no longer have to wait. Music may be my only friend...but until the end...I'm going to have to quiet down here. Slow up. Slow up. Why won't every one slow up, or down?
Every one's pitching and swerving around me. I'm doing the speed limit and conditions are too dangerous for anything else. Much less even this from time to time. It's way crowded. Folks race by. Yes, it's like I'm standing still. They're going to get every one killed. There's no room for that kind of foolishness. Why doesn't every one see this? Conditions won't allow that speed for much longer. Every one's cranked and running up on every one else's ass. Stop it. STOP IT! Gad, if ever there was a time to be telepathic, it is NOW! Please, help me. Help me help me help me. Like that lost astronaut in the video game floating weightless in space. Drifting off. Unattached. Lost. Damn, what a pathetic wanker. Me I mean.
What do I want here? What do I think I need? A job? A license to steal? What?
I'm on my way to Los Angeles, and quite possibly it's the last time. I'm going to see a man about a dog, and I'm going to take that dog with me to Omaha, Nebraska, and begin a new life in an Airstream trailer at the end of an abandoned (by everyone but me,) dirt road. I'm tired of this divorced life of Orange County/L.A. County. Flip Flop. Flip Flop. Sick and tired of it. I deserve better and I know it. Just don't know what to do to implement something better. Don't know how to go about it. I'm no actor, for gosh sakes. I'm no writer. That much is true. What can I do? Work my ass off so hard for the Post Office at 8 bucks an hour and for what? What? It's screwed. Very dumb. No one's surviving any more. We're all dying. Doesn't matter what you do. It's not meant to last, but so what? I need something to do. NOW!
I'm not talented enough to do things every one else does. Maybe I should just quit. I research it and look at the people doing it, see what they do, and they're miserable. It's nothing work. On the phone all day yelling at people. 16 hour plus days. For the glory of what? All so you can say you hang out with the bitchen people? Got a crew jacket? F-that! That's no good.
I want to work and feel good about doing something. Is it too late? It's never too late they say. Yeah, the same they which in another voice contradict an earlier statement they make. "Be all you can be." "Obey your thirst." Then it's "Sit down, you're rocking the boat." "If you can't get along, move along." F-that. I am. I am here. I'm here for a reason. Maybe not what I think. Maybe not for sucking green donkey dicks, some kind of heinous euphemism for doing nasty stupid insane things one has to do to get by, but maybe...Perhaps I should make a deal with the devil. Suck his dick. But I don't believe in that kind of crap, so that won't work.
I didn't really see a big green donkey's dick hanging out the ceiling. (Just the face.) I just made that up. (And the voices.) Have to save face here. Won't even admit to the faces on the ceiling I saw as a kid when I was ill. No, I didn't. Not even in my worst drug addled youthful enthusiasm. I was never there. It didn't happen. I'm a liar and I'll tell you truthfully, that it never happened. This never even occurred. This life didn't exist. You do believe me, don't you?

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

The Waiting's The Hard Part

Cue: Tom Petty's tune, where it goes; The waiting's the hardest part. (Don't want any copyright problems here.) There, got that in your head right about now? Nothing to do with funk or soul brotherliness, no. That's another song, tune. Waiting. That's it. Waiting. The waiting, not the waking, the waiting, but might as well be about waking, (Or, the waking, I take my waking slow, learn by going where I have to go...Theodore Roethke) because we're up at 3.47 now and we're still waiting until I get this right, get it out, get it down, and get back to getting ready, waiting, for getting through my shaving and tai-chi chuan exercise, to get back to this, waiting, to finish, and get going to work.
The waiting is hard.
It seems like the bulk of my life has been spent waiting. Not being pleased or satisfied with the moment, where I am so much, and wanting something else, some where else to be. College. Out of College. In a job where I'm doing what I want and making enough not to have to worry so much. Doing the creative thing. Hiring friends of old from all over the place, commissioning them for projects I've had my mind on, and being able to do so in proper style. Not have to "work" for a living as it were. Not for others, not so much. I mean, not like I am now in a bind, in a complex labyrinthine superstructure.
