I'm sure I'm not the only one who isn't surprised this was filmed in the Isles. Look at it! The film aesthetics are straight out of Mr. Bean. And by "film aesthetics", I mean, "country". And by "quality", I mean, "ever-present clouds that come in two indistinguishable variations: grey and dirty drawers". Even the actors look English just because American TV always has the fat oaf married to a Kelly Ripa impersonator, who jiggles her loose collar bone for laughs: "Hehehe! I don't eat."
When I was there, I took advantage of the sun's rare vanity appearances to take photos. One of which was of a grizzled Shaggy-type on a bridge wearing an industrial washing machine door that urged big business to go environmental. So to be fair, a forecast of light rain and invading hobos is perhaps a more accurate portrait of my stay that year, and thus, the whole of England.
I've been listening to the Hustle & Flow soundtrack for the last two days. Absolutely addicted, it's just been "cleaning her pussy" this and "talkin' that shit" all day and everywhere.
I went to Home Outfitters to pick up a few accessories for my apartment and approached a pleasant-looking woman at the customer service desk:
"Hi, could you tell me where the laundry hampers are located?"
The lady cheerfully pointed the way, too polite to tell me the headphones hanging around my neck were definitely pumping music that propagated pimping and prostitution.
Although I'm pretty sure I thanked her as I walked away, she might've got the wrong message when the lyrics aggressively taunted her to "show her ass off" and be a "bad, bad, bitch" doing it.
Silly, iPod. What am I going to do with you?
Okay. Here's the thing, I told HaiPhia. I haven't made a real effort to kick M. Biologique out of my life because, frankly, I pity him. He's alienated everyone in his life with his power games. Girlfriends, family, social circles, everybody. It's sad, leaping from one willing host to another until he depletes them of their usefulness. Let me clarify: I'm not trying to justify his behaviour. But I have too much pride to let him bait me ("That's your idea of pride? Pride means walking away.") I don't want him to be able to say: "See, there goes another one. I knew this would happen. Everyone is the same, everyone leaves me. Shit, I left that bitch first." His every appearance tests my tolerance and convinces me that whoever coined the word "Hobbesian" probably had someone in mind, but it is not all bad. Knowingly interacting with him has given me the opportunity to hone other qualities that were never given the proper (if twisted) environment to be realized, such as hedge fund-sized patience and an unusually high threshold for pain.
Okay. So he's using me for what he needs and leaves with ne'er a committment to future arrangements (unless you count wanting to borrow a DVD an invitation for a reunion). When he pops by and lets himself in unannounced, I am fully aware that his overriding need to be comfortable supercedes shame (not to mention my predictable welcoming hug is most likely encouraging my treatment - it's enough to make Pavlov renounce his theories). And he probably has himself convinced that he has me wrapped around his little finger.
So I say let him. Let him think that. If he is unwilling to change, if it pleases him to weave elaborate fictional narrative to make sense of the world, I see no reason to stop him. M. Biologique depends on my being there for him; I rely on him for nothing. He comes at will; I'm willing to accept it.
"You're his shrink; not his friend."
Then he doesn't get membership benefits - he seems to be getting a lot of mileage out of the free trial alone. Like I've said before, he's a nuisance. As long as I don't need to exert more energy than is required to passively receive him, I think this current strategy is a good route to take. I can't even say it's a waste of time since no time will be put on reserve for him. And he's a pleasure to be with when he's not busy wreaking havoc and working up guilt. Really, we have fun together. He's like a big brother with vague intentions and jealous/possessive tendencies who happens to have also felt me up on occasion.