The Comedy And The Tragedy
Sunday. A mega-ton of household jobs seem to have stacked up behind me. I wondered to myself whether Alice Cooper has household jobs stacking up behind him, but probably not because he never seems to be home. Being as he's on the road so relentlessly, maybe he has a housekeeper to take care of all the things that shouldn't really need taking care of because he's never there.
Anyway, I did them and figured I might just bomb out in the sofa before I go in for Round Two in front of The Typewriter Machine. I got to Channel 78,663 and there was nothing on - though I guess if I had gone back to the start, there would be different shows on to when I first begun. Instead, I decided to revisit something that used to make me happy beyond belief and I dropped on the Laurel and Hardy movie, Swiss Miss.
So far as I recall, they used to be a lot funnier than this. When the hell did Laurel and Hardy become unfunny? That's like asking when Aerosmith stopped being a giant killer of a band (except I know the answer to that: 1979). What can possibly have happened in the years since I used to roll around until my stomach hurt, that had me sit in front of the TV waiting for the movie to take over my nervous system?
Maybe they did get unfunny. Maybe it just wore off. Maybe comedy got sophisticated to a point that I can no longer go back to a more innocent time.
Or maybe I just got to be miserable - except I'm not. I was really game for it. Pensive, even.
Thats a real sad state of affairs. I'll try a few shorts from them across the week and so how they pan out, and if that doesn't work, I'll hunt down some Harold Lloyd movies and back them up with a couple from Will Hay just to be sure.
If none of those work either, I'm officially broken.
I don't tend to admire many writers these days but Karl Ove Knausgård is a huge exception for me. The world has dubbed him a literary sensation over the last few years but you know what... I suspect it could have equally gone the other way for him and he would still have carried on writing whatever he wanted. I not only like his books but I also like the way he puts himself across in interviews - which is just as honest as his novels.
This week there's a neat documentary on iPlayer in which Knausgård interviews/gets interviewed by neurosurgeon, Henry Marsh. If you're feeling cultural, it worth your time for a whole number of reasons.
But then you must go read at least the first ten pages of A Death In The Family. After that, you'll know if you're in the mood for thousands of pages of autobiographical revelation from the man. It's pretty addictive. There's also an extract here at The Vice.
Anyway, you have been warned.
Later this same day, this Great Dane came up for adoption. Sigh... what to do?
Not sure somebody else would be very impressed with a new house-mate though...
Finally today - this probably sums up more than any of us writers would care to admit and did make me laugh.