I'm there, and she and she and she comes along, all along the way, and she's never mine. Never mine but for moments to spend together, which is fine, but fully dissatisfying, never able to connect, fully engage, any of these sweet beauties. Never. Never that. No. They have a boyfriend or girlfriend or are just way too flighty, or young, and I am too damn old. I have no game. I'm on their level, financially and socially and all...seems like. Seems like. I'm always waiting for the one or some one who'll spark it in me and then we can get together...but it's never to be. She's always otherwise engaged. Then, the kicker, waiting for the ones who are interested, to bugger off. I don't like them. Their package somehow reeks. It's rank. She's my age and hideous. She likes me but I really don't like her, not like that, the young the old, the one's who've got the body stylings I'm just not into. I don't like, not like that, not so much. I can talk to every one and usually do, earnestly, but for one thing or another I don't like the ones thus far, who've I suspected like me sexually. Not so far. Only my first and really truly only girl-friend. Damn, that beer commercial was right, You Never Forget Your First Girl. (That beer's okay.) But, to get back to the waiting...

Saturday, April 07, 2007

Detailed Disgusting Or, Massively Successful Day, Just didn't feel like it.

THIS IS VERY disgusting, yet we feel compelled to inform you:
Waking the other day at dawn to a clean gray cloud covered day, up early for a shit. Should say late because I slept in, am usually up before the dawn, when it’s black out and there’s really no telling what the sky is like. As it is now, 4.45, I just got up at 4.5, or half-past 4 in the A.M. due to snoring, headache, and massive cloudiness in the head. Yesterday wasn’t like that. As I was trying to say and want to say, in great detail though I don’t know why, just for facts and trying to get the record set straight.
We or I should say I was up around 8.30, it was cool gray covered sky as I got up to poop and … no, that’s not right either. I had planned to just get going and sit and read yet couldn’t. Sit down in the chair in the living/dinning area beneath me as I’m on the second floor and that’s where one of my favorite chairs is for sitting and reading until someone comes home or wakes up disturbing me completely, talking, (on the phone, or to me), turning on a wealth of noise and filigree to interrupt/disrupt my peace and inner equanimity, the setting/sensibility of sitting there perfectly alone undisturbed, reading some fiction matter totally (otherwise) immersed…
Had to set up my laptop computer for the lady whose house I’m living in to have computer access, as hers is fucked up right now. And she may get a new computer and yet she may also get hers fixed by the Geek Squad. I don’t know, I don’t care. I just wanted to…read…for a couple of hours, be quiet and open to the world early and relaxed and not have to worry or think about a thing other than sitting there and reading, perfect way to have a day off, sleep in and get up only to do nothing but read.
Not so, had to do that and feed the cat and fuck with the pool and other such things as breakfast and peeing and suddenly I have to sit and shit. Okay, normal, (of course), good. But not where I normally shit, in the room upstairs next to my own. Unusual, downstairs, and in the toilet which sits high for people who can’t bend down low and off set the toilet like mine’s gone sideways, and that’s not just because of the floor-bound carpet toilet cozy has and goes mixed it up out of shape, giving the appearance of an offset to the room toilet. No, my sitting on it with pressure of my body and all, wiping my ass like crazy, for all the shit I eat, it moves the thing so that its back, the water tank, which is normally parallel to the wall, is at an angle, and part of it, is touching. Damn, shouldn’t that be addressed? I don’t know how to move it or that even it should be…there’s the matter of the carpet, expense, and all such as that. I had to get my teeth looked at. I was hoping not to have another crown to fix my teeth sensitivity…hope is not have root canal or if it’s the tooth or teeth that’s fucking my self sense of “depression” of late from time to time…I’ve been eating all right of late I think and on time too of course…but not the day before, because I’d had some chocolate and it produced a smeary bunch of shit on my ass, like I’d been eating truffles, fudge, cream, mud. And wiping after a shit like that, flushing down the shit on the first round of spit into the tissue and then blot the ass, blot the ass, don’t rub: either front to back or back to front if you’re one of those, didn’t come clean after 4 to 8 tissues. No! O my goodness. Have to take a shower, and so I did, and not only was I clean, in the shower, soapy hand on my exterior/posterior/sphincter at my rectum, I felt better over all, as a shower some times will allow you to feel, after waking refreshed (seldom for me), and after having slept in, (Only on weekends, and only Friday morning, never Saturday, when waking. I already know my weekend is fucked, or that I’m fucked. The weekend’s over, even before the last day’s really begun.), a shower, yeah, wonderful. I am a new person.
