I awoke in the middle of the night with my feet up on the arm of the couch and the roast of Charlie Sheen blaring in the background. I’d been spared the actual roast where people make the same joke over and over about Charlie’s decadent lifestyle with tiny tweaks on the punchline and instead woke at the precise moment of Charlie’s rebuttal. “I learned to want to be an actor from Captain Kirk. Who wouldn’t want to be an actor when they are knee deep in Aldurrian p***y and throat deep in Klingon beer?” And the devastating one-liner “Gene Simmons, you look like an Ewok!” all delivered with a pace and timing that only occurs when read perfectly off a teleprompter. I click the TV off, pat the dog, and finish off the last of my Tiger’s Blood Beer before crashing into bed.
I dream of a blog post of a photograph of a professional photographer taking a picture of a professional photographer taking a picture of a professional blogger blogging about a professional blogger. No one reads the post. No one comments on the post. It’s just content. Filler.
In the dream everyone is a professional photographer, professional blogger, or professional photo-blogger and they are all busily creating content like bees. Snapping photos of someone snapping a photo, preferably at sunset, and adding their logo at the bottom, posting it on facebook as some sort of advertisement in the Little Nickle. “Rob Boss Photography — for all your band, wedding, baby, pet, couples kissing at sunset, photo needs.”
There’s no interaction in this artists community. I just glide through like a ghost. There’s no dialog. People are just wandering around shooting photos and their so-called audience “likes” them. One guy gets lucky and gets a comment of “she’s hot” because he took a picture of one of the many 35 year old women in this town who do burlesque. It’s the perfect system — where people exchange something tangible (work, my life, my dog, my daughter, my 40 year old who lives in Tacoma and loves Soccer-ness) for something intangible (likes, comments).
I wake up to the sounds of Aphrodisiac Jacket on my radio…
Plastic Fantastic Lobster Telephone.
I’ve seen the lobster telephone. Have you? It’s in London, near the Eye, at the Dali museum. You need to see the original surrealists like Dali and Magritte to understand how surreal our every day lives have become. How subverted reality is to the the surreal in every waking moment.
KFC Famous bowls.
There’s an advertisement where they pan through a park and everyone is eating a Famous Bowl. Everyone. The family on a picnic each has their own bowl. If Dali had painted a picture of an entire family gathered around a picnic table and all eating the Famous Bowl, it would have been a mind-blowing surrealist exposition on the disgusting food habits of Americans. But instead, it’s just an advertisement. Something we fast forward over during half time of the United game.
I switch the station to NPR and after a few minutes about how Goldman-Sachs will escape opprobrium for ruining the world’s economy and a bit about how the American wars in Asia have left a legacy of drones flying all over the place Paul Brown comes on the air and reports that Man U have had to cut the cost of their IPO from $20 to $18 to today’s expected $14.
What is more surreal than this Man U IPO? The Glazers leverage buyout one of the most profitable clubs in the history of football and proceed to spend $800,000,000 in interest payments and fees (some of those fees were paid directly to the owners) – money that went directly out of the pockets of fans and into the pockets of banks.
Now, they want to take this 130 year old company and float it on the stock market as if it were an emerging company, which the new shareholders will have no voting rights, in order to raise $300m in cash, only half of which is going back into the club. You read that right, the owners are LITERALLY just asking people to just give them $150m. I don’t know what for. For being such cool guys? Because they were the ones who thought up the idea to leverage buy-out the club? For the life of me I can’t get my head around this absurd notion that they deserve half of the IPO.
And what’s worse, people are going to buy this. I’m not sure they will sell all the shares they are hoping to sell, but there are going to be a number of people who are crazy enough to buy shares and thereby – I want to be perfectly clear here – ensuring that no matter what happens to Manchester United, the Glazers will walk away with a sizeable chunk of money. That’s right, anyone who buys that IPO is paying for a piece of thread in the golden parachute of Malcolm Glazer. Ensuring that if Manchester United folds in 4 years when they can’t pay back their debts because they spent all that IPO money to buy Robin van Persie, at least Malcolm Glazer will walk away with millions of dollars.
Tell me that’s not surreal.