Thinking With Your Feet

Oompah-oompah-tra-la-la! Who doesn’t love a parade? The marching bands, the beauty queens, the veterans, the beauty queens, the reserves, the beauty queens … hey, wait a minute. I detect an oddly disturbing pattern here. And I’m not talking about the Shriners’ mini-car figure eights (although, more on that later).

What is a parade anyway? The dictionary’s first two definitions are: 1. ostentatious or pompous display; 2. a military display or assembly. The term was first used in English in1656, borrowed either from the French word parade "display, show, military parade," or from the Italian word parate "a warding or defending, a garish setting forth," or from the Spanish word parada “a halt, a stop or an assembling for exercise.” All of which derive from the Latin parer "prepare.” But, prepare for what exactly?

Why, war of course – at least in theory, according to most sources. The parade, also known as a “marchpast” was originally a military maneuver used in ancient Rome, largely as a “diplomatic” maneuver – to essentially scare the bejesus out of your enemies. Among the oldest forms of saber rattling, it kept the oppressed in their places and bent adversaries to your will. Skip a few dozen centuries forward and witness the politics-shaking power of Nazi rallies and Soviet cold war exercises through Red Square and you get the basic idea. Our guns are bigger than your guns, and other phallic pissing contests (in the rain).

Although most parades in history’s steel-toed marching timeline were of military nature, religious processions have also been snaking through town for millennia (which bring us back around to the Shriners, but not just yet). Domini, patri, pareri. Preparing for what, precisely? Armageddon? The second coming? A sale at Macy's? Read into that as you may. But you don’t see the Pope these days so much on American main streets.

Today, in the separation-of-church-and-states, we retain mostly the vestiges of the parade’s militaristic regalia. The person chosen to lead the parade is the Grand Marshal. The bands wear military uniforms (although, ill-fitting and overly-starchy, they seem more humiliating than intimidating). And we cannot discount the power and significance of the snare drum (in military endeavors and firing squads, equally) not to mention the xylophone.

And what about the baton? Today’s baton twirler was originally a rifle twirler to the front of the marchers. The rifle was then switched for a "mace" often wielded by the "Drum Major." In the late 1930s the Majorette made her debut. And perhaps that’s when parades found their feminine sides.

In today’s parades (Charlottesville's Dogwood Festival a goose-steppingly good example), men are soldiers and women are beauty queens, from Miss Virginia down to the tarted up wee-miss tots, many wearing more rouge than a ten dollar hooker. Yes, we do have our counter culture Rollerderby Dames, Critical Mass and the stalwart peace contingent. But the dominating steady alternation of weapon wielding men and scantily clad women gives one pause (or parada, if you’re Spanish). Tanks, tanks tops, spangled banners, spandex, bazookas and boobs. Don’t we have something better to celebrate? And what does it have to do with dogwoods – other than the obligatory spring-themed beauty-in-bloom faux-monarchy queens and princesses Pepsi pageant and Vietnam Memorial Rededication?

Sure, it’s a great opportunity get the kids out in the fresh air for a fresh taste of community solidarity. But, why do we cheer on these gender stereotypes as they bounce on by, as we clap with Pavlovian melody, chomping our pink cotton candy and pretzels like gleeful baboons? Speaking of gleeful baboons, what’s with the Shriners?

Who let this quasi-religious, old man’s fraternity into the marching mix? These stepchildren of Freemasonry, with their testosterone, Temples and Turkish Fez’s are practically a parade staple. I haven’t been able to find out the origins of the tiny cars. But I was able to exhume the memory of a Shriner’s go-cart plowing into the crowd at the 2002 Dogwood Parade, breaking the ankle of a 5-year-old and injuring his mother. (And they’re still invited back.) Keep your distance and thank them for the children's hospitals.

Allow me to keep my cynicism in check. Indeed we are a culture without significant social rituals. So, why pull down this seemingly mild charade of civic militarism, sexism, pomp and circumstance? Here in Charlottesville, it is our milder Mardi Gras, our fluffernutter to a better mind's Bread and Puppet. But it is what we make of it. So let’s make it more. Next year, endeavor to enter your own contingent in your neighborhood's march.

A few possible organizational/float themes (remember to register by mid-February): Obamaniacs, No-Petrol Push Mower Brigade, Bulb Swap Hip Hop Dancers, Domestic Abuse Survivors of Nearby Counties and five city blocks of Zombies on Xanax. See you on the sidelines.

Inspiring Titles

The song list for Eat Me, Too (courtesy of Lance Brenner):

I Brake For Unicorns
Take Your Hammer Hard Cock and Build Me A House
Oh My Gawd You Dirty Talker!
Bada Bing Bada Boo
Slutty Seamstress
My Balls
Sheep Smells
Gay Bar Blues
Having Some Sex
Slap The Ass & Ride Forever!
Get it On and Get Along (World Piece)
The Berries Taste Good to the Birdies
Consensual, Monogamous, Married Sex
Existential Blues
Taking It In The Tight One (For the Team)
My Obscenic Overlook

Eat Me, Too: Karmageddon

Had to get this one on paper.