Despite that despicable deal, that, each blot dab of toilet tissue had the center torn out, the back side of the hole clean, the perimeter, full of shit, and the repeatedly adding more on it only resulted the same after four or 6 tries, I determined to stand carefully, put on my p.j.’s , and slowly walk upstairs for a shower after flushing…wrapping a towel around my waist to go to my room and look for the day’s clothing wear, my old pajama’s duly going into the hamper.
Done! I did it. Described the whole shit encounter, shower and so forth, and so on, as much or as little as it actually happened, but it came out different of course than where/when/etc., that I woke just now at 4.30, to describe it.
I did it. I got my day done. Woke and got all that stuff done and only later read a chapter of the Dresden File book I got a week or so ago and am half-way through, and the night of the chocolate eating, to stay up and make it through the evening, as I’d been awake since three A.M. my normal wake time of late to get the day going, trying to read/write in the morning before work and get some day things adjusted, ready my self for work without rushing…done well, successfully, but just…needed help, and got extra stuff done in that I got to eat with friends, co-workers, and it was nice, extra, and got to get to a book signing, got 30% off the purchase price of a hardcover book even though I didn’t have to…well, fine. Fine and good because I took care of the pool and the lady with the borrowed laptop computer and though I blew the start time of the movie I wanted to see when I wanted to see it first, I saw the second show of the day, not the first, as I’d written down 2 instead of 12 and when I first got there, it was 12.40, and the show began at 12, I’d realized when I got there and I was upset, but not completely bowdlerized.
I went again to the store (Next to a new dentist I'm trying.) where I’d ordered my Scutellaria Baicalensis, Skullcap-root, not the leaves/blooms, like most skullcap is, Scutellaria Artifloria, for which most people take, like Holy Basil, as a calming agent to the senses/nerves…This root, is an anti-inflammatory, supposedly good for arthritis. I don’t know if I have this, but do have some pain in my knees, which go "skree-skree", when I bend them, like a squeaky, needs adjusting stairway. Very LOUDLY they squinch, and I don’t consider this a good thing. Also, Baicalensis, supposedly helps rebuild them. So, maybe this is right for me. I’d ordered this thing and come to find out they only order them right when they get a certain amount for this particular company. The fellow I talked to this time, he told me about it and told me to go to one place I’d been before and had checked and all and then, it occurred to me and since I’d had time, I did and asked like he said and the folks didn’t know but did give it a good deal of thought and work, not blowing me off like some folks will. No, it worked. I found it on my own after asking, and I didn’t get it on line like I could have and found…but wanted to get locally, so really, in all, it was a massively successful day…
I got my stuff, saw my movie. (Went to a later showing/eating a lot more than I thought possible and needed, but, did any way, all without drinking so much I’d have to pee like crazy: 4 hour movie: double bill, for which I used my free movie pass from my frequent movie goer, a deal the theater chain has.) I took care of the pool (Cleaning out the past due for vacating, quadruple-stuffed, leaf traps.), and the lady with the laptop set up, and read a chapter late in the day, (At night before bed, after wasting time on the computer looking for...what exactly?), and, when I went by the store where I’d ordered the stuff and got a blow off the other day before going by there, asking, they told me maybe Friday, or that, well, for sure then…I found out yesterday, Friday, that it hadn’t even been ordered, because as I indicated, they wait till a sufficient amount is ready/set up to get some from this company, before ordering, which makes sense, but today, since having found it, I’m canceling my order. That’s one of the things I must do today. I must also try again for some ACACIA CATECHU or Kair (Indian name) or Er Cha, Chinese name, (BARK) of the Acacia for you and me. (Which if you get too much, could cause acute renal failure: It kills your kidney's. I just now found out before posting this.)
