Terry Gilliam and Charles McKeown, �The Adventures of Baron Munchausen�
First of all, I�m going to be making some assumptions with this entry, the first of which involves me assuming that you have good enough sense to have seen this movie on your own. I may not have a multitude of readers, but the ones that I have are (with the exception of his-holiness) smart fucking people with good taste in music, film, books, and bedside manner. So again, if you haven�t seen the movie on which this book is based, you need to work on your coolness points.
There are certain things people should experience in their youth, before they take things too seriously to enjoy them. Dead Kennedys. Early John Hughes AND John Waters movies. Evil Dead 2. Monty Python. The original Dawn of the Dead as well as Return of the Living Dead. The Muppet Show. Failed attempts at shoulder tapping.
I know these aren�t things limited to my own misspent youth. It�s just that instead of being embarrassed about them, I�ve built hundreds of entries on this site reminiscing and I think that sometimes the clarity that comes though makes the story a little less believable, though no less entertaining.
That�s what the subject of this film and book by Python alumni Terry Gilliam discusses � what if nobody believed you any longer? Gilliam�s hero regains his self worth through a child who learns to believe in the fantastical.
So, great. Apparently you need children to help validate your existence. And me with that damn restraining order.
I�m kidding, I�m kidding. I like kids. I even considered having one, but then realized I simply wasn�t that hungry.
Anyway. Sometimes I�ll retell an experience, and more often than not someone will ask, �did you really say that?� When I affirm, they always say they�re not surprised. Which means I�ve become a living caricature.
Seriously, though, I�ve always wondered if weird shit just happened to me, or if I just remembered it better than most. Ultimately, I think it�s a combination of the two. But sometimes I wish things could be a little more plain. Think of it this way. Go look at the ingredients of a package of Slim Jims. Go ahead, I�ll wait. I know you have a stash over in the corner. And don�t start with that �I�m a vegetarian� crap, you and I know that Slim Jims are only made from evil animals that totally deserved it.
But see, that�s where things get complicated. The ingredient list doesn�t simply say, �Contains evil animals,� they try and hide it with a dozen unpronounceable, unspellable words and euphemisms. By contrast, look at a bag of pork rinds. I did, just the other day, curious as to what kind of horrors lay within the heart attack in a barrel.
Ingredients: Pork rinds, salt.
Oh, well ... that clears that up.
What I suppose I�m trying to say is that sometimes I�d rather have the pork rind life. Just me and my salt, playing guitar, to turn a phrase from the Minutemen.
Then again, I�m not sure what pork rinds are. I get this mental image of holding a pig upside-down and taking a bite through the belly � a pork watermelon of sorts, and you simply keep eating, spitting out the seeds until you reach the rind at the bottom. Since I�m pretty sure that�s not accurate, I shouldn�t be pining for the uncomplicated life they leave.
Wow. This is the most nonsensical post ever. I think mixing Pabst Blue Ribbon with Samuel Adams specialty beers makes you crazy. Let�s just pretend this didn�t happen, ok?
Sorry to bother you.
