Not as bad as the Gulf, but...

The apartment is starting to look like my old house in Venice, complete with greasy pans, ants, soupy bananas, dirty clothes, and broken dreams.

SMART CAR FOR A SMART DRIVER

I'm going to put on my marketing hat on now and bombard you with opportunities to buy things. Is there some irony in riding a 1974 Vespa Ciao moped and writing ads for 2002 Mercedes-Benz convertibles? I'm saving up to buy a 1975 moped. Each ad earns me $1 and moves me one seat further away from Thoreau at the great vegetarian buffet table in the sky.


SMART CAR FOR A SMART DRIVER. Push button customized settings put you in control of this Certified Pre-Owned Mercedes-Benz SL 500. The retractable hard top converts this classy black/gray sedan into a sporty ride. Navigation system guarantees you arrive on time and the luxurious black leather interior puts you in the seat of style. Musically equipped with 8 speakers, a remote 6 cd changer and an in-dash single cd player. Contact XYZ Used Cars today!


COWBOY UP! Stand out in a crowd with this brilliant blue and tan BMW 325Ci convertible. Memorized seat and mirror settings for 3 drivers plus a navigation system. Rich with features such as rearview camera and privacy glass. Contrasting beige interior puts you in the lap of luxury. Advanced stability control and driveline traction control make this a classy car from top to bottom. Call or email Dallas Used Cars for a test drive.

SUNSHINE ON WHEELS. This sleek whistler silver metallic Mercedes-Benz C320 sedan will never leave you out in the heat. Safety and comfort come first with air conditioning to keep you cool on those humid summer afternoons and safety air bags all around the peaceful gray interior. Navigation system, moon roof, cruise control and other features make this a practical and dynamic choice. Contact Florida Used Cars for a test drive.

Confederacy of Dunces Screenplay

The following is an excerpt of a screenplay based on John Kennedy Toole's book. Contact Oggy Bleacher for option terms on the entire screenplay.


Fade in

INT. IGNATIUS’S INTESTINES:
We travel through the cramped and bloated intestinal tract of Ignatius J. Reilly, passing a half digested cream puff, a lump of chewing gum, a scrap of paper that says, “Jonathan Swift”, a puddle of syrupy fluid and some chunks of hot dog until we freeze at a complicated system of flaps labeled “Pyloric Valve”. The flaps trembles violently like a lid on a pot of boiling water before it slams closed with a bang. Gas and substance begin to back up behind the closed valve and we quickly rise through Ignatius’s intestines and esophagus and exit his cavity ravaged mouth as a monstrous belch.
EXT. CANAL STREET NEW ORLEANS - DAY
Ignatius is a 30 year old rolling bundle of fat, dressed head to toe in a fantastic array of functional but unfashionable clothes. He has a broad hunting cap with the ear flaps splayed out in either direction. His neck is wrapped in a long tweed scarf. His billowing corduroy pants are patched at the knees with curtain fabric. He wipes his mustache with a filthy handkerchief.

IGNATIUS
Mother, if you mention perogies once more, I shall faint.
MRS. REILLY
Aw, babe.
IGNATIUS
They are an abomination.
MRS. REILLY
Go on, Ignatius. How ‘bout one o’ them fine po’ boy sandies?
IGNATIUS
Oh, my God! Did I just hear you say Po Boy? Have we been transported to the story line of an insipid Mark Twain novella?
MRS. REILLY
Naw, baby, we still in N’awlins.
IGNATIUS
The mere fetid stench rising from the gutter would have reminded me of our regrettable location.
MRS. REILLY
That’s shrimp, ‘Natius. How ‘bout a mess of shrimp for lunch? I can fix it up boiled or however you like.
IGNATIUS
Mother, do I look like I’m in a condition to eat? My innards are in violent revolt as we speak. Those cream puffs were past their prime. You should demand an immediate refund.
MRS. REILLY
Boy, you done ate the whole box. I gonna return an empty box?
IGNATIUS
A minor detail in a legal case. That bakery should be sued for misrepresentation. The pastry was overcooked and there was a mere hint of cream filling. I demand justice!
MRS. REILLY
How ‘bout some Jambalaya?
IGNATIUS
My saliva glands are preparing my mouth for an onslaught of projectile vomit.
MRS. REILLY
What’s that, baby? That a yes or no?
IGNATIUS
A definitive no.