YES, took care of everything, but not without some stress there and not like I’d like it, more calm and with reading in that goddamn chair by my lonesome, undisturbed, and without stuff to do other than what I’d planned, without having to concern myself with will I get to the movie and get it done and couldn’t I just sit in the chair and read first? I wanted to read all by my self first and foremost. Well, I got every thing done. Made an appointment with a new dentist, a member of my dental health coverage through work, which I’d not had done, and it’s right there next to a place I frequent, and I had been stressing about going to this place my mom goes to in Irvine, quite a ways away and I found out it’s not covered and maybe she just blew me off the receptionist did but she gave sound advice, check it with co-workers and I had done that with this other dentist a long time ago and it’s been a wacky five years and A LOT of dental work, and these strange report pages from MetLife, saying my dentist is not a participating member and you owe this amount to him…and I’m like, what? My dentist constantly querying me about what plan I have…and all…I’d upped my coverage as high as I could, you know? FUCK! And the last time I saw him he said some thing about a crown for that sensitive tooth, for the one he’d put shit on before and it became sensitive again…it being a deal and he shaving shit off of it and putting stuff on and then it just not being right…so, fuck that fuck.
Any way, I got the movie done, and before all that, first deal was to get the car taken care of. I did that too! It only took 45 minutes for a 60 dollar oil change…they fill the fluids and such, but, whatever. It’s 5K for the Toyota, but what? That way, more chances of things fuck up? Do it every 3K like the Jiffy Lube place says, and so most people agree. (I have a place that’s less than that. My local mechanic, of 6 plus years, does oil for 20+ The Jiff, they charge something like, 60+ for what god-awful nonsense, and to pay for their omnipresent blasting ad sales campaign.) You can go to a less expensive oil change, and go more frequently, though one still spends the money. So, what difference does it make? One way, you think, you have more pocket money over all, it builds/buys peace? But, stuff may still occur. Car batteries only last 5 years, and you can pay for one in that amount of time, buy yourself a car I mean. Same with I’m thinking, my teeth, you know? The maintenance part, expense now/later. Probably doesn’t matter, I may still need a crown on that tooth. I’ve ground it down with snoring and grinding/nerves and angst…all this matter, concern, thinking…
And now I guess, pontificating…but, I got it all done, and except for the sitting down and reading just the book in a chair, (I read a few things on line/email and articles things here/there.) it was a MASSIVELY, SUCCESSFUL day…but, still, I didn’t feel like it was. It was, I was, out of sorts for a while and I think depressed, and it sucked. I got stuff done, every thing I wanted but the one thing, which I’d not been too bad off about, what with the real zinging deals of I ate really before needing too and used a coupon for one place I’d had something before for what I thought was too much money, but did it any way, didn’t care, had to…but didn’t eat all the food myself in one sitting like I did yesterday. I shared it the other day with the lady with whose house I share. I guess I’m trying to say, despite my getting my tai-chi exercise done out of order and my not reading in that chair, getting up only to do that a while till I was tired of that…getting breakfast and getting food and eating and eating more…yeah, I had some food out, a breakfast burrito at a place up the street from the car place. There was one closer (It was closed.), but it had a help wanted sign in the window, and that’s a literary thing I did, came up with, never want to eat at a place like that. Short staffed, possibly disgruntled people, and, you never want it risked. You could suffer in the long run, e-coli, spitting into the food, not washed hands of hepatitis A-B-C sufferers…hired “illegal’s”, not cooking your food…who knows just what they’re bringing in or what they may have caught, coming here, may not be immune to what we have laying around, which they didn’t have at home, but could be susceptible too, but which we’re okay with, like: The Indians were fine here, but the smelly Europeons, brought Smallpox with them, gave the Indian’s blankets full of it (WMD) when they moved them here/there and every where.
