I've been wanning to write down about the GG Allin doco, Hated, since I (finally) saw it on Friday. I'd been meaning to see it since someone (I don't remember who. I apologize if it was you) gave me the poster* - featuing artwork by John Wayne Gacy - several years ago, and my ex-grindhouse tech Mike Yetter was one of the cinemetographers on the film. The poster is a JWG painting of Allin with a swastika on his forehead. The director, Todd Phillips, apparently had Gacy agree to do the artwork before he even started shooting, and financed the film with advance sales of the poster, a move I find to be fairly genius for an indie artmaker. I had it up for several years, more for strange synchron with my life (I was a teenage Allin fan and have an ex whose brother was killed by Gacy) than anything else. Eventually, it got too creepy for even me and it's been in my closet ever since.
The film itself is complete insanity. He was complete insanity. GG Allin was the most extreme example of human regression to a point of total infantilism, pure reaction. He is like a feral child, and you can't take your eyes off him even as he is turning your stomach and terrifying you at the same time. There is nothing noble about his art, but that it exists at all is astounding and important. He was completely ego-less, but only because he hadn't even gotten to ego yet, not that he had transcended it. The value of the performance that was his life is, to me, not in the content of the work itself, but in our own reactions to it: watching his punk yesmen following him around in the bonus footage of his last show at the gas station is a study in deviant obsequity - it should be its own film. Allin and/or director Todd Philips state several times during the 50 minute film (it was his thesis film for NYU, I think) that his art is a "commentary" on a sick society, or something to that effect. Such horseshit. You would think that, by this point, we'd see through the trick of slapping the word "commentary" on something that self-consciously thinks it needs to justify itself. It doesn't. What's wrong with someone rolling naked in their own shit? It's distinctly not-punk to have to explain it to anyone. ohhh....coommmentarrryy..... gotcha. wink wink. Implying that there's some uber-allin that is creating this character, the meta-artist. Uhh.. nope. This is it. He's a dude who likes to roll around in shit and beat people up. He's an artist who barely knows he is one.... the old Wesley Willis scenario.
For those of you who still have no idea, after reading that, what I think about him or the film - join the club... all I can do is blab about it and hope it helps the lingering visuals fade away.
Anyone following my ongoing liver-drama: I'm getting re-tested tomorrow and an ultrasound on Tuesday. I'm getting tired of all this medical shit.
*can't for the life of me find a pic of the poster online. back up.
.
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Monday, November 14, 2005
hoi polloi
I spent the day avoiding my civic duty as a juror. I'd been summonsed about 6 months ago, but it was really near my birthday so I'd called and gotten a postponement. I'd forgotten all about it until they reminded me a few weeks ago, and this morning had to get up extra early and immerse myself in the unwashed masses of rush hour subway to get downtown in time to stand in line for an hour to get through security, a line longer than this sentence. My boss told me that a good way to not-get-picked was to avoid eye contact with everyone. That was good advice as a foundation, but I had to bump it up a little with the not showering (or combing hair) or wearing clean anything. Once I got there, I added a little nose-picking and rocking back and forth in place, which I got a fucking awesome chance to perform, as you'll see.
When you finally get into the building, you half to sit in these really big room, called "Central Jury Pool Room" or something. There's a video playing on TVs throughout, telling you all about how great it is to be a juror, and how lucky you are to be an american. Then this young black dude in 70's-cazh, Love American Style designer jeans comes up and gives a speech he's given several thousand times, and knows just where to inflect to be "personable" and "funny" but this guy could really give a fuck. He told us a couple of things that made me nervous: a) that we'd be there a minimum of 2 days, maybe 3, and b) that most of us would get picked to sit on a jury. I knew I couldn't let b happen. We handed in our cards n' shit, and they told us to feel free to sit in the "juror's lounge" while we waited for our names to be called, and 70's black dude gestured to a room off to the right. I don't know what I expected of the "lounge", but it turned out to be just another big room, with chairs instead of benches, and a vending machine that sold fig newtons, vanilla fingers, stick pretzels, and several varieties of utz chips. There were a couple of TVs, too, but they were muted, and up way too high to comfortably watch. anyway they were muted. i found a seat and sat down to practice picking my nose. lots of names were called, but mine wasn't. i opened my final cut pro book and memorized things for a while. I sat from 9.30 to noon, interacting with noone, getting up only to pee - twice.
