"Talk Hard"

Another Archived Post from 2011:


"Do you ever get the feeling that everything in America is completely fucked up?" -- Mark Hunter/Hard Harry

As hinted, in a post I made almost a year ago, I also have a desire to toss some verbal masturbation out into the intarwebs, about my other favorite movie from the late 80's: Pump Up the Volume.

I was slightly less impressionable when I saw this movie. I was in the Tenth Grade, as opposed to the Seventh, but the impact it made on me was no less significant. More importantly, just like Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure/Bogus Journey, Pump Up the Volume drove home another point that seemed part of my basic personality as a teen. It reminded me that sometimes, if you want to do what's right, you've got to break some rules.

As I'm writing this, I am finding myself having a hard time reaching a decision. What was more important to me: The music, or the movie itself? I'd say that they are equally important, however . . . without the music, the movie wouldn't be what it was. The music would stand on its own, without the film.

For those who have not seen the film, it's about a high school student, Mark Hunter. He's relocated to Arizona from New Jersey with his family, when his dad accepts a job as the commissioner of Hubert Humphrey High. I'm sure there's some joke to be made about a high school named after Hubert Humphrey, but I'm not versed in the 60's political climate. I'll refrain. I'd just fuck it up.

But I digress.

Mark, who had plenty of friends back home in Jersey, finds it impossible to meet people in Arizona. He becomes shy, and withdrawn. Yet, in a stroke of inspired genius that can only occur in the mind of a 17 year old boy -- he decides to use the shortwave radio set that his parents bought him to "talk to his friends back home", to launch a pirate radio station. He assumes the persona of Happy Harry Hard-On. Hubert Humphrey High. Happy Harry Hard-On. I really don't have to point out the synergy there folks, do I?

Harry goes live, every night, at 10pm. Because of the sensitive position he's in, with his father's job, he uses a modulator to change his voice. He talks about everything, and anything. At first he's just waxing philosophical on the trials of being a teenager, but then something happens.

All of his fellow classmates, begin to view Hard Harry as a latter day prophet of sorts. They look to him. They listen to him.

I just stepped away for 10 minutes or so, and walked back with the intention cutting off the synopsis, and just hitting the salient points. As I said, I believed that the music was more important. However, in the process of writing this, I've come to realize that I was wrong. The music would have never had the impact on me that it does, if it weren't for the movie.

Enough of the introspective After School Special.

Mark/Harry decides to take on the issues of corruption at the school. The expulsion potential "trouble-makers", and "undesirables" during the first week of school--while keeping their names on the roll, so the school would get more money from the state. Principal Cresswood, the mastermind behind this nefarious plot, truly believed she was doing it for the good of the school. It's one of the oldest debates on the polarity of good and evil. Both sides truly believe they're right.

It begins, when Mark/Harry lifts a memo from his father's home office, and discovers that a girl named Cheryl has been expelled, because she is pregnant. That begins the influx of trust from his classmates. Teenagers rarely believe that anyone is fighting for them. Then, out of the blue, during a time when radio was king, comes a voice that speaks to them.

Mark/Harry begins to take phone calls and letters from his listeners. One day, he receives a letter signed, "I'm Serious".

The letter reads as follows:

Dear Harry,

Do you think I should kill myself?

I'm Serious.

And here, the shitstorm begins, my faithful few readers.

The next day, in his creative writing class, Mark is informed that one of his classmates killed himself the night before.

I'll do my best to quote his following broadcast monologues:

"You see I never planned it like this. My dumb Dad got me this short wave radio set so I could just speak to my friends back east, but I couldn't reach anybody, I thought I was talking to nobody. I imagined that nobody listening. Maybe I imagined one person out there, anyway one day I woke up and I realized I was never going to be normal and so I said fuck it, I said so be it and Happy Harry Hard-On was born. I never meant to hurt anyone, honestly I never meant to hurt anyone. I'm sorry Malcolm. I never said "Don't do it" I'm sorry . . . anyway I'm done, stick a fork in me it's been grand. This is Happy Harry Hard-On saying sayonara, over and out."

At this point, there is a dramatic pause:

Off the air: "What am I doing? Fuck it!"

