Perfect Day

Hey-hey!
How are you?
I haven't posted anything new in a year and a half.
Hm.
2014 was mostly ghastly (pour moi).
2015 no picnic.
This year blah.
Today I felt the glory of being alive in a beautiful world.
People all around, very good; however the ones with whom I spent my day and evening:
I'M SO GLAD I SPENT IT WITH YOUUU . . .

(Got an unstoppable anything's possible vibe going on. Merci.)

Back soon. Absurdly busy. And busily absurd. Stay sexy.

~G

Male Human Seeks Appropriate Female Human Seeking Me for Mutual Gratification and Practical Functionality

Hi! I'm a creative and healthy and kind and university-educated male of above-average stature and slightly below-average self-confidence, fully capable of wilful bombast but generally preferring pleasant and moderate behaviour when not actively entertaining. I am 46 Earth years old, in good shape overall, single, never-married, no children (yet?), have grown up very well past pretending pets are people, kinda professional, and tidy apart from my work area. I am nice, often significantly beyond the threshold of other people's assholery -- speaking of which, since adolescence and up to the present, whenever I like (or "love") a girl-woman, she inevitably treats me very poorly whilst swooning over some shithead who generally abuses her then leaves: a pattern! Whereas, me: I am of course as imperfect as anyone, but dream most sincerely of finding lasting happiness in a kind, faithful, and mutually-supportive relationship. If you are a creative and healthy and kind woman between the ages of ~25 and ~40 (Earth years, please), and seek the same general arrangement, read on . . .

While it is impossible to sum up either myself or my desired partner in a few lines (or, I hope, even in thousands of lines), the factors listed below -- both positives and negatives (I consider humans flexible and infinite; but we need some definitions or we'd be mud) -- should provide a reasonably fair portrait of what interested parties can expect of me; and of what (and whom) I seek.

I've tried "singles sites," but frankly they are abysmal. Thus this.

Dislikes and Likes round out the presentation, after which you may proposition me, or invite me to proposition you, at gregoireswan@gmail.com .

I have been completely single for eight years, and seek to end this run before I'm eligible for the papacy.

Good luck!

~YOU~

YES:

CREATIVITY

Be creative in fun and sophisticated ways of your own choosing.

EDUCATION

Be of at least a Bachelor's level or equivalent, and ever-learning.

FRIENDSHIP

Be my true friend, and count in your life other excellent friends.

BODY

Be reasonably height-weight proportionate, and brunette (personal preference, though gingers may also apply).

SEX

Be female and born female and consistently female since being born female, with no plans to become anything other than female, and prove it to me with reasonable frequency (see also: Creativity).

BUSH

Please have one. They look nice.

THE ARTS

Enjoying and sharing relatively intelligent and inspiring (more than merely provocative and/or passionate) music, literature, cinéma, theatre, and other arts is a must.

FAMILY & COMMUNITY

Feel the energy and happiness of our union resonating through immediate family, expanded community, and the world -- and let it resonate back to us!

NO:

ASSHOLERY

If for any reason you get off on being an asshole, you're not for me, goodbye.

RELIGION (See also: Assholery)

Religion causes wars, killing millions and killing relationships. Be intelligent, not superstitious, and relegate religion exclusively to the Mythology shelf.

HORRID FAMILY

If your family suck, don't foist them on me.

DADDY ISSUES

Apart from in the boudoir (if that pleases), you must have your issues with your father settled before approaching me. (Especially if you need someone to hurt you the way he did, I'm not the guy.)

ADDICTIONS

We all make mistakes, but if you're so weak that you can't pass up drugs, alcohol, smoking, sex-addiction, cults, eating disorders, or even excessive shopping or being a "travel junkie," then you're not strong enough for me. (Travel is great, incidentally -- but not as denial or mere escapism.)

MEDIA

Please don't be into shit. And switch off the TV if no one is actively watching it. Noise.

PET MARRIAGE

If you're married to your cat, dog, iguana or whatever, you're not mature enough to be with me (a human). Most people like creature comforts, but please be a grownup.

ANIMAL EXPLOITATION

I've been very happily vegetarian for 24 years (as of 2015), most of that time vegan (which I comfortably prefer). If you are still stuck and addicted to abusing, exploiting, devouring, or even wearing animals, then a close relationship won't be possible between us.

