Saturday, November 21, 2009

The Daily Growler "Monkey Done Hit the Wall" Edition

Foto by tgw, "Using Morning Sun to Define Contrasts" (a flippant title), NYC, 2009

It Seems to Me
An idea hit me the other night while in bed watching television. I was watching one of those CSI shows, of which there are now 15 or 20. I'm looking for CSI-Tacoma any day now. But I was watching this CSI and they were going through their normal Hollywood-cop-forensic sleights of hand and babble when I remembered reading once somewhere back up the line where there are only around 10 plots ever invented and used by Hollywood or television writers--10 standard plots, of which of course they depend on variations (and nuances). Thinking this way was triggered by the plot of the CSI I was watching; it kept making me feel like I'd seen it before, though the show was advertised prior to showing as an "all new episode," whatever that truly means. So though I couldn't have ever seen this episode I'd seen the plot used before--in another "crime busting" show--and then I narrowed that down to having seen it used on the CBS FBI-profiler show, "Criminal Minds," a really macabre show that Gulf Stream jets a crack team of FBI profilers around the USA to help local cops catch some of the evilest and most mentally deranged criminals to ever show up out of some mother's womb. This show's criminal solos in hideous crimes of a lowest bizarre nature. He, and these killers are nearly always males, goes about savagely raping, savagely abusing, primitively torturing, and killing with prolonged really mean skills. The preferred targets of these criminal minds are 9 times out of ten young college-age girls. Most of the victims on these cop-crime-buster-cop-Fed-hero television shows are women, preferably, like I said, college-age women.

Hollywood moguls--and that includes the current ruling class of Hollywood Power Men--hate women. They've come up through the Old World traditions that a woman should either be a whore and take orders from men or be like a current television show is promoting "a good wife." Hollywood's spotlite babes have traditionally been purely sexual objects who when they become overused sexually or are caught cheating on the head male, they get their asses beaten (Bobby Brown-Whitney Houston style) or they have to die.

Most of the television family comedy sit-coms are totally about getting laid--here, too, again the same plots are used over and over and over. There are no serious actresses in Hollywood today--they're all bumbleheaded half-beauties running around doing topless photo shoots and babbling a mile-a-minute about how great the male rulers are--"Oh working with him has been utterly divine. He's one of the most brilliant men I've ever worked under." Show biz. What Gore Vidal called politics. Everything is Show Biz. Glitter. Glamor. All faked. All painted on. All the stages the same. All the sets the same. All the direction the same. And like I started off saying, all the plots the same. The windows on Hollywood and television are all faked. Look at how we now accept animated cartoons as serious films--"Shrek" up for an Academy Award--"Shrek" comes to Broadway. And Shrek is actually a young black actor who puts on these layers and layers of foam and plaster to become the anthropomorphization invented by the Disney pool writers called Shrek, who's a lovable cartoon Frankenstein character who the kids love cause he belches and farts a lot--a horrible character if you think about it. Did you ever notice how Disney kiddie films promote royalty, princes and princesses, kings and queens, even fairy princesses and royal African lions that actually wear crowns? Disney promotes a monarchy--but then so did Mister Rogers and he's considered a television children's programming genius. I defend old Mister Rogers simply because he used a lot of jazz on his show and Johnny Costa, a great jazz pianist, was his music director; Johnny's brother [Mr. Ed. As shown by our astute commenter, he's very jazz knowledgeable, Johnny was not Eddie's brother except within the fraternal order of jazz musicians--they were certainly jazz brothers--both with very advanced rather modal styles of playing their instruments; in both their cases piano and vibes], Eddie, was a great young jazz vibist (and pianist) who died right in the middle of his rise to jazz attention--in a car wreck:

It has been 42 years since jazz great Eddie Costa died in a tragic car accident on New York's Westside Highway on July 28, 1962. He was 31 years old and by that time assembled a musician's resume most people can't achieve in a lifetime. (From the official Eddie Costa Website)

I first heard the pianist Bill Evans with a free-form jazz group led by Eddie Costa.
Johnny Costa/Eddie Costa

So realizing that I had seen the same plot on another same-sort-of television show led me to the bright idea that the human monkey may have taken monkey-evolved-intelligence to a breaking point. Just like the human monkeys that write the television plots are running out of plots and tricks and ways to die--there is very little birth on television, unless it's to announce the birth of another little bastard to some constantly PR-ed celebrity babe.

The human monkey's intelligence has steered him straight into a brick wall. At least the Western human monkey's intelligence has. I was just listening to a Brit dude talking about how totally flip side of Western thinking Chinese thinking is. How Western thinking is on the brink of sliding off into the archaeology site of the future and is being overtaken and overshadowed by Eastern thinking. By the way, the Chinese do favor certain monkeys. I can find you a monkey profile that fits every known type of human monkey profile--I'm talking facial profile here--you know, face-to-face, the Chinese resemble the monkeys of their jungles.

