It's Thurday night, I'm at work, and I'm speechless. I've been trying for maybe ten minutes to come up with something to add to this bit of information...this bit of Too Much Information, but I can't really verbalize my thoughts/feelings because the baseness of humanity has stunned me.
Tonight, somebody took a dump in a urinal in the men's room.
Ugh. Ick. Bleck.
Um, that's all I got.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saturday, February 23, 2008
I'm cursed.
Every time I go out of my way to be nice to someone, I get screwed.
About a month ago, an ex-co-worker of mine came in to where I work and asked if she could wash her car (we have a car wash bay, so this was not uncommon). The problem was that I didn't really like this partucular ex-co-worker. I always felt that she was pretty useless. She sat on her lazy ass all the time and make me work harder to pick up her slack. Grrr.
I distinctly recall myself thinking "Don't be a dick" and I let her wash her car, and I told her the same thing I tell everyone who uses our bay, "Don't make a mess."
Needless to say, she made an incredible mess. She had just gotten married, and her car had been decorated with those waxy animal crackers, marshmallow, and chunks of chocolate. I have come to understand that this is called "S'more-ing". If I need to explain to you how incredibly stupid and childish this is, you should probably take your own life. Soooo...take a pressure washer that sprays hot water then spray these ingredients around an enclosed space and what do you get? Half-melted S'mores all over the wash bay.
Then she left without cleaning any of it.
*sigh*
If I had been the aforementioned dick, then she wouldn't have made a mess (that I had to clean up) and that's the end of it. Needless to say, I shall never let her use our facilities ever, ever again.
I've got a million examples like this, but I don't really feel like dwelling on this crap right now.
About a month ago, an ex-co-worker of mine came in to where I work and asked if she could wash her car (we have a car wash bay, so this was not uncommon). The problem was that I didn't really like this partucular ex-co-worker. I always felt that she was pretty useless. She sat on her lazy ass all the time and make me work harder to pick up her slack. Grrr.
I distinctly recall myself thinking "Don't be a dick" and I let her wash her car, and I told her the same thing I tell everyone who uses our bay, "Don't make a mess."
Needless to say, she made an incredible mess. She had just gotten married, and her car had been decorated with those waxy animal crackers, marshmallow, and chunks of chocolate. I have come to understand that this is called "S'more-ing". If I need to explain to you how incredibly stupid and childish this is, you should probably take your own life. Soooo...take a pressure washer that sprays hot water then spray these ingredients around an enclosed space and what do you get? Half-melted S'mores all over the wash bay.
Then she left without cleaning any of it.
*sigh*
If I had been the aforementioned dick, then she wouldn't have made a mess (that I had to clean up) and that's the end of it. Needless to say, I shall never let her use our facilities ever, ever again.
I've got a million examples like this, but I don't really feel like dwelling on this crap right now.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Mind yer own bizness
Since it's been winter for a few months now, I've been growing my annual winter beard. This, coupled with the fact that I shave my head makes me look like Rasputin, Captain Spaulding, or Shel Silverstien.
What I don't understand is why complete strangers feel the need to ask me about my version of hirsuteness.
For example, at work my customers frequently ask me why I shave my head and not my face. Since I'm at work I can't say "Piss off! Nunya bizness!" so what I say is a self-depricating "Well, as you can see, I have encroaching male-pattern baldness so I shave my head to avoid the temptation to attempt some spectacular version of a comb-over. And I grow the beard because I need somewhere to keep my tick collection."
I said this to a lady who was maybe 65 years old, and she just frowned and walked away.
Mission accomplished.
I didn't feel the need to ask her why he had a severely outdated blue beehive hairdo, so why is she asking me about my 'do?
Why don't people mind their own business?
What I don't understand is why complete strangers feel the need to ask me about my version of hirsuteness.
For example, at work my customers frequently ask me why I shave my head and not my face. Since I'm at work I can't say "Piss off! Nunya bizness!" so what I say is a self-depricating "Well, as you can see, I have encroaching male-pattern baldness so I shave my head to avoid the temptation to attempt some spectacular version of a comb-over. And I grow the beard because I need somewhere to keep my tick collection."
