I've had some run-ins with the numerical combination of 12 & 22 lately, enough to comment. I used to be particularly fascinated by digital clocks at 12:22, preternaturally so. I noticed that was always glancing over at the clock right at 12:22. Over and over, at least half of the time I looked exactly on time, midnight or noon. Long after I commented to several associates about my temporal condition, I was shopping at Target... Not an uncommon occurrence, as I buy all my shirts in the little boy's section. I rounded a corner in the clock section, and an entire wall of timepieces had been unplugged about 22 minutes before I wandered by them. All of them blinked out 12:22 with the subtlety of an intergalactic distress signal beaming directly into the fillings of my teeth on all available frequencies coated in rotten tinfoil and wet chalksticks. 12:22... It got me wondering, and I'm not one for Numerology. Was something important and life-changing going to happen to me at that particular time? May days filled with dread and plodded on individually in paired heartbeats. 12:22, 12:22. I knew that this "event" could be something good. Maybe it's just some harmless lottery numbers that I'll never play, like, 12, 22, shoulda known, 12, 22... Me being the gloomy sort kept the positives well unthought of, for the most part. Maybe 12:22 had already come to pass. Maybe it isn't time or lottery numbers. It was starting to get to me. I was watching Trading Places, Dan Aykroyd and Jamie Lee Curtis are walking past this building that has 1222 spraypainted on the side. I've seen that movie a hundred times, but I never noticed that. I went to see Too Much Light Makes The Baby Go Blind with Kellie a few weeks ago.It's a Theater Troupe called the NeoFuturists that do 30 plays in 60 minutes. The audience shouts out the number of the play they would like to see next. Loudmouth a table over shouts out 12! 22! very first thing. I was watching a really strange commercial with the sound off the other day at work. I had gone up into the office where Jodi, caucasian receptionist, watches Springer with the sound off. It was a commercial for something called the Poison Line, but it showed all for these people golfing and playing tennis. It wouldn't have looked out of place to have someone hold up a tampon or a bottle of juice and smile. I'm gorgonized by this queer little spot, and then I realize the phone number for the Poison line end in 1222.
The whole reason for this story is simply explained, but we're going to have to go all the way back to 3114 B.C., not to get all eschatalogical on your asses. The Mayan long count Calendar Cycle ends on December 22, 2012, 12.22.2012. The ends of their calendar cycles are punctuated by deluge level catastrophes. Swap presents early that year, just in case. It's either the Mayans, or Trading Spaces... gotta be.
Anyhow, back to SQUIRM, It's a little hard to describe what they do, but it isn't like this Lady.
I can't believe they're rocking it with Boom Bip. That's exciting. I haven't been playing with the SQUIRM kiddies, of late, but I have started a band with Hammerhands. We're going to do 80's and early 90's music on banjo and washtub bass with a drum machine. I'm talking Mz.s Lauper and Ciccone; I'm talking Tone Loc. I loved him in Ford Fairlane. I used to ride to school with this guy back in high school. I'll never forget sitting in his pickup truck listening to Funky Col Medina. When Tone says, "Hasta La Vista, Baby", Chris said, "I'm still the Big Stuff, Baby!"
I've been thinking about the New Charlie & The Chocolate Factory movie that's coming out. Johnny Depp... What do I need to say? What kind of person doesn't like a lil' Depp with their morning coffee? Who cares if he doesn't know that you're never ever supposed to say three little words on Nickelodeon. You know what I'm saying.
I love watching this clip of Buddy Rich vs. Animal, but he's still soooo good by himself.
I found an interesting balm for feeling so reserved lately. I don't know if it makes me feel more or less connected to look through cameras situated across the globe, but I feel a little better. That, and I've been putting Tofu in everything...
I just found out that Pretty In Pink is getting a sequel. I don't know how to feel about that. I can't describe the degree to which I identified with Duckie. I was Duckie. Hell, I might still be. It beats being The Famous Teddy Z.
I think that the only movie I've watched more times is Sixteen Candles. I can quote both of them extensively... "Well, that's very nice. I'm glad. Well here's... here's the point, Andie. I'm not particularly concerned with whether or not you like me, because I live to like you and... and I can't like you anymore. So... so when you're feeling real low and... and dirty, don't look to me to pump you back up 'cause... 'cause... 'cause maybe for the first time in your life I WON'T BE THERE!" Screenplay GOLD!
I saw Sin City this weekend. It totally owns my ass. Hammerhands brought his wife, Dear Lily. Somewhere between the second decapitation and the umpteenth amputation, I started feeling sorry for her. Sin City... Awesomeness? Si! Lily Movie? No. Hammerhands kept talking about the correlation between that Yellow Bastard, and someone called the Old Codger.
I guess I can see it. I should have some SQUIRM MP3s up soon, so kep your ears wiggling.
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