KIDS

Bless you and yours (if any) -- but I'd like to start fresh, my first time.

~ME~

YES:

Same as the YES qualities I seek above.

Bonus: Good listener.

Bonus-bonus: I'm fun.

NO:

I'm not wealthy.

(In fact I dread becoming wealthy until after I'm in a true, loving relationship.)

My family are selfish, willfully-ignorant jerks. They'll tell you otherwise, but they've hurt me a lot. Even my mutually-loathing "parents" waited decades to get their hideous divorce, total sadness. I sure won't foist them on you.

My worldly achievements are, thus far, modest at best.

I have no plans to buy a motorcycle.

My sexual appetite is huge and lascivious (could be a YES, if you're the right person) -- however:

I'll quickly lose interest if you're not interesting.

I like sleeping and eating and bathing whenever the fuck I feel like it.

Prompt forgiveness (especially for intentional malevolence) is not my strong suit.

And the "darkest" (though I like darkness!) factor I can conjure (with anything approaching objectivity) is: I never suffer fucktards gladly (not even when it could provide longer-term benefits).

~

Okay, there's the gist!

DISLIKES:

Noise, bullshit, fighting, yelling, smoking, drinking, drugs, pointlessly expensive things, the '90s, anyone named "Justin," people who never shut up and/or don't know how to listen, people who refuse to get the joke, hot sun, watching sports (particularly televised sports), country music, leafblowers, roots rock, asshole metal/grunge, asshole rap, cop shows, hospital shows, crime shows, talk shows, crime movies, people shooting and/or hitting each other in any context, women who bray like donkeys (laugh your ass off, but don't "sing" like that!), Stevie Nicks (thus), 24/7 gay blather (occasionally, fine; constantly, no), animal exploitation, weapons, religion, war, politics, meat stink.

LIKES:

Music, Monkees, Monty Python, Muppets (concluding with Muppets from Space; with strongest affection for the "Jim years" up to 1990), conversation, civil discourse, tennis, cycling, the '80s, Kate Bush, Paul Williams, Prince, Debussy, Vaughn Williams, Earth, Wind & Fire, Motown, Stevie Wonder, Cibo Matto, Talking Heads, Tom Tom Club, The Pogues, Star Trek (1966-2005), Star Wars (1977-1983; 2002), Christopher Lee, Hammer horror films, Asian culture (and food), rain, spring, fall, winter, fun science-fiction (not so much the "hard" stuff), fantasy (as a general genre), "doing it" creatively and mutually faithfully and frequently, true and lasting friendship, languages and linguistics, fairness, kindness, discipline in the good way (only), pretty boobies, world peace.

Sincerely,

~ GregoireSwan@gmail.com

I'VE GOT A BAD FEELING ABOUT THIS -- Like It or Not, Here Comes a Shitload of Disney Star Wars (Exclusive Episode VII The Force Awakens Plot Spoilers, Spoilers, SPOILERS!!! Harrison Ford Daisy Ridley Whatever . . . )

Hi. How are you? Great. Read:

Last weekend, on Disney's home turf of Anaheim, California (but is anywhere not Disney's home turf anymore? Honestly, can you go shopping without constantly running into Disney's relentless blitzkriegs of Frozen or Avengers or Star Wars merch? It's getting slightly scary!), thousands of people gathered for the latest "Star Wars Celebration." In addition to countless parents dressing up their toddlers as copyrighted characters (as well as themselves), there were hordes of middle-aged white guys who haven't gotten any since that dream they had a few years ago, desperately holding up their arsenal of camera-phones, hoping to capture a few pixels of Carrie Fisher as she livened up the insanely slick sales pitch by jeering them about "playing with her" (as a plastic toy). Meanwhile, I watched; and I felt stuff -- some of it good, some of it not good. Of the latter, indeed, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

