Joshua Zamrycki’s Weblog

To all concerned parties: I am neither suicidal nor clinically depressed. I am very thankful for many things in my life both on Thanksgiving and on the other 364 days of the year. I’m an optimistic and happy person! But I deeply appreciate Mr. Burroughs’ acidic wit, razor edged tongue, and lifetime of bullshit that he had to endure. For these reasons, I chose to share this significant work of literary eloquence. I agree with him 100% when he says that America has been despoiled and poisoned. It has! And I am comforted when he says, “thanks for the AMERICAN DREAM to vulgarize and falsify until the bare lies shine through”. Comforted because I no longer feel alone. Alone in a sea of political lies and media spin. The feeling of impotence that envelopes me as I watch the sheep being lead off to the slaughterhouse is maddening. I want to slap the country in the face and scream, “Open your goddamn eyes!” But I tire of such useless machinations and have slowly been beaten into apathy. So today I am thankful for people like William S. Burroughs who, thanks to their crystalline clarity and the raw power of their writing, inspire people to think for themselves and fight for their personal freedom. Even if he was a little creepy.

For John Dillinger
In hope he is still alive
Thanksgiving Day, November 28, 1986

Thanks for the wild turkey and the Passenger Pigeons, destined to be shit out through wholesome American guts

thanks for a Continent to despoil and poison —

thanks for Indians to provide a modicum of challenge and danger —

thanks for vast herds of bison to kill and skin, leaving the carcass to rot —

thanks for bounties on wolves and coyotes —

thanks for the AMERICAN DREAM to vulgarize and falsify until the bare lies shine through —

thanks for the KKK, for nigger-killing lawmen feeling their notches, for decent church-going women with their mean, pinched, bitter, evil faces —

thanks for “Kill a Queer for Christ” stickers —

thanks for laboratory AIDS —

thanks for Prohibition and the War Against Drugs —

thanks for a country where nobody is allowed to mind his own business —

thanks for a nation of finks — yes, thanks for all the memories… all right, let’s see your arms… you always were a headache and you always were a bore —

thanks for the last and greatest betrayal of the last and greatest of human dreams.

Link to .mov

So, I’m in the train station today, right, and I’m waiting for my train. I get myself a sandwich and head over to the far part of the waiting room and sit down on the floor against the wall to eat. No one really walks by that part of the station so I’m not in the way of any pedestrian traffic. Not three minutes later and who comes along to bust my chops… a security guard. You know, one of these rent-a-cops who think that their fluorescent yellow vest makes them a general in the military. He says, “You gotta stand up. You’re not allowed to sit on the floor.” And he walks away. So I’m sitting there thinking, “Why not?” But he’s already off protecting the station from terrorists or something really important like that. I thought about either just sitting there and finishing my sandwich or following him and asking the specific reason why I’m not allowed to sit on the floor and insisting to see this rule in writing, but I didn’t want to end up strip searched in some secret back room. I did, after all, have a train to catch in 10 minutes. I mean, ‘no smoking’ I understand. It’s written on the goddamn walls. But ‘no sitting on the floor’? Come on! So I head over to the information counter and ask the little beardy guy, “Hey, do you know if you’re allowed to sit on the floor here in the station? I mean, is it illegal or something?” He says to me, “No, it’s not illegal. But… well, I mean, I’ve seen people sitting on the floor before. If they’re not in the way of people passing by there shouldn’t be any problem. But if you run into a security guard who feels like busting some chops, he’s gonna make you get up.” “But there’s no rule or sign or law saying that you can’t sit on the floor, though. Right?”, I ask. “No, I guess not.” That’s what I thought. Stupid security guard.

We all know that being a mom can be tough, but what would make your job even more difficult? That’s right, if your baby was a vampire. Two words: breast feeding. What would happen here? I imagine the baby would just dig in and leave two little tooth marks on the breast just above the nipple. And with all of the feeding that is necessary with a newborn, those holes probably wouldn’t have a chance to heal. Heck, if this happened for a number of generations, those boobie-tooth-holes might even start to appear before any baby was born – like a genetic mutation. Hmmm…

Went to the Rufus Wainwright concert last night at Razzmatazz with (my) Jan, (not my) Jan, and Rachel. Rachel is not mine either, but for lack of another Rachel, she does not necessitate a defining prefix. Uh oh, it’s happening again… I can hear your thoughts: “But Josh, you just went to see Rufus in concert 6 months ago, didn’t you?” Well, yes I did. And I’ll go and see him again the very next time he’s in town. What can I say? I’m a fan.

Overall impression of the concert: it was very good. I must admit that I found it a bit weaker than the last gig, but it was still a wonderful show and we all had a great time. Rufus’ voice sounded a little worse for wear since he’s apparently been a bit under the weather recently, but even on a bad day he sings like an angel. He wasn’t as chipper as in his last Barcelona gig, but after a long discussion, we have attributed this to the fact that his last gig was in a more personal (smaller) venue combined with the magic of seeing him perform for the very first time.

