Summer is finally creeping up on Seattle, and I am none too pleased. After listening to the other locals whining and complaining about the protracted Spring, the sun has finally made an indelible appearance, hastening the arrival of my freckle explosion, mild sunburns and a profusion of sweat. The last of these things brings about a multitude of woes, from rank undershirts to outbreaks of unsightly blemishes. Lamentable as all this may be, it skirts around the main issue, which is that I absolutely loathe sweating. Above and beyond any other physical condition, short of waterboarding, sweating makes me surly, argumentative and just plain cranky. The heat and humidity is also an oppressive force that fogs my mental faculties and degrades my already diminishing creative inspiration. Summer, the bane of me.
Among the millions of things I could be doing right now instead of whinging on my blog, is looking for a new job and a new place to live. The former should have already been resolved, but thanks to some cold feet too far up the food chain for me to throttle, that fell through. The latter is equally frustrating and difficult, but has to be resolved before the end of the month. Seemingly both of these things should take precedent over simple pleasures, like venting and trying to get laid. As it turns out, only one of those endeavors happens organically. The other requires more effort than I can muster at this given moment.
Oddly enough, The Dark Knight finally clicked with me night before last. There are still elements that I find worrisome (such as Bruce Wayne performing Batman duties in the middle of the day, sans disguise), but I finally GET why Nolan dispensed with all the fantasy trappings of Batman Begins in lieu of the more realistic setting. Sometimes I’m a tad slow.
I also finally find The Producers funny. Certainly it’s no Blazing Saddles or even Spaceballs, but after a few watches it has grown on me. Initially I wasn’t too impressed, because too much of the humor seemed like it may have been risque in the 60s, but was commonplace today (like the gay director). But some of the other jokes have worn well (like Franz complaining about the way Churchill pronounced “Nazis”).
I have a handful more DESTROY pictures that I captured earlier this week, along with some other interesting graffiti. I’ll try to get those up this weekend. Right now, I’m off to delve into a bit of atmosphere that Joseph has sent me for a possible revival of the Nests of Disorder project.
Auf wiedersehen, baby.