A few years ago, while I was being worked ragged for lousy pay (unlike these days, when I'm worked ragged for zero pay), I reconnected with Star Wars. "The Prequels" (as they're called) were in full swing. For Episode I (1999), I was very surprisingly handed a free ticket to the extremely sold-out first-ever screening, midnight, at the Chinese Theatre (pre-renovations) in Hollywood -- and I had mixed feelings about it, but ended up making tiny cameos in two Star Wars documentaries about the crazy fandom event (look for me on Hollywood Boulevard next to "Charlie Chaplin"). For Episode II (2002) I brought along one of those L.A. co-workers who isn't really your friend but pretends to be for a while to see what they can get, and I enjoyed the movie, and afterward we waited alongside Jay Leno in the hellish Century City parking garage which doesn't exist anymore, and Jay didn't enjoy the movie, and said so. And for Episode III (2005), I had recently had my career destroyed by shitbags from retarded places like Cleveland and Denver and Phoenix, and used the movie as a catalyst to figure out the Internet and get myself back onto it (to no great effect -- but I always prefer doing something to doing nothing); and I also managed to convince a wannabe actor (and Star Wars nut) I knew to drive us in a borrowed car to Westwood for the first press screening (10 a.m.), and afterward Jack Black bummed a cigarette off him, and Black stood around with us for a while, wondering aloud if he had personally ruined Peter Jackson's King Kong (Jack, you're fine -- if anyone personally ruins movies by appearing in them, it's your castmate, The Mosquito).

Anyway, the point is: for those years, I was back into Star Wars -- even though most of my peers delighted themselves by assailing The Prequels with sneering, white-hot hatred. (Gosh, you guys are so smart. I'll bet you also touch yourselves to Clockwork Orange.) Me, I could easily admit that the Prequels' scripts were largely shit, that some performances bordered on criminally awful, and that the Original Trilogy magic we'd briefly known as kids was sorely lacking. But hey, in L.A., friends weren't being friendly, women were treating me like shit, I wasn't born with an Industry spoon in my mouth, and Santa Monica still had a Toys-R-Us and a Kay-Bee (like most fun shops -- including records, books, and movies -- they're long gone; don't bother), so those thrillingly idiotic Prequels helped keep me happy. Honestly, with the sudden tidal wave of Lord of the Rings crap, Harry Potter crap, and brand-new Star Wars crap, buying and collecting crap kept me going. From the hot sun outside the sliding doors at 9:59 a.m. I'd literally race Japanese businessmen in suits and ties to the Star Wars aisle. People weren't being nice, but there was fleeting gratification in coming "home" (to an insanely overpriced apartment surrounded by raging sociopaths) with a mint-on-mint-card "Han Solo in Hoth Parka" or whatever. Helped my beleaguered imagination survive (plus that Han in particular is as true as friends get). I'm not proud of those days, but it could have been a lot worse. You've probably done a lot worse.

The very worst came in 2012, when the money finally ran out, nobody would help me move in a reasonable way, and the noble property managers hired five Mexican guys to chuck my belongings into the back of a "gardening" truck, and drive my stuff to the dump (wherever that is, and how one can discern it from surrounding neighborhoods, remain unknown). I salvaged my Star Wars paperbacks (Star Wars "literature" should only appear in paperback form), but those, uh, "movers" definitely stole my Star Wars hardcovers (which never appeared in their dump-truck; I checked). Those guys go gaga for Star Wars (and Disney's other udder: Marvel). Probably for the best -- at least I didn't waste too much time trying to read those stupid things! (Timothy Zahn, yes -- he wrote the real Episodes VII, VIII, and IX, way back in the '90s when everything else sucked -- but most of the others, a resounding no.) Probably not coincidentally, 2012 was also the year that George Lucas sold his Lucasfilm company for $4 billion or whatever, and instantaneously his years of firmly stating in interviews that there would be no further Star Wars movies, that Star Wars was "his thing" and it concluded with Episode VI (1983) became a nauseating pack of lies we'd swallowed for years, and in the same moment Disney announced they'd be forcibly shoving new Star Wars product down our throats in perpetuity.

And here it comes.

Naturally, Disney promptly handed the Star Wars franchise to J.J. Abrams, because he'd shown such impressive respect for the Star Trek franchise NOT (two movies I'd love to love -- except they make me puke). Note: I've met J.J., and he seemed pretty cool, and I have no issues with him personally. I just can't stand his movies. Gosh, can't wait to watch Old Han order a "Slusho" at the Cantina while he winks at the violently shaking camera through a storm of lens flares. Whee.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Or maybe beside myself.