The case I got questioned for was a medical malpractice suit. An old woman had been suing her doctor for neglect, died in the process, and now her family is continuing her suit in her name or whatever. the 2 attorneys gave us a synopsis of the story, as i just did you, adding that the case would take at least 2 weeks. yikes. time to bump up the juices of undesire. They escorted my little group of about 12 (they only needed 4) up to a courtroom on the 7th floor for questioning. I'd just sat down when they called my name. "THOMAS TYLER please come sit in the juror's box." awesome. I got to be first. Not only that, but instead of questioning me right away, they let me sit up there for a good 5-7 minutes while they explained the process to everyone. This gave me ample stage time which I used to rock, pick and itch to my heart's desire, chewing what little scenery a civil courtroom in brooklyn has to offer. I didn't look at anyone, not at the other potential jurors not at the lawyers just around, at the floor, at my hands. Lawyer 1 asks me if I feel I can be impartial in a trial like this. Suddenly, out of god knows where, I was channeling Nick Zedd: "Yeah, well, considering what incredible mistrust I have for the medical profession - I think you'd be surprised at how impartial I can be." A stare from the whole room for an uncomfortable beat, until lawyer 2, sitting at the lawyer's table, starts cracking up. They must have known I was just shirking, they've probably seen this well before me, and often I'm guessing. "That was a mouthful" says lawyer 1, and the rephrases the question - seeing if I will answer the same way or play nice. "The law's the law" I said in answer to however it was phrased the second time, and repeated it for effect, wiping my snot on the barrier, "The law's the law."
lawyer 1 "okay. lawyer 2, he's all yours"
lawyer 2: "uhhh.... Dismissed!"
they sent me back downstairs, so i didn't get to see how the other kids in my class did in the box, and I still could get called for another case. Back to the "Lounge".
They give you an hour for lunch, of which you only get about 20 minutes when you factor in the wait time to get back through security afterwards. I walked around the block a couple times for exercise, and as I was headed back towards court square, i saw a middle aged lady lying face down on the sidewalk. Others were stepping over and around her - perhaps thinking she was a performance artist. I went and helped her up... she had fallen, "tripped over nothing" while walking. She told me she had high blodd pressure, and then refused my offer to help her up. "no, i just need to sit here a minute, but please stay near me" which of course I did. Soon others were gathered around, asking the lady if she needed anything, a hospital? a doctor?. No, she said, she didn't. Me and another dude finally helped her up and a heavy set black lady offered her cell phone which she did accept. Actually, she gave heavy set black lady a number to dial, a person to ask for, and then took the phone from there. From her conversation I learned that she, too, was serving jury duty and was calling work to keep them up to date as to when she'd be back. I looked around, wondering if I was the only one wondering what the fuck any of this had to do with her falling down and several people attending to her. Whyyyyy.... the fuck, couldn't this call have been made later, from your own fucking phone, on your own fucking time! I was starting to get steamed, and h.s.b.l. just rolled her eyes as she waited for her phone back. the red digital clock on the bank across the street said it was 1.54 and I had six minutes to get back from lunch. also that it was 68 degrees. This lady was fine, but had asked all of us to stay and help her and now she was yakkin on the mother fucking phone. "I think she's ok" I said, walked away, and immediately I felt like a horrible person. I almost went back, but i didn't. I had potentially several more performances today and had to be on time - which I wasn't.
Turned out I didn't get called again. They called my name once more that day, an hour-and-a-half later, as one of the lucky few that got to go home and... "you don't have to come back".
.