On the air: "You hear about some kid who did something stupid, something desperate. What possessed him. How could he do such a terrible thing. It's really quite simple actually. Consider the life of a teenager. You have parents, teachers telling you what to do. You have movies, magazines, and TV telling you what to do. But you know what you have to do. Your job, your purpose, is to get accepted, get a cute girl friend, and think up something great to do with the rest of your life. What if you're confused and can't imagine a career? What if you're funny looking and you can't get a girl friend? You see no one wants to hear it, but the terrible secret is that being young is sometimes less fun than being dead.

Suicide is wrong, but the interesting thing about it is how uncomplicated it seems. There you are, you got all these problems swarming around your brain, and here is one simple, one incredibly simple solution. I'm just surprised it doesn't happen every day around here. No now they're going to say I said offing yourself is simple, but no, no, no, no, it's not simple. It's like everything else you have to read the fine print. For instance, assuming there is a heaven who would ever wanna go there, you know. I mean think about it, sitting on this cloud, you know it's nice, it's quiet, there's no teachers, there's no parents, but guess what? There's nothing to do. Fucking boring. Another thing to remember about suicide is that it is not a pretty picture. First of all, you shit your shorts you know. So there you are dead, people are weeping over you, crying, girls you never spoke to are saying, "Why? Why? Why?" and you have a load in your shorts. That's the way I see it. Sue me. Now, they're saying I shouldn't think stuff like this. They're saying something is wrong with me, that I should be ashamed. Well, I'm sick of being ashamed. Aren't you?

I don't mind being dejected and rejected, but I'm not going to be ashamed about it.

At least pain is real. You look around and you see nothing is real, but the pain is real. You know, even this show isn't real. This isn't me; I'm using a voice disguiser. I'm a phoney fuck just like my Dad!! . . just like anybody. You see, the real me is just as worried as the rest of you. They say I'm disturbed, well of course I'm disturbed. I mean we're all disturbed, and if we're not, why not? Doesn't this blend of blindness and blandness want to make you do something crazy? Then why not do something crazy? It makes a hell of a lot of sense than blowing you fucking brains out you know. Go nuts, go crazy, get creative! You got problems? You just chuck'em, nuke'em! They think you're moody? Make'em think you're crazy, make'em think you might snap! They think you got attitude? You show'em some real attitude! Come on, go nuts, get crazy. Hey no more Mr. Nice Guy!!!"

At this point, Mark/Harry takes a call from a student who is dealing with his emerging homosexuality, and the bashing that goes along with it. I want to desperately go into it, however I'm already writing to an arrogant length.

One of the ideas that keeps being repeated, over and over, is that Mark is waiting for something. For someone. For a voice to come out of the darkness.

It's at this point, that I notice I've skipped over the entire relationship with Nora, "The Eat Me Beat Me Lady," -- hey, it was the late 80's -- but that's okay. What's important, is what Nora says to him, as he decides to shut the show down:

"No, no the world is fucked up just like you said. Don't you see that you're the voice, you're the voice we're all waiting for."

It's a theme that has been repeated over and over again through the decades, most recently with Green Day's American Idiot -- but that's another post in itself (oh, did you see what I did there? If not, read my preceding post from last April: http://pfftspace.blogspot.com/2011/04/lessons-from-great-ones.html ).

Long story short, the FCC is called in because people have started recording the shows, and broadcasting them across state lines. They bring out trucks to triangulate his location. So he does the logical thing. He shuts down.

No no, that would be boring. He wires his broadcast set up into his mother's jeep, and makes a mobile broadcast station. HA HA! TAKE THAT YOU LOUSY FCC BUMS!