When I was a child, one of my relatives went to see the new hit movie Star Wars (1977), and came back raving, insisting that I must see it immediately. Even as a young kid, with adolescence a few years off, I'd already learned enough from and about life not to swallow anyone's line indiscriminately. (No hate, but as an example: not one person I know who ardently declared Obama the messiah has ever -- in eight years -- been able to tell me any one single quality of his that convinced them to vote for him [let alone screech and drool and claw at the heavens over his magnificence]. Of course I didn't like his horrid predecessors! But: Blind raving annoys me.) Thus came my childhood reply: "Why should we pay to see Star Wars when there are spaceship movies on TV every Saturday for free?"

Heh. I love me.

"Spaceship movies."

To the point, I was not instantly sold on Star Wars any more than Universal or Warner Bros. were. Then, sometime in June, 1977, my dad took me to see Star Wars, and let me (encouraged me to?) get a Luke Skywalker poster and Star Wars glass at Burger King afterward. Honestly, even back then it was hard to distinguish the art from the merchandise. I recall liking the funny droids and the triumphant John Williams bits, and I recall hating the boring pallid guys in grey suits in the grey room sitting around talking boringly. Mark Hamill's face poignantly adorned my wall for a year or two. When the generally reviled Star Wars Holiday Special came out in late 1978, I couldn't take my eyes off it -- and along with Irvin Kershner's outstanding The Empire Strikes Back (a.k.a. Episode V, 1980), the Holiday Special is still my favourite Star Wars movie: I bought it off eBay like five times.

The Empire Strikes Back deserves an essay unto itself, for being a perfect motion picture.

It's late and I'm sleepy, so let's press on.

Adolescence had struck by the time my friends and I headed out on opening Friday to one of several cinema theatres which no longer exist, to see Return of the Jedi (a.k.a. Episode VI, 1983). Honestly, Jedi has aged very well. Back then we (perhaps due to our age -- we, the generation who made Star Wars a phenomenon; we, the generation who PAID for Star Wars) initially greeted it rather cynically: those "teddy bears" creatively named by switching the syllables of "Wookiee" to "Ewok"; another damned Death Star (really?); and one of our friends whom I haven't seen in thirty years even shouted at the onscreen Emperor, "Sit down, you old fart!" (we roared laughter at that allegedly powerful scene). These days, I like the mostly-hokey Return of the Jedi -- perhaps in part due to the decades of SUCK that followed it (Fincher, anyone? Aronofsky? Or why not simply kill yourself?)

Thus, hmmm -- 1977 . . . 1980 . . . 1983 -- by my arduous scientific calculations, the next Star Wars movie (Episode VII) should have appeared in 1986 (around the expiration date for any reasonable Blade Runner sequel as well). And that would make this new Star Wars movie -- denied by George Lucas himself for many rather dull and tedious years, cinematically speaking -- oh, just about exactly 29 1/2 years late. And under the helm of a guy who screws up franchises at least as much as Lucas does himself. And sans 20th (20th?!) Century Fox drum roll and fanfare.

FRANKENSTARWARS!

Am I angry? Nope. Am I distressed? Not in the least. Do I even particularly care? Not really -- except in the sense of a few socio-economic-psychological concerns which do indeed bug:

1. Star Wars is OURS. We, Generation X (if you will -- or The Least Shitty Generation), made Star Wars happen; for we not only went to the movies over and over again and wore out our RCA VideoDiscs and Betamax tapes, we bought, consumed, played with, slept with, and blended Star Wars merch into our DNA. Attention, George Lucas: the stinky old Boomers made you a millionaire via American Grafitti -- but we, Gen-X, made you a billionaire! Why does this rankle me? Because right there in front of Bob Iger in Anaheim last week, we watched the old-school Boomers who'd ditched us for three decades (Fisher, Hamill, led by Kennedy and even Abrams, a tail-end Boomer) handing off the franchise WE made a phenomenon to some unproven Millennial (or Gen-Y) kids (Daisy whatever; that stormtrooper guy). Regardless of the field, it's the same fucking story, over and over again: Powerful and highly affluent Boomers completely ignore my generation, sit on their stoned asses in yoga or therapy until their own kids grow up, and then suddenly they're obsessed with passing on the torch (and the trust fund) not to us (who've actually earned it through decades of slave labor under them) -- but to their clueless iPad kids, and their kids' clueless Instagram friends. No offense to the named parties, really, but this deranged pattern of generational nepotism makes me hurl -- and it's perfectly symbolized in the new Star Wars, notwithstanding the weird beachball droid behind which it is concealed. Giving us Star Wars, totally hooking us on it, then taking it away for 16 years spanning the unforgivably hideous '90s (notwithstanding the unfortunate "Special Editions"), then fiercely dividing us with the Prequels (which prompted the coining of the phrase "raped my childhood" -- and really, apart from Christopher Lee, Liam Neeson, and comely-albeit-short-lived female Jedi, the Prequels are pretty pointless: Alec Guinness' brief summary in the 1977 movie covers them, and better), then continuing to LIE TO US that the franchise was concluded, thank you, good night (although I did attend the premiere of that iffy Clone Wars movie -- Warner Bros.? Star Wars? -- at the Egyptian in 2008 [ironically, I first visited the Egyptian in 1987, for a very different premiere, but also undeniably made by USC people]) -- an' then, an' an' an' an' then, pulling a multiple-movie, bazillion-dollar agenda out of The Mouse's ass, plus even additional, interstitial movies out of The Mouse's ass -- honestly, it feels like an epic FUCK YOU -- like we're finally over an abusive spouse who suddenly shows up again in the doorway with a bouquet of wilted roses. Or: We admired George's tree, and we lavishly decorated it -- and then finally Santa shows up, thirty years late, and steals the presents that should've been ours. Some metaphor like that. I'm tired.

2. The writing. Frankly, I'm worried. Although Pegg and Urban punched the clock admirably onscreen, the "writing" of the Star Trek reboots could not have been more abysmal and depressing -- so unfortunately (especially given that lame "Khan" switcheroo), I do not trust J.J. Abrams (nor that sadistic Looper guy, nor the guy who made that boring Godzilla movie, nor the completely unproven Fantastic-Four-reboot guy who's barely entered adulthood) to tell me a satisfying story. And:

2.a. Why did J.J. have to kick that Oscar-winning Michael Arndt guy out of writing duties when Arndt's Episode VII script was already approved (and apparently good)? That bothers me. And bringing back the Mumford guy to "co-write" doesn't soothe me. Empire, it must be said, was a long, loooooong time ago.

2.b. Augh! Do they really have to discard the entire Star Wars Expanded Universe? Timothy Zahn's books are GREAT (and should BE the movies); and a few of the other books are pretty cool. Han and Leia's kids already exist, and have their own (fictional) lives! Chewbacca dies! Luke has a son named "Ben"! Why fuck it up? I'm no stickler for dodgy fanfic, but these elements are ESTABLISHED (they are "canon"), and fans far, far, far more devoted to this franchise than I am (have been, or ever will be) have already embraced these characters and their intertwining arcs. Do you really need to display supreme arrogance by scribbling over those many years of creators' work and fans' devotion? Sad.

Okay, well anyway, I'm getting tired of thumbing this thing on my tablet (one thumb, this whole thing -- baby, I'm good), and you probably haven't read down this far anyway -- so before the battery runs out and I lose this vital tract of humane letters (there probably would have been a 3. and 4., but who cares?), allow me to wrap up:

I'm an adult; I can live without Star Wars; I was quite comfortable with the idea of living without Star Wars when I was a child; and still it's possible that these new movies might have some amusing stuff in them (although the boring, clichéd kick-ass chick riding the ridiculously oversized flash drive across the-desert-planet-allegedly-not-Tatooine does not bode well); and mainly: I loathe the way Star Wars has been handled. Fuck you right back.

Flashback: When I was a kid, between Episode IV (which I reluctantly agreed to see) and Episode V (which I enthusiastically paid to see, with my own money, four times), some kids in my school and I discussed one of the themes of the original Star Wars. I'm not going to divulge the details here, tonight -- but it really got us thinking, and talking. We were excited! There was a story there.

That's what it's about -- telling a compelling, satisfying, and provocative story -- which seems to have been forgotten by the Star Wars people, judging by decades of diminishing returns for me, my peers, and legions of Lego kids around the globe.