As if I haven't enough to do, I'm concocting a sequel to my zombie musical Eat Me.

http://www.eatmemovie.com/

It's called Eat Me, Too: Karmageddon.

Karmageddon is a term that references "shit hitting the fan" in an extreme way while acknowledging one's contributions to that event. Specifically, when all the (usually unpleasant) stuff you've done comes back to you at once. (Urban Dictionary)

In Eat Me, Too, Peter (the star of Eat Me) - now a substance-abusing, reluctant messiah - leads a cult that stares at a black dot on the wall. Bored, anxious, and horny, he starts going Koresh on his flock. His right hand man The Chicken turns out to be his Judas - and savior. There's a Mary who's on a homicidal vengeance spree and another Mary, the Slutty Seamstress - we'll have to bring back Satan's ex-wives (please, Devon Sproule). There may be some karate. It's all very Jesus Christ Superstar, but with martial arts and marital aids. There will some puppetry ... and, of course, claymation.

There will be new band members - Carter Lewis ("I have a thumb... You have a thumb... Now we are best friends."

Songs to consider: River of Liquor, Matador, Irate Sally, Fire Escape, Uh Oh, My Balls, You Never Answer my Rhetorical Questions (gonna have to get that list from Lance). Maybe do a full version of Are you Sexually Available.

Pepper it with some new fake advertisements: Smite-amins (vitamins that give you godlike powers), Yukon Gold potatoes, Karma Wax, Shamp'u (see earlier post, maybe we'll also do Mandaids).

The Falsies will lead. But we'll bring in some other local bands - Barling and Collins, Accordian Death Squad, Surfzilla, Straight Punch to the Crotch. Maybe get Christian Breeden to do a song. And Jim Waive. Or whatever's left of the Love Tentacle Drip Society. Would love to get Jesus H. Christ in there from NYC.

Somehow, having a sequal legitimizes the first. Or maybe it doesn't. At least it'll be in HD. And maybe we'll shoot in Mexico for some crazy Alejandro Jodorowsky Holy Mountain visuals.

Although the film would rely laregly on common Christian allegory, it might also delve into Mormonism and Falun Gong. There might also be a Hindu Brahmin.

Shower Power

Why is it that we often do our best thinking in the shower? Is it the water, the heat, a soaking deluge that allows the brain to pour forth its secrets? The soap, cleansing our mind's shelves in anticipation of the day's clutter? Or just the brain slugging out of REM and tuning in to the pragmatic world with a few, last, foolish synapse fires for good measure? Or maybe it's being naked, uninhibited and primordial in our private realm of faux porcelain tile.

Regardless, it works, so let's use it. How satisfying to come up with your day's three ideas in five lathery minutes. If these ideas seem to revolve around personal hygeine, blame it on the Irish Spring.

1. Calcigum

I'm no fan of fluoride. Perhaps I'll include my research on it here one day. Teeth need calcium. I was wondering if there was a way to provide topical calcium for teeth without having to go to the dentist. Hence, calcigum - gum impregnated with calcium. Alas, this idea was already taken. But, no one seems to have it in stock. Perhaps it's an idea ahead of its time.

http://www.amazon.com/Estroven-Calci-Gum-Spearmnt/dp/B000TDX8WA

2. Mandaids

There's something so unmanly about a bandaid. A real man doesn't need a band aid. They're for sissies and kid's knees. Real men ignore the pain and get back to work. Or else they use something - I don't know what - to stem the flow of blood. This idea, too, I'm not the first to have conceived. I found an entry in the urban dictionary.

A mandaid is apparently a piece of duct tape with a piece of paper towel a manly man uses instead of a band aid - used when injuring yourself (such as cutting off your finger) doing manly things like construction, lifting weights, or eating red meat.

3. Shamp'u

Aha. One that hasn't been used yet. One of the basic principles of Taoism is P'U, the Uncarved Block. The essence of the Uncarved Block is that things in their original simplicity contain their own natural power, power that is easily spoiled and lost when that simplicity is changed (for those of you who haven't read The Tao of Pooh). Shamp'u is a way of starting the day fresh and new. Start simple. This shampoo would be imbued with aromatherapeutic oils - such as essence of lemon, rosemary and pine needle - which give the bather a clear mind. I even have a tagline. Shamp'u: clear your head.

Ten ideas too many

Diarrhea of the brain. That's what too may ideas gets you.

