“A lot of people won’t take no for an answer…I’m not one of them. I can be discouraged.”

To my left is the great moment in Last Days of Disco when, with Andrea True Connection’s “More More More” in the background, Alice seduces Tom “Cully” Platt. It’s still early in the movie, of course, and we don’t yet understand or expect Alice to be the center of all the fighting between friends over her interest. In fact, she’s still laughable—sipping Pernod (since all girls drink vodka tonics) and calling Scrooge McDuck “sexy” in order to get Tom in the mood.

The trimmed quote at the top, however, is from later, when Josh takes Alice out to lunch. He presents a sort of deadly take on Maneuver X, by totally artlessly and sincerely distancing himself. He did it not to set a later trap (the walking through being what saves Ted from being “dead” in Barcelona) but just because that’s how he was—too shy to be aggressive enough to make his case more forcefully. But he does it without being a martyr about it, if I recall correctly. In fact, recall is a bit of a problem here, as is this topic in general (that I’m writing about it).

Recall is a problem since, apparently, Last Days of Disco is 100% unavailable on DVD in anything resembling a easy means of acquisition. Netflix doesn’t have it available, and Amazon only sells used copies for over $100. Clearly, this DVD needs to get back into print so fanboys stop nicking the Netflix copies or spending far too much for a DVD. I did just buy a VHS copy, though, which made me slightly misty-eyed for a moment in loving recall of a time before I knew who Monica Lewinsky was.

As for the topic in general, well, this is why this post is lined up under “the Real.” I can’t really write about a movie I’ve not seen in, I think, three or four years. Furthermore, it’s only my stunning ability to never act artfully that makes me even have to wonder about Maneuver X and/or the Stillman oeuvre.

Something about December causes a lot of social problems, it seems to me. I think it’s largely since there’s this sort of weird build up to New Year’s—it’s either a climax of sorts or an opportunity to start fresh. Old business from the year needs to get itself tied the fuck up, but usually I see December as a time to plant new seeds or tend to fledgling plants. Instead, it being winter, I manage usually to just poison the beasties and leave them out in the winter dirt, stillborn as can be. I have, in the three minute recollection I did while leaving my computer to go pee and return, come up with five instances of December-time beastie killing since 1997. Statistics have been kept since 1992, so I can add another. Last year, I managed to do it twice—and I didn’t even know about the second until, like, February of this year.

This year, following Shrub’s lead, I decided to be proactive and, shifting metaphors, eat the rue with the first snowfall of the year: the day before Thanksgiving. My biographers will probably subsequently refer to Dec 2004 as the “Long December” to account for this discrepancy—which means I still have a whole month of baby-killing ahead of me. Maybe, if I’m lucky, what was merely six days ago supposed to be a great time in Boston over New Year’s will instead stretch into an absolute clusterfuck working through to January, making it truly a Long December. It can be done, and, surprise, it’s more likely now than before.

To give a bit more cultural location for everything here, the following have happened in the past 30 hours:

• I have said, “You know, if they have Eternal Sunshine on DVD for under $15, I’ll buy it. I’d like to see it again” at Maxwell Market, despite knowing full-well what that movie does to a body.
• I have not slept.
• I have listened to the Cure’s Show twice. (subpoint: I considered making a CD of “End” on loop. What am I, 16? When did it become 1992?)
• I have agonised over whether I’d want to see Before Sunrise or White. I chose Before Sunrise, but sniffed the happy ending a mile away 20-odd minutes in and stopped the movie. Instead, an SMS left unanswered, I decided to let the theater of my mind fill my head with terrible, terrible images.
• I have written this list and posted it to the internets so the whole world can see.
• I have deleted contact information, the 2004 version of blocking users.
• I have wondered if the above counts as, well, problematic.
• I have almost psychosomatically vomitted (a feat not seen since my last night in Hüttenfeld in summer 2003!).
• I have reminded myself of this great speech. But I don’t think it’s that bad.

OK, maybe this all isn’t that bad, or that surprising, but it’s pretty obnoxious, and it’s definitely irritating. And there’s enough room to work in a fantastic funk here and really just fuck everything in every direction. But that’s sort of the point. I’m borrowing of Disco, watching it, getting this stupidity out of my system, and trying to make this December actually sub-problematically short. Ah, internets. You allow me to dream of a different world.