Go on, Disney Empire, shake your new toybox at us as aggressively as you like. It's meaningless unless you can rearrange the IP so you have something to say.

~G

P.S. While I pride myself on being truthful, I, uh, took liberties re: the "spoilers" mentioned three times in the headline. Search-engine bait, y'know. But hey, a reasonable move, considering how many times the Pied Piper handlers of Star Wars have deceived us.

P.P.S. For a few years, on one of my plethora of back burners, I've entertained the idea of writing a flip-over, two-sided book: one side everything great about Star Wars; the other everything that sucks about Star Wars. But staying up tonight to blow out my garbage compactor adequately covers this need -- and I really have better things to do than sit around appraising Flash Gordon ripoffs. Cheers.

BLADE RUNNER 2: THE SEQUEL - Ford OUT; Young and Swan IN!

Seminal (huh-huh) science-fiction masterpiece BLADE RUNNER, loosely reimagined from H.G. Lovecrap's obscure paperback, Do Andies Dream of Shawn the Sheep?, is finally getting its looooong-overdue sequel--

(What?

No, DARK CITY is not a sequel to BLADE RUNNER. No, it isn't. No, it isn't.)

--and here we are, a mere 33 years later and counting, overjoyed with the news.

Apparently the original film's director, Ridley Scott (known, after his 2012 colostomy-bag explosion PROMETHEUS, as "Didley Squat"), has been issued a restraining order by studio brass: quoting the press release, "to stay at least 200 yards away from the set of BLADE RUNNER GETS OLD [working title], lest he fuck it up like one of his unwatchable Rusty Crowe movies (or worse; if that's possible)." Thus has the BLADE RUNNER sequel been assigned some guy nobody's heard of to direct it.

In a more shocking update, beloved accident-prone septuagenarian Harrison Ford has been fired from BLADE RUNNER GETS OLD, with studio brass citing specifically the ancient carpenter's "unfortunate refrigerator incident" in 2008 (itself from a dubious, 19-years-later sequel).

Assumed missing was luminous looney toon Sean Young, whose ironic warmth in robot form gave the original BLADE RUNNER its sorely-lacking emotional core. Young's legendary and hard-to-spell character, Rachael, was thought to be cut from the sequel's alleged screenplay.

Well, it turns out that Young's Replicant won't stay "retired"! A thrilling update from utterly trustworthy industry insiders has leaked (huh-huh-huh) that Sean Young will indeed be returning as Rachael to the BLADE RUNNER sequel -- which has been hastily retitled BLADE RUNNER: SEXY M.F. as the wickedly-talented, one-and-only Grégoire Swan takes the lead male rôle.

Asked to comment on this sudden shift, which is certain to send the sci-fi community scattering like tears in rain, Monsieur Swan had this to offer:

"On opening weekend in 1982 I somehow managed to buy a ticket to the R-rated BLADE RUNNER, and I ate it up and asked for more, while Roger Ebert dissed it. During the hideous '90s, I bought literally every VHS copy of the movie with the vital voice-over narration while most people had long forgotten it and had moved on to FRIED GREEN TOMATOES or SE7EN. Make no mistake: BLADE RUNNER is mine (and my friend Mike's). I own this. Now excuse me, for Sean and I have a scene to rehearse."

BLADE RUNNER: THE SOMEWHAT INFERIOR DIRECTOR'S FINAL ULTIMATE CUT OR WHATEVER re-opens again in Britain this week because there are a lot of pallid, panting fanboys there. Grégoire Swan is available by special arrangement to supply live, in-person voice-over narration.

Friday I'm in Love

Vendredi -- je ne sais jamais quoi faire avec elle. Voici le Cure:

Post (-it®) Zero

Hi.

How are you?

Ça-va?

I'll do a lot of this eventually.

But tonight I am tired because life has been rough and people have been harsh and I've walked much, much too far alone.

(Rodgers & Hammerstein didn't get me -- should have been "You'll Always Walk Alone" -- alas . . . )

Thus, your treat for tuning in to this lil' post is paltry -- though I find it amusing: a doodle found in a book of my lyrics.

(As I noted on Twitter for #tbt: probably created at some job I didn't like. Year unknown. Artist: moi.)

Cheers,

~G