home authors guest shorts graphical shorts


For the second time in three days, I was listening to a crappy rendition of that Mozart Piano Concerto in A Major. I thought, what are the chances of that happening twice in 3 days? There’s a surplus of great recordings out there, and they’re playing this lame-assed version – lifeless, uninspired, rhythmically pallid. It struck me as weird that it even happened, and I felt like I wanted to tell someone. I thought about picking up the cell phone, but thought it would be too prosaic. After all I was in L.A. and I didn’t want to be one of those people on the cell phone in the car. Then I thought that it was a shame that I was so self-conscious of every potential action to the point where reality itself was scripted.

The whole self-referential thing kicked into Dave Eggers high gear – “I’m thinking about me thinking about me…” It was over in no time – those brain farts play out within two seconds of real time because you’ve been down that road enough times; your consciousness gives you a paraphrase of the dead-end thought you’ve had hundreds of times already. What was left, though, was the beginning of loneliness. Now the bad Mozart seemed like one of those singular, solitary experiences that I’d never be able to explain to anyone, like some freaky animal you saw when you were a kid that somehow communicated to you, but no one was there to see it. The lonely feeling piggybacked onto the overly self-aware thing and they made a heady mix.

Next came the observation that I was completely not in control of my thought process – I wasn’t ‘clear’ like those nut-job scientologists at the Celebrity Center in Hollywood called it. I mean what kind of consciousness is this, where in under 45 seconds I can go from normal to malcontent over nothing? I felt the bile in my stomach rise up and panicked.

The mood could switch back, though, and it did. I stepped out of the car into the Koo-Koo Roo Chicken on Ventura Boulevard in Studio City. Instantly the smell and feel of the place sparked a chain of associations and happy memories from when I used to live in L.A. It was the old giddy dream of prelapsarian bliss – before everything got fucked up, dull, and tedious. That’s what always saved me, the illusion that it was ever any better before than it is now. As I walked towards the restaurant, though, I realized that in order for the nostalgia to work its magic, things would always have to be perceived as fucked up in the present – otherwise the past would have no allure. The essential falseness of that arrangement hit me, and I was pissed off all over again as I walked through the doors.

Date Written: October 14, 2003
Author: Phony Millions
Average Vote: 4.6

10/14/2003 Jon Matza (5): Once again, the spectacle of an Evansian character's hyper self-awareness/consciousness/reflexivity leading him into a nightmarish state of inertia, ennui, terror etc. provides shorts fans with high comedy.
10/22/2003 Shomer Shabbas (5): One of the best-written things I've seen on here. Well done.
10/22/2003 Phony Millions: my stock is rising...I was pretty dark about being last in rank. thank you I love you all
11/4/2003 Dylan Danko (5): How do you think I feel? I've been at the bottom for a long time. By the way, this really was great.
11/22/2003 Benny Maniacs (5): I feel this is his best work, and that he shouldn't feel compelled to do a sequel or especially a third, crappier version, where everyone forgets that it was actually the Matrix itself that was so cool in the first place. I don't want to be in Zion, get me the fuck out of there.
02/6/2004 scoop (5): eerie work of genius.
02/6/2004 qualcomm (5): yeah it's just fucking great. come home, evans. acme needs you. we'll suck your cock.
05/25/2004 TheBuyer (5): Secretly, Dave reads this site and steals from it.
09/18/2004 Fitzcarralldo (1): What no shit joke?
09/18/2004 scoop: How could we have all beens so wrong about this short? It took the razor-like insights of one Fitzcarraldo to show us our folly. How could we have been so stupid? How could the words have tricked us? Or how could thry deftly arrange themselves in an intersting and funny way? And how artfully managed to disguise themselves as careful, interesting writing. What fools we have all been. I tip my hat to you, Fitzcarrralldo, you truly are a dumb fucking twat. PS -- portions of this are sarcastic. Other portions are in fact heartfelt.
12/10/2004 John Slocum (5): Wow, I can't believe I never rated this. It's one of the best. Fitzcarraldo, explain yourself .
09/8/2006 Litcube (5): Fitzcarralldo can go fuck himself.
09/8/2006 Litcube: With shovels.
09/8/2006 TheBuyer: he's been playing WoW for eight consecutive months without taking a break, he doesn't have time
09/11/2006 thecrutchofsociety: f yeah
09/11/2006 Litcube: I've heard rumours that he could probably use some shovels in his home.