High points of the concert: a lovely I Don’t Know What It Is, the peppy new version of The Art Teacher, a special Flamenco-fied version of Beautiful Child, a cover of Leonard Cohen’s Chelsea Hotel, and without a doubt, the show stopping number where the entire band quickly changed into white togas, did a charmingly clumsy choreography, and then two Roman soldiers come on stage with a giant white cross and crucified a turquoise toga-ed Rufus – from which position he was able to serenade the audience with a beautiful Gay Messiah. Another show to remember

Looks like winter has finally hit Barcelona this week. It’s been absolutely beautiful up until now with temperatures in the 70’s and 80’s and folks wandering around the streets in t-shirts and mini skirts. Yesterday, a cold front hit town and now we’ve got about a week of rain to look forward to with temps in the mid 60’s. Jan actually made me turn on the heating last night! I know, it’s not exactly freezing, but hey, we’re used to the good life.

So what does this mean? I’ll tell you: it means that we should all snuggle up under a warm blanket on the couch with our sweat pants on and a nice hot bowl of homemade carrot soup and pop a quality film into the DVD player. But which film? A-ha! I’m glad you asked.

I offer for your consideration Empire’s 50 Greatest Independent Films. I’m proud to say that I’ve seen almost half of the films on this list (23 to be exact) and I am very happy with their inclusion here. Some of my favorite films of all time are Donnie Darko, Monty Python’s Life of Brian, Clerks, and Being John Malkovich. I’m very much looking forward to seeing Amores Perros, City of God, and Night of the Living Dead. Thanks to this compilation, I now have a hit-list of 27 films that will help me to fill those cold winter nights. It could drop to as low as 64 degrees by next week!

Here is a picture that a friend took of me just yesterday after I got out of Christmas Carol rehearsals and was on my way to a sound studio to dub three episodes of an ongoing cartoon project. Notice the dark circles under my eyes and general glazed look on my face – typical of someone who has not been getting enough sleep lately. I’ve been like this all week! It got so bad that, when I went to see Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit with Julian and Amber on Tuesday, I actually nodded off and missed 30 seconds of the action-packed chase scene where Gromit had to feed 10p into the plane to get her going again (priceless!). That’s how tired I have been.

Volleyball practice ends at 11:30pm, so by the time I get home, shower and have dinner it’s almost 2am. Since play rehearsals have me waking up at 8am every morning, I think now’s a good time to start taking advantage of the beloved ‘afternoon siesta’. I remember that my old flatmate Paolo used to come home from work everyday for lunch and then take a 20 minute power-nap before heading back to the office. That was one smart Italian. Our volleyball match this Sunday will have me up at the butt-crack of dawn so I think I’m gonna sleep 12 hours tonight and work off this sleep deficit that is strangely dressed up like a monkey and currently dancing on my back. Don’t call me tomorrow morning.

If you appreciate this photo entitled ‘Tequila Cat’ – the sad eyes, the drooping whiskers, the fact that someone carved a helmet out of a lime and put it on this cat’s head – then may I suggest you view the following video. I almost pissed myself laughing when I saw it for the first time the other day. Seriously, folks. Pissed myself.

Funny Cats

Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday. Thursday is my mom’s birthday. Last Thursday was my friend Kristin’s birthday. And this Friday is my friend Rachel’s birthday. I always do this: I realize (way too late) that I don’t have time to send a birthday present. I’m sure Kristin and Rachel will survive (and maybe not even notice), but mom and dad really should get a little something for having to put up with me for all those years. Plus, they’re pretty cool people. Their day must be celebrated. It’s the least I can do. No, the least I can do is nothing. It’s the least I should do.

The phone call will happen. The email will be sent. An eCard might even be deployed. It just occurred to me that my mom constitutes a significant percentage of this blog’s readership so I probably shouldn’t go on about how sitting by her mailbox this Thursday might not be the best idea. Yes, open mouth and remove foot.

So… mom, dad, Kris, Rachel – this one’s for you:

Two days ago, after spending the majority of the past four weeks in bed and subsequently not doing any type of exercise whatsoever, I was feeling better so I decided to run up the six flights of stairs that lead to my house and that I had run countless number of times in the past. Once upstairs, it took me 10 minutes of pathetic wheezing and gasping to get my breath back. I thought I was going to die. I am sooo out of shape. Last night, I went to my first volleyball practice in a month.

Jan was sweet. On my way out the door she said, “If you feel like it’s too much, just stop.” I whole-heartedly agreed and was on my way. I must have forgotten those pearls of wisdom somewhere between the wind sprints and the defensive blocking drills because that should have been the perfect place for me to “just stop”. But I didn’t. I stupidly pushed on, trying to show both myself and my coach that I was still capable of competing at the same level that I had achieved after our first two months of solid training. In all fairness, when the coach called for three sets of 60 sit ups, I only did one set; but I think most of the other guys didn’t do many more than that either.

All and all, it was a good practice. When we stopped running and diving and started actually playing volleyball, I played quite well. I even heard one of the guys on the team taunt another guy by saying, “Hey, if Josh can hit the ball that hard and he has bird-flu, what’s wrong with you?” It was a proud moment.

Then I woke up this morning, tried to stand up, and almost collapsed to the ground when my legs buckled beneath me. My legs, stomach and ass were rendered useless and in pain and it only got worse as the day went on. I just passed the infamous 24-Hour Point so it should be all downhill from here. It doesn’t get any worse than the 24-Hour Point. Thank goodness we don’t have a match this weekend. I have five days to recuperate before Tuesday’s practice. I should be back in shape in no time! Back in shape or dead.