Poop

Poop.

I feel like it, I wanna say it a lot, and I’m reminded of a scene in Grizzly Man where senor bear lover goes all weak kneed and girly touching the fresh poop from a bear.

Grizzly Man, I say watch it. If you don’t know about it, it’s a documentary about a man who spent a number of years camping in the Alaskan wilds, taping himself mere feet away from Alaskan grizzly bears. You want my opinion? Doesn’t matter, I’m running this here post. I’m bothered by this guy for the same reason I’m bothered by a lot of people; hypocrisy. This dude maintains that he’s selflessly protecting these bears that he loves, but spends 90% of the film time we’re privy to talking about how much he does for the bears (I’m a little unclear what exactly he does to protect the bears; check that, I’m a lot unclear), about how he teaches children for free and we also get to see him enacting different entrances for his diatribes with different bandanas. This doesn’t spell out the acts of a selfless individual to me, it smells like fishing for attention.

And that my friends, smells like burnt popcorn – and bear poop.

Learning that this guy was an actor – even going so far as to invent a new history and fake accent – doesn’t do much to dissuade me of this thought. But, that’s just the way I see it, please watch it, it’s worth a whirl on the Netflix queue.


Feb(r)uary Song Of The Day: It’s a twofer Tuesday with “(We’re A) Bad Trip” by Camper Van Beethoven and “Free Radicals (A Hallucination Of The Christmas Skeleton Pleading With A Suicide Bomber)” by The Flaming Lips (The two seem to go hand in hand quite nicely).