I mean look at the human monkey information that we are now being flooded with. Information of all sorts. Tons of big lies--we legitimize them as myths, fables, gods--tons of big truths, both the obvious kind and the hidden kind--tons of lesser lies and tons of lesser truths--and tons of superfluous bullshit--and tons of solutions, good solutions, bad solutions, insane solutions--all bags are mixed. The information is--and I gasp writing about it--overburdening in some instances.

Space is no problem, you see. We've plenty of space. We can put a library on the head of a pin now. Too much space left to fill is the problem. The drive in the human monkey's evolving intelligence is to fill all blank spaces (we are territorial animals)--fill in the spaces--human monkeys don't like blank anythings. Blank walls drive them nuts. Blank stares make them mad as hell. Blank checks are worthless to them. Blank bullets are jokes to those who use bullets to kill. Some of them talk about shooting blanks in the sack. Blankity-blank-blanks are substitute curse words (or cuss words)--I like cuss better than curse--I know it's a child of curse, but, hey, it takes the devil out of the word--the Devil is an old cuss but he isn't a curse, don't you see.

So monkey intelligence has so many billions and billions and billions of bytes and pixels and pinheads to fill in with information it's driving us to staggering speeds in our attempts to keep filling in these blank spaces. Just, come on, our innards shout, gather and put down some more information, like all the answers to all the questions--more questions, come on, more questions, we are running over with answers.

All computer logic leads to Chaos; just like all physical problems in old-fashioned math and physics used to lead to the Third Law of Thermodynamics--Entropy. With all this tons and tons of overextended information we still can't stop the Natural Show--"One monkey don't stop no show," as the old r and b song used to teach us.

Computers represent our human monkey intelligence's highest achievement. We are now able to drain all brains of all matter no matter how inane it is or no matter, as I said, how insane it is. We want information for information's sake now.

We are turning out little geniuses by the droves out of colleges all around the world. All young people hip, geniuses, little wise asses, all of them enthralled by computerized virtual reality--all of them living in a framed world, a world as seen through a viewfinder, whether the viewfinder is on your iPhone or embedded in your forehead. "Windows" Bill Gates calls it. "The View" a television show calls it. "Eye on the World," I see all over all the time. CBS's symbol is an EYE. A camera lens is the same as an eye. It's a human monkey expansion on the camera-eye-type evolution discovered by human monkeys in their study of house flies or the chamelion lizard. It's a narrow view of life. Our films and television shows are running out of fantasy.

Now human geniuses are investigating the world of the nanosecond. These birds are shrinking the world; miniaturizing it down, fixing it while it's miniaturized, then blowing it back up to utilitarian size. We have just about categorized everything into the Micro, the "Normal" (the median), the Macro, and the Utopian. We are either looking at life through microscopes or telescopes.

Our politicians are running around like chickens with their heads chopped off they are so confused. The only power they really have is the power to accept huge bribes and give back billion-dollar favors from and to our controlling behemoth global importing and exporting and trading and exchanging companies (like the "companies" of Adam Smith's day--the company invented where in the days of the Italian City States like Venice and Florence?).

Just as monkeys are seldom able to sit still; we are unable to sit still--to stop and realize things as they are and quit worrying about how things are gonna be. You know, monkeys sleep like all jungle animals--with one eye open. Whales sleep that way, too, and whales are kin to monkeys, aren't they?

I fell asleep the other night with that on my mind. We human monkeys have run out of plots variances. We are using the same old plots over and over and they are wearing thin and we are on the verge of suffering a national collective mental breakdown, all of us perhaps like the Mad Major of Fort Hood to start whacking each other off when we should be wanking each other off since I say like the good psychiatry student that I am it's all about our appetites and our pleasures--sex is pleasurable yet we condemn it to the lowest pits of Hell; killing is psychotic yet we advance killers to the highest realms of worship. Killing eventually isn't pleasurable as much as it is a relief of sexual frustrations--like I can guarantee you soldiers are sexually frustrated as hell/sex isn't one of the military's understandings; sex involves birth and not death--the military knows nothing about birth.

One of my oldest friends in life became a psychiatrist in a time when he was forced into military service and as a result he became a military psychiatrist. He tells me he thinks the Mad Major of Fort Hood was simply not a well-trained psychiatrist--and worse, my friend added, he got his psychiatric training through the military. My friend said no serious psychiatrist could murder his patients--and that impressed me. I've been so lucky in life in becoming friends with some of the most brilliant human monkeys.

for The Daily Growler


Fernando Ortiz de Urbina said...


Interesting post. However, Johnny and Eddie Costa were not siblings. Eddie's older (and only male) brother's name was William (Bill or Billy, 1920-2006). He played piano and vibes too.

Johnny and Eddie recorded together in 1958 as part of "The First Modern Jazz Piano Quartet" in the album A Gallery of Gershwin (Coral, CRL 759102), with Hank Jones and Dick Marx completing the quartet.

Fernando Ortiz de Urbina
Easy does it

The Daily Growler said...


You are correct, sir. The confusion comes from that fact that besides having the same last names Johnny and Eddie were associated in that Coral recording. Also, our main memory source when it comes to jazz mistakenly believed they were related since he was a teenager.

Appreciate your comment...we love being corrected...

The Daily Growler