Random

Blair Witch art

I love those random characters who just happen to appear early on in an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and whose appearance has significant ramifications later on. You just know that, when Larry is apologizing to a black man for making an inappropriate joke, and just as his apology is accepted, a black woman whom Larry had earlier gotten into an argument with will make a reappearance. Or, when Larry has damaged his manager's beloved new car, he randomly bumps into one of the few guys in the world who can get hold of the spare parts and fix the vehicle, before, of course, offending the guy moments before the car is fixed.
Coincidence is a much derided device in literature, but it clearly has a valid place in comedy.

Today's random observations (added to my notebook):

Having discovered a crust of bread on my doorstep, I got to wondering if some cheapskate Blair Witch was hunting me down.
Yesterday I decided to go for a jog. It was cold, and I wore jeans, jumper and a coat (and I probably gave the appearance that I was late for a bus, taking a shortcut across the park). I did jog for thirty minutes and today my calf muscles are most displeased. I saw lots of joggers this morning on my way to the newsagents. I admire their dedication, and it made me think about us writerly folks who shun the television in favour of creative agony. It also reminded me of the time I auditioned for a Butlin's redcoat position, unaware that I had to do a dance routine. Not only did I look foolish in my shirt and trousers as everyone else stripped down to their dance gear, but my ineptitude and humiliation was also shown on the local news.

I watched a few minutes of Deuce Bigalow last night. It was truly awful. But why? Some of the comedic devices were highly imaginative and they should have worked. I figured that there was no humanity underpinning the comedy. Whilst the great comedic artists use humour to depict the absurdity of life, the pain and suffering and tragedy, and the love and friendship and struggles of life and the imminence and inevitability of death, Deuce Bigalow had none of this. It was, in a word, shallow.

Woman with a male member on her face

Have you ever pressed that 'next blog' button at the top? I spent a few minutes doing so this morning. I encountered a brilliant twenty-year old artist, an embarrassingly bad older artist/photographer, a chap who has adventures in snowy mountains, some Chinese kids in some group or another, some digital art that was inspired by science (the idea of which excites me, having always loved the concept of non-sentient art, but the solutions of which were a little disappointing), and some beautiful close-up photographs of plants.

That Blair Witch photo reminds me of when a friend and I threw a log into Loch Ness and took hoax monster photos of it. The results were actually very unconvincing.