Mrs. Reilly examines Ignatius’s hat. She reaches out to take it and he bats her hand away.

MRS. REILLY
Why you gotta wear that hat? Ain’t you hot?
IGNATIUS
If you wish to discuss something as culturally decadent as fashion I suggest you visit the local hair salon or seamstress. Tasteless chatter is their native tongue.
MRS. REILLY
And that scarf!
IGNATIUS
Would you prefer I die of exposure?
MRS. REILLY
Exposure to what? The sun?
IGNATIUS
The scarf would be unnecessary if a scoundrel had not stolen my lumberjack coat. Its high collar was more than enough to protect me from disease and premature death.
MRS. REILLY
It’s a shame ‘bout that coat.
IGNATIUS
A thorough investigation by the authorities would bring my coat back to me but it’s disappearance is apparently not worthy of their time.
MRS. REILLY
I know it.
IGNATIUS
It just goes to show you that when one leaves the safety of one’s comfort zone he will be attacked on all sides by vipers and wastrels. I must devote some time to an essay on this subject.
MRS. REILLY
That’s a nice, smart boy. You would’a made your poppa proud.

The pair amble down the sidewalk.

Starting From Scratch

Does anyone else stop to consider that the majority of our beliefs are derived from a culture of idiots? Like, The Nat King Cole television show had to compete with Hee Haw...and Hee Haw won...so what we call culture is Hee Haw. Our cultural perception is based on what a hungover writer scribbled out so Sally Fields and Tim Conway could say it through a hole in a barn. Is that ok with you? I'm not comfortable with that. I would like to clean the slate but I'm having a hard time doing it. Things like beauty and what is environmentally acceptable have no basis in science, but are more likely to be based on something I saw in a McDonalds ad or when I was reading a Batman comic. You could say our parents pass on many of our beliefs which means I'm relying on the incredibly manipulative '50s media with bomb fallout shelters or "I'm a doctor and I smoke Pall Mall."
See, above all, I think this is behind my desire to drop out completely. I am very uncomfortable with values that were designed with the benefit of oil stock holders in mind. I can recognize them but it turns out that to resist them only causes giant problems. So, I don't belong. I resist and am considered undesirable. Fine. But the real problem is actually succeeding in flushing out these poisonous values. It's damn near impossible. IMPOSSIBLE.
People like to say that we don't use most of our brain's potential. My answer to this is to try to reverse your political opinions. Just try to do that. Switch sides from liberal to conservative or conservative to liberal. That should be easy. Right? It's hardly any brain power at all. You saw Bambi as a kid and like animals. Your dad was a hunter so you like to kill animals. So, just switch. Well, if we can't do that then maybe we've got a high opinion of our brain power. Maybe we are pathetically slow and to even manage to grasp a single political opinion is about as good as it gets. To switch sides is hopelessly hopeless. We aren't capable of reinventing ourselves.
I've tried for twenty years to stop watching boston sports but I still care when the celtics suck and miss easy layups or blow their defense. You would think that after 20 years I would not care about these things. But it's almost biological. I don't care about the Celtics. In fact, their fate is only a distraction to me, like the rain outside. So why do I still care? Other people don't care. I want to be like them.
Is there electro shock therapy for this? I want answers!

Good Song, Bad Ear

I can't post any more bedroom performances until I rectify this flat vocal problem I have. I can picture Randy Jackson shaking his head and saying, "You're flat, dog. Real flat."
And I am. Let no one say I've got a good ear because people with good ears for music do not sing flat. This was a problem with the violin which once you've got tuned you still have to hit the exact spot on the neck to get the right note. And the note has to match the piano. So you adjust. Well, I never adjusted. I always played in the same spot and some days it was in tune and some days it wasn't.
"No, Oggy, the violin isn't the problem," said my teacher.
"Can't you tune it again?"
"It's in tune."
"Then what's going wrong."
"You aren't listening to the note you are playing."

So, when I sing I usually hear myself as sort of in tune. Like, it doesn't sound terrible, but listening to these videos I have to conclude that I'm not in tune. I'm flat. And the problem is breath control.
Let me introduce you to a guy who has no problem with breath control. Leonard Cohen. This song, I believe, is an attack on Bob Dylan, "The man in white". It would've been directed at his Nashville Skyline album and Self Portrait since Cohen's album arrived in March '71. This is what people go to grad school to research but can we just pretend I already did that? What do you think?