Shoplifting from American Apparel (Movie)

             An attempt at making a movie out of Tao Lin’s ‘?-selling’ book has finally arrived, with all of the hype it so rightly deserves. Tao has been having a fantastic year this year, getting married, writing for Thought Catalog, and now a movie. Everything has been coming together for him after so many years of living in the direst of poverty. Hopefully he spends all the money from this movie and spends it wisely on drugs, so he can videotape himself doing them via his production company MDMA Films. I think that’s known as ‘investing’. 

                Who is behind this delightful development, sure to bring warmth and good cheer among an ultra-specific group of people? Pirooz Kalayeh is the director for this, bringing together a vast network of great people.  Seeing Pirooz in the trailer, he states how he could watch Gchats all day, so you know it’ll be a riveting performance. A cartoonist and animator have been brought in to spruce up the production and give it that glossy sheen it truly needs. In case this wasn’t enough, he actually has some pretty wonderful companies working with him to provide the bizarre sorts of items no one really needs (talking tree?), but likes having. 

                Sadly, they have run into a hitch. Unbeknown-st to them, making a film costs a great deal of money. Maybe they even knew this, I’m not sure. But their Kickstarter shows off some of the progress they’ve made thus far. I guess making a film of this caliber costs roughly $37,500. Personally, I’d urge you to check out the various goodies they’ll bestow upon you for various disclosed amounts of cash. For $5,000 you get to attend the world premiere of the movie in sunny California, with the luxurious accommodations of Kalayeh’s floor. Contribute $10,000 and you get the same thing but this time the couch, so you can see it is totally worth it. 

 Sangha films (located in Long Beach) need your help to create a film celebrating the joys of stealing stuff and selling it on EBAY to survive. Personally, I’d tell them a good way of raising cash for this film might involve stealing stuff and selling it on the internet. Hey, worked for Tao.

                Tao’s book speaks to all those who’ve tried, perhaps in vain, to add something to the vast body of literature out there. New York City is expensive, and I know people who did things similar to Tao in order to survive the great city. Unlike Tao, they didn’t write, they vegetated and eventually moved to Indonesia. So I have a tremendous amount of respect for what Tao does and continues to do, despite the vast indifference most of the internet (and reality) has towards him. With this movie, that indifference is vaguely combatted, probably while wearing a neutral expression.

                Actually the movie itself appears to be a mixture of a documentary on Tao’s harrowing life from guy typing stuff on a computer to his current situation of guy typing stuff on a computer who is married. Due to the subject matter, it is an absurdist look into someone who has been called a “literary prankster” by people who know the true definition of one. Besides Tao’s work being involved, it looks into the various creative roadblocks the crew itself faces, like raising money. Perhaps part of the movie will involve them refreshing their Kickstarter page, wondering who else just contributed money.

                Pirooz stated himself to share the link with friends and family. So I’ll do that. Click here to learn more about the myriad ways of supporting a starving artist who is doing a movie about another starving artist. And the circle of life is complete.

Origin Story Number Two

I grew up in a beautiful town out in the Soviet countryside. The middle child, I nonetheless experienced the nourishing tender love and care from my good communist mother and father. My father worked as an engineer and served for many years in the local Communist party. Due to his heavy participation in the party, he was justly rewarded with a plum position working at a local power plant. Playing in the lush green fields, we were happy to call this ravishingly beautiful city home. Even now, I remember my friends being jealous of my good fortune of living in Chernobyl. 

One day I woke up and everything changed. Unbeknown to me, my parents were fighting against the Soviet occupation of their beloved Ukraine. Quickly we were rushed to live in an underground bunker and for several years we crossed between Ukraine and Belarus, seeking the liberation of each country. After the disaster in my old town, I understood why they did it. We were fighting against an evil empire, as Ronald Reagan stated over the radio. His voice reassured me that all was right with the world. Our father promised us that after Ukraine became independent, that we could head over to the US, to a land of milk and honey.

Milk and honey is what we lived off of from local farmers sympathetic to our cause. Finally when I was 12 I saw the empire keel over and die. Excitedly we packed our bags and headed over to America. Worried about the influence that a big city could have over my younger sibling my family moved to rural North Carolina. 

As I entered Middle School there, I realized I was different. I didn’t speak any English, so I forced myself into American culture. I bought Nirvana albums and dressed all Grunge. My parents worried about my style of dress, thinking that American culture would take over my Ukrainian roots. Upon my constant grouching about everything, they felt reassured that indeed I would fit their hopes of me growing up into an embittered, disillusioned, over-educated member of society, just like they did. According to them, the Ukrainian way involved being deeply weird and being kind of a dick, but acknowledging that you’re an asshole. I passed this test with flying colors after I hurled a beer bottle at someone at school, only to half-apologize to them in front of the principal.

Upon graduation from Edenton, North Carolina’s school system, I decided to move to a big city. I missed being around large groups of people. Telling my parents I was going to study Dentistry in Chicago, they initially were concerned. After I told them about the high suicide rate that Dentists suffered from, they gave me a thumbs-up of approval. 

Living in Chicago in the late nineties ended up being a magical time. Around that time, a record label called “Thrill Jockey” grew in importance. In order to pay for school, I did side gigs touring with the famous band Tortoise, playing the vibraphones. Since so many people were in the band, my name usually got mangled. More than a few times some of the musicians who opened up asked me for drugs, thinking I was a Russian gangster. Asking about this profession, I learned that apparently being a Russian gangster paid more than touring with a relevant indie-rock-jazz fusion band. I stood in disbelief, unable to comprehend crime paying so much better than underground rock.

Following my passion, I joined the Russian mob. Since I was technically Ukrainian, I had to pay a higher Union membership fee. My job consisted of manipulating stocks and setting bags of poop on fire. During my years with the Russian mob, I saw more money than I’d ever seen before. After the FBI raided my workplace, I was out of a job. Bored at being a dentist and having genuinely enjoyed my artistic experiences, I decided to write a show about my time with the mob. It was called “The Vakhovskayas” and the pilot was rejected for having too many philosophical references.

Distraught at my attempt to create a hit TV show, I worked as a Dentist in the greater Los Angeles area, still pitching my ideas to whoever was interested. One day a dorky looking bald guy came into my practice. He stated that he read my work would fit his concept for a show. Intrigued, I asked him to proceed. Explaining how it would take place on a deserted island and would explore sci-fi and philosophical arguments, he told me how it could be one of the greatest shows that Television had ever seen. Throwing a few titles out there, he told me, they decided against “Airplane Crash” and went with the simple name “Lost”. 

After having wasted most of my afternoon listening to this, I told him to get the fuck out of my office. This idea he had, I said, would not earn him a dime. Plus, I cancelled several dental cleanings in order to hear him yammer on about his gibberish, money that would take hours to earn back. Later that evening, I left a flaming bag of dog shit on his doorstep with a note that said “This is what your show will be”. 

Even though the show ended up being mildly successful with tepid critical praise, I made the right decision. Instead of focusing on my writing, I turned to music. Working with James Ferraro, I helped the nascent hypnagogic pop and chillwave genres turn into the cultural powerhouses they are today. Due to my participation in this genre, I have made literally hundreds of dollars. However, after my street cred is converted into actual dollars, I’ll have enough money to buy a small Indonesian island.

My coverage of chillwave and hypnagogic pop on this blog isn’t exactly benign. I make no apologies for this, but rather ask what you would do in the same situation. Would you simply keep the good music for yourself, or would you share it with the world, like I have. Thank you for your continued support of this blog. It means a lot to me.