I almost feel bad not returning their phone calls

I almost feel bad not returning their phone calls

Those of you who know me well know that I'm a very solitary person. That is, I try to be. Inevitably I end up putting myself in social situations on a pretty consistent basis. I won't claim that these situations arise and occur beyond my will to prevent them. On the contrary, I often put myself in these situations with full knowledge that I'd rather be sitting at home reading. I do so out of social obligations to friends (otherwise I'd never see them) and it's gotten to be the situation at work.

Now, work I can stand. I enjoy the company of everyone I work with, and I enjoy the work I do. I make movies for fuck's sake. What's not to enjoy? (A rhetorical question.)

When a person such as myself, a person of an introspective nature, hangs out with people for at least fourteen hours out of every waking day, that person starts to feel a little unbalanced.

The other day I got several phone calls from people I worked with on another job. I was at work, of course, and didn't answer my phone. Listening to the messages, I knew that if I returned the calls I'd be guilted into going and hanging out with them. It's gotten to the point where I don't even feel like returning these calls to say that I don't want to hang out with the person(s) on the other end of the line. Sadly, these people don't have anything to do with the people that are slowly driving me insane, but sometimes we don't always take out our feelings with the appropriate parties. I called a few of the people, but they were the people that I knew wouldn't guilt me into hanging out.

The semi-ironic epilogue to this is that I intentionally gave up a day of my weekend (tomorrow) to work on a PSA for A Drug-Free America--in effect, putting myself in the very situation that has been driving my crazy for the past several months. The flip side of the coin is that it pays $175/day instead of my usual ~$100 and it's only a six person crew, including myself. Nothing like greasing that capitalist machine with my blood and sweat. What a little bodily fluid for a quick $350 though?

* * *

I know I've been preaching the goodness of Grant Morrison (& Alan Moore & Warren Ellis) for the past few weeks, but I've got to share something with you that I just saw in the pages after the copyright pages in Morrison's The Filth. The sentence background: the book is packaged as if its an advertisement for medicine, including the fine print: "Side effects of THE FILTH include convulsions, leakage, aphasia, fenestration, logorrhea, tinnitus and beatitude." It also warns that: "The Filth contains the active ingredient metaphor." The bit I found especially amusing, however, is the storage information for the book: "Do not store your medicine above 451° Fahrenheit." Bloody brilliant.

D

Reading:

The Invisibles: Counting to None, by Grant Morrison

The Invisibles: Kissing Mister Quimper, by Grant Morrison

The Filth, by Grant Morrison

Listening to:
Bowie

Diamond Dogs

Low

Outside

Station to Station

The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars
Kings of Convenience

Riots on an Empty Street

[UPDATE (11/13/14): Good God, I love wine. Whoo-hooooooo! Also, read Grant Morrison.]