The obvious chase ensues, and Mark/Harry is forced to broadcast without his voice modulator in what is what I consider one of the finest climaxes of American cinema:

"Okay this is really me now, no more hiding. Listen we're all worried, we're all in pain, that just comes with having eyes with having ears, but just remember one thing it can't get any worse, it can only get better. I mean high school is the bottom. Being a teenager sucks, but that's the point, surviving it is the whole point. Quitting is not going to make you strong, living will. So just hang on and hang in there. You know I know all about the hating and the sneering, I'm a member of the why bother generation myself. But why did I bother coming out here tonight and why did you? I mean it's time, it begins with us not with politicians, the experts of the teachers, but with us, with you and with me, the ones who need it most. I believe with everything that's in me that the whole world is begging for healing, even the trees and the earth its self are crying out for it, you can hear it everywhere. It's the same kind of healing I desperately needed and finally feel has begun with you. Everyone mix it up, it's not game over yet, it's just the beginning, but it's up to you. I'm calling for every kid to seize the air. Steal it, it belongs to you. Speak out, they can't stop you. Find your voice and use it. Keep this going. Pick a name, go on air. It's your life, take charge of it. Do it, try it, try anything. Spill your guts out and say shit and fuck a million times if you want to, but you decide. Fill the air, steal it. Keep the air alive . . . TALK HARD!!!!"

"Talk Hard," was the final snip of dialogue from a lead in the movie. The ending fade, as the credits begin to roll, were of pirate radio stations going on the air all over America.

I've already written to the point where it's just obnoxious, so I'll simply leave you with a list of my favorite tracks from the movie:

"Everybody Knows," by Concrete Blonde -- this is a cover of a Leonard Cohen song, and well.. it's amazing.

"Why Can't I Fall In Love," by Ivan Neville

"Wave of Mutilation (U.K. Surf)," by The Pixies -- this one is amazing. "Wave of Mutilation," was originally released on the album Doolittle. It was fast, distorted, and everything The Pixies were great at. The U.K. Surf version, is slow, heavy on the reverb, and extremely mellow. It is the *perfect* song for the scene it's in -- shortly after Mark learns of Malcolm "I'm Serious" Kaiser's suicide.

"Kick Out The Jams," By Bad Brains ft. Henry Rollins -- this song is a cover of a Blue Oyster Cult song, which is a cover of an MC5 song. It's pretty fucking awesome.

Those are just a few. You can listen to them all at http://listen.grooveshark.com

In closing, this is probably the most important film from my youth. It's why I waited almost a year to write about it. I had no clue how to tackle something of this personal magnitude. I'm still not sure the job I did was worth a shit.

I should add, that Christian Slater played the role of Mark, and this is his finest role ever -- however, it is Christian Slater, and that's not saying much.

Celebrities, and their tits.

Archived post from June 2011 on Pfft. . .


So, it's happened again. Some celebrity snapped a bunch of photos of her naughty bits on her phone, and they got leaked to the public. Which celebrity this time you ask? None other than Blake Lively, star of "Gossip Girl", "The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants" (parts one and two), and the upcoming "Green Lantern".

I'm sure you're asking yourself the same thing I am:

Why the *fuck* can't the famous figure out this simple fact. If they take pictures of their tits, they *will* be  seen by the public. It's inevitiable.

Or to quote a disturbed literary figure: "It's axiomatic."

The popular theory is that she snapped these R-Rated pics while she was filming "The Town". Having seen them, I'd have to say I concur, since the tattoo's on her body match the ones that Make-up put on her for the movie. So, here it is. I'm gonna put it out there in plain-speak for all the celebrities who think that their boyfriends need a picture of them posing like self-absorbed cunts in their bathroom mirror:

HEY. CELEBRITIES. HERE'S THE DEAL. IF YOU TAKE A PICTURE OF YOUR TITS, ASS, AND NETHERLY GIRLY BITS.. PEOPLE WILL SEE. IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. SO UNLESS YOU WANT YOUR VAG PLASTERED ACROSS THE WEB, KEEP YOUR FUCKING PANTS ON.

That being said: I hope no one takes my advice, because I like watching famous people fall.

(I almost included pictures, but I'm not sure who the rights belong to, so I neglected. If anyone is desperate to see them, go to Egotastic, or What Would Tyler Durden Do?)

I almost forgot to add: her Reps vehemently deny that this is her.. but she has nice tits, and I like nice tits -- after doing a forensic examination that approaches CSI levels, I can say -- this *is* her.

"The Idiocy of Poets," or; "Thai Poetic License?"

Replacement battery clock
Watch the coated abrasive dirt, sell cheap hats

Bags made from nature;
Louis made frames

Get a picture frame.