My old college buddy, who used to pour motor oil from his cars down a dish-washing liquid soap lined toilet while getting someone else to flush it, had told me that one. About the Europeans giving the Indians smallpox in the blankets for when they moved them in the cold winter months….not a "small" pox at all I’d say, and moving them around I’d heard about…Indian Mounds in Mississippi and all that, I’ve seen all along the Natchez Trace, the road of which my dad’s dad helped to build. Damn! You think you know every thing when you read about how the Blacks moved from the South to the North as described in the book by somebody I can’t recall but is recommended in a recent blog by Anita Thompson, widow to Hunter Stockton Thompson, that writer who killed himself back in 05, the year my dad and step mother moved to Mexico…to get away from the South and Bush’s stupid United States…
{"The Promised Land" by Nicholas Lehman}
Yes, a massively successful day without reading you could say. A super rushed first day off after a busy week at work where I don’t like to veer too much into the working/doing stuff with, to, for, by, of, others; because it’s all about that at work, and I’m tired, and all I want to do is sit and read.
Very successful, but stressful, and that’s what I was trying to avoid, what I was trying to decompress from, that week I was full of: Thinking of the dentist and car service all week, for several actually. The book signing. It’s been fucked, on my mind, and I had not had a resolution plan the entire time. That was the biggest killer of my sense (of calm) and sensibility.
6.04, and it’s dark out still. Or at least it is to me as I’ve got (4) 100 watt, natural light, long lasting, light-bulbs burning. These French made incandescent’s, with some kind of pink/blue skin glass, which, when illuminated, throw off natural light, allowing the peepers to view things in their natural color and background. Skin reads right. Paint. Every thing. And it’s better on the brain supposedly. They sell it at the health food stores. No flicker like the cheaper, cooler, ballast-buzzing, environmentally less taxing (less energy consumed), fluorescent’s, which you can get at any hardware store. But who’d want to? Only schools and other businesses, who’re concerned with saving a buck or three on operating costs, and usually don’t give a flying cuss about environmental issues. Oooh, sweet irony? Is that a sound byte from Napoleon Dynamite? Some film I’ve never seen, but, should rent a copy today, and see here in my room. The kid, Jon Heder, now in Blades of Glory, with Will Ferrell. Whatever. It was a good day, came out well despite my-self, and yet I didn’t all feel "it", is what I mean. I did however walk out of the film (GRIND HOUSE) with a smile…crazy shit from Rodriquez and Tarantino. It’s not for every one. Homage to homage…and those films were not that good to begin with, so, so what? But, it’s where you went to see your films. It’s where you began…and that I do understand…smell of popcorn and milk duds…too bad that most of it was crushed on the floor and ended up on the screen or in a mud pack on the back seat of your pants one afternoon at the movies. Let’s all go to the movies. INTERMISSION. “Let’s all go to the lobby”…“Please put all candy wrappers and popcorn containers and drink cups into trash containers. THANKS!” –The Management. From some animated short info data propaganda, at a theatre in the San Francisco Bay Area, on the Peninsula: This movie theatre worker is in the lobby to change out the bags in the trash containers. After checking about three of them he finds they’re all empty. Looking into them and scratching his head. "???'s" pop up over his head. Then he looks into the theatre, opening up the double doors, and all this trash comes pouring out, covering the character. Then the voice of god/management says the bit, “Please put all trash, etc.” and then the character pops up out of the trash saying in this loud squeaky voice: “THANKS!” It’s supposed to be cute/funny, ending up being stupid, something we mock. Later look on fondly and laugh, but in a humorous, good way. I guess like it was intended. And maybe despite Jerry Seinfeld’s speech at the Oscars about rights to do just that about trashing the theater…you are a bit more conscientious about removing your trash. I know I am…but, I do that at restaurants as well. But, I don’t fucking give a hoot in hell if no one else does it…I do get miffed if others don’t drive well however, don’t consider others or the big picture of the driving/riding experience. For that I get concerned, and really I don’t need to.