As a filmmaker, I realize the limitations of time/space/energy/resources/etc. Even Woody Allen can only make one movie a year. Last year I embarked on two. A Buddhist horror film: Mantra. And a documentary on Peruvian music: Vías Perdidas. Meanwhile I was still finishing my zombie musical: Eat Me. Now, as I wade my way through the editing process, my mind wanders to the next project. I have 11 ideas that come to mind (and more surely on the way).

1. One Billion Breaths - a Hindi vampire movie about a sadhu who steals women's breaths (using tantric sex positions) to keep himself eternally young.

2. The Werewolves of Ramadan - a methaphorical fiction about a young bread seller in Cairo torn between indulgence and piety on the high holy days. Tagline: The difference between East and West is night and day.

3. Norwegian Porn - a mock documentary about an American adult movie filmed in Norway.

4. 69 - a naughty comedy about equality between the sexes.

5. Don't Hurry to Heaven - a musical about a busker and a ghost, starring singer/songwriters Devon Sproule and Paul Curreri.

6. Gingerbread - a dramatic TV series about suburban gentrification.

7. Squirrels and Chipmunks - a documentary about a neurological clinic in Maryland.

8. Raised by Wolves - a documentary about the failures of the public schools, behind the self-congratluatory false self-assessments.

9. Bagattaway - a sports documentary about the Iroquois nation lacrosse team.

10. Dive - a fictional narrative about gypsy dumpster divers in a Walmartized America, using the music of the Accordian Death Squad.

11. HOV - a fictional narrative about a lonely commuter who longs for the fast life of the HOV lane, but gets more than that when he picks up an eccentric "slug" at the Park and Ride.

The Dead

A Dead concert is a vacation pass to revisit some of the more appealing aspects of the 60's, or whatever fantasy we harbor of them. Reefer, tie dyes and bra-less women swaying to a happy, 15 minute guitar riff. The crowd's older. But the vibe is locked in the era of flower power.

Not a bad place for ideation, given a light show and assorted concessions of contraband substances. For some reason, last night's epiphanies segued to internet marketing.

Idea 1: Create a cult following #1

I'm currently doing publicity for an independent film, Eat Me: the Musical. A John Lonely nobody becomes the Messiah of the Great Vuvlaution. Music and love save the day (like a Dead concert ... with zombies.) How do you make a cult classic? Fake it. Hence, 100 websites in 30 days. We will create 100 fake fan sites. They will liekly be discovered before any ever reads this blog. If you are reading this, I encourage you to create your own site and link it to:

http://www.eatmemovie.com/

What we're looking for are websites such as the following:

. amateur Eat Me fan-sites (teeny bopper rantings about film and cast/
film rumors - create your own)
. "unoffical" celeb fan-sites: Peter Markush, Lance Brenner, Morgan
Moran, Josh Davis, Jessi Giannini, Jimmy the Dog, Hunter Dillard
. Falsies tribute bands: Falsimania, Falsettes (all female),
Falsiesta (Latin Falsies), Falshies (German Falsies)
. "product" sites: Devil Creames, Larry's Lightning Rods, ABCs of
Enlightenment, Spanking for Conservatives
. cult/religious sites: Messiah of the Great Vulvalution, Thirsty
Jesus, Space Opera, Jimmy the Dog, Satan Chicken
. blogs: Jimmy the Dog, the Chicken Speaks, Funky Dickenson

Idea 2: Create a cult following #12

I'm also doing publicity for the indie Buddhist horror flick Mantra. A primary charcter is the guru/charlatan Nimmalo. The idea here is to give him a life outside the film. What better place than YouTube. Nimmalo will have his own page, where he can spout on anything from spirtiuality to politics to chutney recipes. He lacks breasts, which might limit his appeal to YouTube addicts. But he will make up for this with eccentricity and hopefully, a high degree of humor and production value. Look for Nimmalo sooon.

Idea 3: Rock and Roll Hell

The Falsies, who star in the afroemention film Eat Me, need a few usic videos. I've got a new notion of them singing their punk song Rock and Roll Hell at a five year old's birthday party, with the lead singer dressed as a party clown. Chaos ensues.

3 Ideas a Day?

This is an experiment in non-stop ideation.

After working in advertising for 17 years and having countless ideas killed just after conception, I wanted a place my ideas could live. Not that they're all good ideas. But, having sprung from my head, they deserve a day in the sun and a romp in the roses. Thus, "Three Ideas a Day."

Can you come up with three new ideas a day? You should try it. It's not easy. But if you're an insomniac or obsessive compulsive, it should feel like second nature. What's an idea? A concept. I once read that the difference between people and computers is that people have concepts. Three concepts. Three ideas. Whichever comes comes first.

One caveat. If I'm being paid that day to come up with ideas, I won't be able to share them here and may have to rehash an idea from one of my journals (be prepared for some occasional sophomoric thinking).

I'm not extremely attached to my ideas. If any of my ideas falls flat (or is stolen), that's OK. I'll come up with three more tomorrow.