Wednesday, 13 July 2011

Sam de gods.

Visual representation of inner turmoil: (Mine.)

Something alarming happened today.

Something that gave me the unpleasant feeling that there is a weakness in the very fabric of the world.

Something that made me think that some Rumplestiltskin like creature unscrewed a panel in the side of my head, reached in, and tore out a handful of Very Important Wiring while I slept last night.

How else to account for the fact that I just read something by Sam de Brito and found myself nodding assent?

I know. It's scandalous. Either I'm in worse shape than I thought or....... no. The alternative (that Sam de Brito is capable of making some kind of sense or striking some kind of chord is too terrible and destabilising a thought to entertain, so I won't. Ever.)

What is it I don't like about the guy, you ask?  (And by 'the guy' I mean his columns, obviously; and yes, I am completely comfortable judging him solely and with extreme prejudice on the basis of his weekly columns, what of it?) Well, everything, really. In his by-line photo he wears an expression that says "and I don't even work out". Everything about him screams "I watch Q&A." Basically he comes across as a deadset dickhead AND he's always talking about his herpes. Not just in passing, either. No, he talks about his herpes like he's the fucking Rosa Parkes of the STI movement.

Sometimes, for a change of pace, he talks about his hemorrhoids*. Now, let the record state that when Nathan Hindmarsh discussed his hemorrhoids on The League Lounge I was charmed. I did my happy, trained-seal-on-stage-at-SeaWorld flipper clap and I probably murmured "Oh, Hindy" approvingly too. You know why though, right? Because Hindy is infinitely likeable. He called one of his kids ROWDY - for reals - and he's still  hugely likeable. Sam de Brito, though, not so much. By which I mean, uh, not at all.

"Bondi", Sam?  It writes itself...

Nathan Hindmarsh's Arse. Don't ask me how or where I found this.

Anyway. Earlier this year my best friend told me that I needed to "get out there". You're familiar with this expression, yes? It's slightly abstract, granted, but it means getting oneself out on the scene, amongst it. Or something. I think it also means you don't wear moccasins in public, stuff like that. I personally can't hear or read the term without thinking of George Costanza, when his shrew of a mother, newly seperated, tells him she's getting an eye-job because she has to look good: "I'm out there now." This is upsetting for George, who is also 'out there': "YOU'RE NOT OUT THERE. YOU CAN'T BE OUT THERE - I'M OUT THERE!!" etc etc.

Well, Sam de Brito is 'out there' too. I learned this from reading his column, when, in between trying to squeeze in as many tragic refences to "truckie speed" and - I die writing this, I DIE - "disco biccies" he started writing about the trials of having to re-learn the rules of one night stands after breaking up with his girlfriend. Well, I'm with George Costanza on this one. I really don't think I can be 'out there' at the same time as this guy, frankly. It's irrational and absurd, but then so am I. Susu, if you're reading, I intend to stay 'in here' until Sam de Brito is no longer 'out there'.

This could take awhile.

Oh yeh, the column that had me nodding scandalised assent? It's really not important, but it was some shit about love and vulnerability, and it had a lot of sentences starting with the words "research reveals...", which is probably why I found it so readable and downright, surreally agreeable, actually. Here's a sample sentence:
"Research reveals that the single thing that keeps us from love and connection is believing we're not worthy of love and connection, and have I mentioned my raging herpes lately**?"
Say it again, Sam! It's good stuff, right?

*Behold: my first written reference to hemorrhoids - a milestone I thought worthy of special mention. It has an extra poignancy for me because I have no spellcheck on here, I had to look up HEMORRHOIDS in my Oxford. Is it not the hardest word in the world to spell? Harder than 'rhythm' or 'rhyme' or 'probably' even, GOD.

**Disclaimer: The last 8 words in that sentence may not have actually made it to print in Sam de Brito's actual column. HE WAS THINKING THEM, THOUGH.

One last thing. A post peppered with repeated refence to hemorrhoids and herpes? The Dream. I'm livin' it.


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