So there are a few things every writer or blogger attempts to eventually tackle. Every writer wants to write clever incites they noted while people watching because no one has ever been as clever as they have been. Then every writer wants to tackle romance and love (or the opposite) because no one has ever felt the way they do about someone. Finally, every writer wants to write flaming hot political prose because no one has ever seen it like they have seen it, man.
Well, I might as well fart mustard seeds in front of a crowd while banging my balls with a hammer instead of attempt to babble about politics so you don't have to worry about that one. So, that leaves the other two. Well, I really did want to rant about my recent trip to New York City and how out of place I felt being an uneducated redneck wandering the Lower West Side with a beautiful blonde. But then I realized that is like, every Bob Dylan song ever written. So, fuck, what was I going to do? Oh, this is original, I will talk about airports! Ha!
So, I hate romantic comedies (hold on guys, I swear I ain't drinking yet! I will swing this somehow) because they are generally awful. But honestly, they make me horrifying and nearly cripplingly depressed (I am such a fucking man) because of how untrue they are. None of that happy shit ever fucking happens in real life. However, I have learned there is one slice of truth in the asspie; the airport d'awwww scene (told you I ain't drunk you ugly screw! I brought that shit around!)
This shit is real! The airport is so fun for people watching. Watch a mom finally have enough of her screaming offspring and 'accidentally' trips over him, body checking the little bastard into a wall. Watch as she 'doesn't notice' and hauls the fuck away to let dad scoop up the disaster. Watch as a 5'2" man head bangs to the blaring sound of "I don't give a single fuck. Not one. Not any." As he jams out on the people mover (an escalator but horizontal so fat people don't smell too bad from walking too hard) with his head phones on. Watch as a little kid tells a grown ass man to calm down and eat his, "Fucking ugly burrito." Watch as tempers flare and a fucking fight breaks out in one of the international gates. Watch as a man has bought a ticket just so he could get through security, kneel down on one knee, and wait for thirty-five minutes for his girlfriend (who was in full military fatigues) to deplane. Watch as she drops her bags and collapses to the floor, crying, and yelling, 'Yes, yes, yes!' over and over again. Watch as even though he is visibly shaking from pain and emotion, he stays on one knee and refuses to tear up. Watch as he stays there until he can actually say the words and she can accept the ring. Watch as a crowd of busy people, who would normally not even notice the person next to them stop at the gate and watch. Watch as she finally pulls herself together, allows him to say the words, and accepts the ring. Then watch everything (minus the hugging couple) go back to normal.
All of this, every part of it, happened as I was travelling back from New York City. I may not be any better at people watching nor any more clever as any other bloke. But the airport really is a magical thing.
II. My Morning With Malory
So I had an extremely weird morning . I got off work, feeling awful and tired as usual, and ran to the store to grab cat food and soap. It was simply awful outside. The kind of cold, slow rain that makes everything either literally move at a crawl, or it just seems that way. The dreary, wickedly overcast sky that simply redefines the word 'hope'. This is my favorite weather. Seriously.
After leaving the store I decided to dig through my CD collection and find an appropriate soundtrack for the terrible (awesome) weather. The Buzzcocks' A Different Kind of Tension, Bauhaus' Volume One, and a weird mix of Zapp & Roger that my friend made and threw at me when he drank an entire litre of Canadian Hunter were all looking absolutely delicious. That is until I saw another gem, one of the few remaining pieces left from my brief love affair with Dream-Pop and Shoegaze; motherfucking The Third Face by Malory.
Yeah...this would be them.
Who is Malory? What is Malory? Well, I will try to explain. Half of their songs sound like the soundtrack to a shitty Julia Roberts sex scene in the early 90s. A fourth of them are what I imagine you would hear in an American fashion store trying to be 'European'. The rest is just really bad Dream-Pop that could be played in the world's hippest elevator. This album is really, really bad (their later stuff is actually quite good, so check that out).
However, just because I said they aren't good doesn't mean that they suck (KISS, Winger, and Wham! fans know what I am talking about). There is something absolutely enthralling and magical about their music. Somehow, their absolutely mediocre attempt at Shoegaze accomplishes what all Shoegaze attempts (at least in my opinion, again...Zapp and fucking Roger): to simply turn your brain off and ride the bizarre journey that is their album or set. I learned this when a simple mission to buy cat food, a sandwich, and some soap turned into a whole hour of me aimlessly driving around, smoking as if their would be grave consequences if I wasn't doing so, and just really fucking listening to goddamn Malory.
I took one bite of my sandwich and set it down, no longer hungry. Most of the ice in my soda was melted by the time I actually got home. My cat was livid (or whatever emotion cats possess that translates to, 'where in donkey fuck have you been? My shitter is full and my bowl is empty. This. This is a fucking problem, human.') So, this is how I came to decided that Malory is full of German wizards. I can't explain this, but maybe the lyrics will. Oh, wait, they don't fucking exist. I have looked everywhere.
So, this essay has absolutely no fucking point. None. Sorry, I wasted your time. Hopefully it didn't take long to read this far. In fact. I shouldn't even publish this one...but I am an asshole and I spent way too much time attempting to rant and portray this ridiculous Shoegaze German band, so fucking deal with it.
No comments:
Post a Comment