Who says people don't know how to entertain themselves any more? Not your humble Procrastination Reporter, that's for sure. The best aspect of this gig is that you get to travel everywhere. The world is just as the post-modernists dreamed it would be; the high co-mingles with the low, the silly with the serious, the trivial and the tragic. Our first stop is someone's living room after - it seems unreasonable not to conclude - some drinks have been consumed. Imagine. You're sitting around, the music stops, and a pal shows you this neat trick he's worked out with his pooch.
Say what you like about Russia's fledgling democracy, its sense of the ridiculous remains intact.
After that gentle piece of surrealism, to embrace narcissism and self-promotion seems jarring, and entirely appropriate. Jacob Fleischer is a screenwriter living in Los Angeles. Here's his website
He's clearly worked (though from what his CV details, he still lacks that breakthrough moment), but the City of Angels hasn't beaten him yet. As a kind of calling card, he's created a joke audition piece wherein he plays every science fiction role ever.
Wow. Don't you want to give this guy a job& as a standup comedian? When a genre becomes as predictable as Fleischer clearly thinks it is, then perhaps that genre is ready to be discarded. In fact the Sci-Fi channel is one of the few genre channels that's prospering in the jungle otherwise known as the US cable market. I've been thinking about choice, and how too much of the stiff can be debilitating. Perhaps that explains why genres can command such reliable markets; they offer reassurance and repetition, with the prospect of occasional subversion. Just don't ask me to admit that any real thought or invention goes into genre works. A reimagining is really just a fancy way of saying regurgitation.
Our final destination is a place called& surprise. Taking the train home may be a tedious experience, even in a Scandanavian paradise like Denmark. Sure the streets are clean, the people have smooth skin, and the Metro runs on time. But where's the joie de vivre? At hand, I promise, courtesy of the Copenhagen Philharmonic .