I had a rough weekend. On Saturday morning I heard “Pure” by The Lightning Seeds on the radio. I hadn’t heard it since, say, 1990. I listened to the whole thing, for old times’ sake, while the knowledge slowly dawned on me that it might actually be the single most insipid pop song ever recorded. Of course, it’s also virulently catchy. Then, later that night my household decided to watch an ostensibly visually stunning Hollywood blockbuster to break in our brand new, very very big HD TV. We knew it was going to be terrible. We did not know just how terrible.
And of course, I couldn’t get the damn Lightning Seeds out of my head the whole time. Now I am obsessed with the idea of making a video for Pure out of footage from Avatar, in hopes of making a pop culture artifact of the purest, most concentrated terribleness ever known. I can see the whole thing in my mind. The only character who would appear would be that blue chick. Cut after cut of her huge eyes, smiling coyly, narrowing flirtatiously, widening in horror as things explode in the background.
But I can’t make this thing, because I know if I started I would never finish, as I would descend into madness and turn inevitably to cannibalism like the narrator of “The Rats in the Walls”.