When you finally get into the building, you half to sit in these really big room, called "Central Jury Pool Room" or something. There's a video playing on TVs throughout, telling you all about how great it is to be a juror, and how lucky you are to be an american. Then this young black dude in 70's-cazh, Love American Style designer jeans comes up and gives a speech he's given several thousand times, and knows just where to inflect to be "personable" and "funny" but this guy could really give a fuck. He told us a couple of things that made me nervous: a) that we'd be there a minimum of 2 days, maybe 3, and b) that most of us would get picked to sit on a jury. I knew I couldn't let b happen. We handed in our cards n' shit, and they told us to feel free to sit in the "juror's lounge" while we waited for our names to be called, and 70's black dude gestured to a room off to the right. I don't know what I expected of the "lounge", but it turned out to be just another big room, with chairs instead of benches, and a vending machine that sold fig newtons, vanilla fingers, stick pretzels, and several varieties of utz chips. There were a couple of TVs, too, but they were muted, and up way too high to comfortably watch. anyway they were muted. i found a seat and sat down to practice picking my nose. lots of names were called, but mine wasn't. i opened my final cut pro book and memorized things for a while. I sat from 9.30 to noon, interacting with noone, getting up only to pee - twice.
The case I got questioned for was a medical malpractice suit. An old woman had been suing her doctor for neglect, died in the process, and now her family is continuing her suit in her name or whatever. the 2 attorneys gave us a synopsis of the story, as i just did you, adding that the case would take at least 2 weeks. yikes. time to bump up the juices of undesire. They escorted my little group of about 12 (they only needed 4) up to a courtroom on the 7th floor for questioning. I'd just sat down when they called my name. "THOMAS TYLER please come sit in the juror's box." awesome. I got to be first. Not only that, but instead of questioning me right away, they let me sit up there for a good 5-7 minutes while they explained the process to everyone. This gave me ample stage time which I used to rock, pick and itch to my heart's desire, chewing what little scenery a civil courtroom in brooklyn has to offer. I didn't look at anyone, not at the other potential jurors not at the lawyers just around, at the floor, at my hands. Lawyer 1 asks me if I feel I can be impartial in a trial like this. Suddenly, out of god knows where, I was channeling Nick Zedd: "Yeah, well, considering what incredible mistrust I have for the medical profession - I think you'd be surprised at how impartial I can be." A stare from the whole room for an uncomfortable beat, until lawyer 2, sitting at the lawyer's table, starts cracking up. They must have known I was just shirking, they've probably seen this well before me, and often I'm guessing. "That was a mouthful" says lawyer 1, and the rephrases the question - seeing if I will answer the same way or play nice. "The law's the law" I said in answer to however it was phrased the second time, and repeated it for effect, wiping my snot on the barrier, "The law's the law."
lawyer 1 "okay. lawyer 2, he's all yours"
lawyer 2: "uhhh.... Dismissed!"
they sent me back downstairs, so i didn't get to see how the other kids in my class did in the box, and I still could get called for another case. Back to the "Lounge".
They give you an hour for lunch, of which you only get about 20 minutes when you factor in the wait time to get back through security afterwards. I walked around the block a couple times for exercise, and as I was headed back towards court square, i saw a middle aged lady lying face down on the sidewalk. Others were stepping over and around her - perhaps thinking she was a performance artist. I went and helped her up... she had fallen, "tripped over nothing" while walking. She told me she had high blodd pressure, and then refused my offer to help her up. "no, i just need to sit here a minute, but please stay near me" which of course I did. Soon others were gathered around, asking the lady if she needed anything, a hospital? a doctor?. No, she said, she didn't. Me and another dude finally helped her up and a heavy set black lady offered her cell phone which she did accept. Actually, she gave heavy set black lady a number to dial, a person to ask for, and then took the phone from there. From her conversation I learned that she, too, was serving jury duty and was calling work to keep them up to date as to when she'd be back. I looked around, wondering if I was the only one wondering what the fuck any of this had to do with her falling down and several people attending to her. Whyyyyy.... the fuck, couldn't this call have been made later, from your own fucking phone, on your own fucking time! I was starting to get steamed, and h.s.b.l. just rolled her eyes as she waited for her phone back. the red digital clock on the bank across the street said it was 1.54 and I had six minutes to get back from lunch. also that it was 68 degrees. This lady was fine, but had asked all of us to stay and help her and now she was yakkin on the mother fucking phone. "I think she's ok" I said, walked away, and immediately I felt like a horrible person. I almost went back, but i didn't. I had potentially several more performances today and had to be on time - which I wasn't.
Turned out I didn't get called again. They called my name once more that day, an hour-and-a-half later, as one of the lucky few that got to go home and... "you don't have to come back".
.
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