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contours provocations
journal - 2001-0603 - sun 2000 Gladiators, The Aisles, Cleaning in the Nude Last night as I flitted with my journal entry, I was viewing "Gladiator." Another one of those bombastic Hollywood movies that the public seems to want. Big-fucking-budget epics with lots of special effects and little soul. "Gladiator" is amazingly predictable. From the first scene, you can easily guess what will happen. It borrows shamelessly from other movies including "Spartacus" and "Last Days of the Roman Empire." Almost all the panaromic shots of processions and crowds are cribbed from Leni Rifenstahl's "Triumph of the Will." Russell Crowe does look very virile. And the peek at the mechnical workings of the Coliseum was interesting. In terms of human emotions the most telling scene was one in which the gladiators are in line to march into the arena. The man in front of Crowe urinates, no doubt out of fear, down his leg, and you see Crowe glancing at the puddle at the man's foot. The Romans had to have gladiators. Now Americans appear to need movies about gladiators - "Gladiator," "Pearl Harbor," "Saving Private Ryan," Blood, guts, gore and violence are big business. BUT show two guys fucking and see what happens. Believe it or not, I actually got some household chores done today. After lunch, I swung by that great tribute to do-it-yourselfism - "Home Depot." Actually, I rather like wandering up and down the aisles. On one level, I'm astounded at the sheer number of products. On another level, I'm even more astounded at the distribution system that manages to bring all these products together. I found a few items I needed and put them in my basket. I surveyed the bathroom fixtures but need to give them some more thought. I couldn't find any shutters for the outside. Anyway, I was satisfied with what I got. Maybe, if I do one task at a time, stop before I become fatigued and don't panic, I'll be able to get some crap done. When I got home, I sprayed the front on my house with some mildew remover, and it worked very well. The only difficulty is the bleach-like smell. By the time I got inside, I was drenched with sweat, so I took everything off and decided to take a shower. BUT I got sidetracked by cat hair and found myself vacuuming in the nude. (Although I may vacuum in the nude, I'd never jog in the nude. I know you're dying to know why. I'd bruise my knees something terrible! I know that was cheap, but I couldn't resist.) Speaking of which, I used to have a subscription to the LA gay mag, "Frontiers," and there were always ads for guys willing to come to your house and clean in the nude. Why can't someone open a franchise here!? PAX!
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