_________________

I presented Stevie with this today.  I told her it was a poem that I wrote last night, while I was trying to fall asleep.  She responded, that she liked it -- that it was very spartan, in contrast to what it was describing.

Then, I told her . . .

"I didn't write that shit, that's an engrish translation of a sign from a thai street vendor's stall."

See Below:

Then an interesting thing happened:  I started wondering what it actually meant. 

See, I've never had much use for poetry.  I like symbolism, and I really enjoy metaphor -- but most poetry goes so far over the top with those, that it stops being enjoyable for me.  It always feels like a 15 year old carrying a composition book around with him, trying to appear deep.

I think that this appeals to me, because it's completely unintentional.  So, now I'm going to spend the rest of my day trying to figure it out, when in reality there's no deeper meaning to be had -- only what we assign it.

"Found poetry is still valid poetry, m'dear"

That's what Stevie says anyway.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

So, it's been awhile.

I've moved on from the restaurant industry, finally.  I still pull a shift here and there, just cause it's fun -- I like it.  I'm thinking about changing this now, from a humor blog into "This is whatever I want it to be."

I think this is a great idea.  I may take up photography.  That has always appealed to me, and my 10th grade Journalism teacher told me I had a good eye.  Why not?

I'll still make with the funny on occasion, but I myself need a creative outlet.

For now though, I think it's time to resurrect and restructure.  I'll see what I can pull out of my pasty white ass this weekend.

Serving, Bull-Dykes, and You.

So, in my profession, there is a appropriate way to deliver food to the table, and it is as follows:

Children first, then oldest to youngest woman, then youngest to oldest man.

Seems pretty simple right?

I thought so too. Apparently, that's not the case.

See, last night I was presented with a party of two. Two women, sitting very close to each other, enjoying the KU game on TV. One was.. well -- she wasn't particularly attractive, but at least she attempted femininity. The other? Dear sweet christ, this girl played with G.I. Joes, as a child. She probably wore a jockstrap too. I'm not the most manly man on the face of the planet, but this woman made me feel like a little bitch, just standing in her presence.

So that made me think: How does one handle the appropriate food delivery method?

Do you deliver to the "girl" first, then the dyke? Even though the dyke was obviously younger?

And if you DO deliver to the girl first, and the dyke has any experience in restaurants, will she be offended by you treating her as a man -- effectively blowing your tip?

In my case, I presented to the girl first, then the "man".. and it went alright. Strangely. I don't understand it, but hey.. what can you do?

----------------------------

Since its been awhile, I'll combine and tell you the story of the couple I had a few weeks ago.

The series of events went like this:

Man orders a double Captain and Coke. Woman orders Iced Tea.

I walk by the table and the dialogue between us got a little weird --

Him: She's pregnant!

Her: No I'm not.

Him: Yes she is! It's our first!

Her: Right....

Me: What does a server say in this situation?

Him: If you want a tip, you say congratulations!

Me: CONGRATULATIONS!

I mosey on over to another table, and talk to them for a bit. On my way back, I notice the man is almost done with his drink. Before I can ask him if he'd like another:

Him: Two more Captain and Cokes!

Me: You sure she's not pregnant?

Her: I'm drinking to celebrate not being knocked up.

Him: Oh she's pregnant as hell. That's why I'm getting her drunk.

What.

The.
Fuck.

Consequently, he bitched about the price of the booze when I delivered the check to him.

Asshat.

Its been awhile

I discovered that there are very few things to continue to write about. You can only bitch so much.

Of course, tonight, I discover something that I neglected to bitch about previously.

When I'm cleaning your table, do NOT try to stack your plates on the plates I have in my hands. I have things very precariously perched, and your dumb ass will just end up wearing what's left of your food.

While I'm at it, do not attempt to take your food out of my hands, or off the tray I'm carrying. I don't need your help. I get paid to serve you. YOU pay me to serve you. So let me do my fucking job.

That Crazy Canadian Chick

A very close friend of mine started up with her own blog recently, and I'm happy to share her page with you here =)

Pfffffft . . .

Read up, she's awesome... =)

___________

Edit:  She now has a new blog, with a different address.  Post updated to reflect.