I said this to a lady who was maybe 65 years old, and she just frowned and walked away.
Mission accomplished.
I didn't feel the need to ask her why he had a severely outdated blue beehive hairdo, so why is she asking me about my 'do?
Why don't people mind their own business?
Monday, February 18, 2008
Holy crap. I'm old.
An old friend of mine, Blake Schwendiman, emailed me the other day. It seems I'm old enough to be invited to my 20 year high school reunion.
Oy, vey.
I hadn't really thought about it, but I've been out of high school for a long, long time. I hadn't thought about it because I pretty much hated high school. If not for a small handful of friends to keep me sane, I don't know how I would have made it through. I distinctly remember having a conversation with the old man where he had to convince me not to drop out at age sixteen.
One thing I've never been good at is keeping in touch with people, so most of the friends I had then are lost in the ether of time and space.
Do I have some obligation to revisit that time and those people?
It seems to me that I'll end up in a corner with my small group of friends (if they even show up), as will other people and their groups, and it will be the cliquey sameness that I didn't like 20 years ago.
Because this is the age of the interweb (as Dean Venture calls it) classmates that I haven't talked to in 15-20 years are now emailing me. I don't know what to do about that. Again, do I have some obligation simply because we were roughly the same age and were forced by politically produced geographic boundaries to attend the same school?
For now I have no answer for these questions. I'll keep you posted.
Oy, vey.
I hadn't really thought about it, but I've been out of high school for a long, long time. I hadn't thought about it because I pretty much hated high school. If not for a small handful of friends to keep me sane, I don't know how I would have made it through. I distinctly remember having a conversation with the old man where he had to convince me not to drop out at age sixteen.
One thing I've never been good at is keeping in touch with people, so most of the friends I had then are lost in the ether of time and space.
Do I have some obligation to revisit that time and those people?
It seems to me that I'll end up in a corner with my small group of friends (if they even show up), as will other people and their groups, and it will be the cliquey sameness that I didn't like 20 years ago.
Because this is the age of the interweb (as Dean Venture calls it) classmates that I haven't talked to in 15-20 years are now emailing me. I don't know what to do about that. Again, do I have some obligation simply because we were roughly the same age and were forced by politically produced geographic boundaries to attend the same school?
For now I have no answer for these questions. I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
the Eff You face -or- Why I frighten missionaries
On Friday I was on my way to work when I decided to stop and buy a lottery ticket. I get to the gas station and there is a double-tank gas truck dropping it's payload into the ground tanks. As a result, traffic at the store is tight. It took me a minute or two to get parked and head toward the store.
While I waited for a parking spot to free up, I noticed the LDS missionaries. They were standing in the shade eating ice cream. Please note that it was very cold out and I couldn't figure out A. why they were eating ice cream, or B. why they didn't ambulate about four feet forward and stand in the sun. Whatever.
The other thing I noticed was that they were (as they usually do) going out of their way to say 'hello' and be all nicey-nice. Every shopper was getting a wave, a 'how you doing?' and such.
Except me.
As I approached they immediately tensed up and stared at their ice creams like Dead Sea Scrolls were printed there.
Wha?
I can only surmise the I must have had on my Eff You face. This is the face I used to put on when I went to the seedy part of Phoenix at 3am on a Saturday to go to an all-night Taqueria. It's the 'You don't wanna mess wit' me pal, I'm a powder keg of danger! I'll stab ya! Then I'll set you on fire and say mean things!' look that I may or may not pull off when attempted.
Apparently, I had that look this day.
That, or the missionaries are weenies. I dunno. They seemed like nice enough fellas, I guess they just thought I was scary or a lost cause.
Either way, they were gone when I exited the store.
And, can you believe it?, I didn't win the lottery. Again.
While I waited for a parking spot to free up, I noticed the LDS missionaries. They were standing in the shade eating ice cream. Please note that it was very cold out and I couldn't figure out A. why they were eating ice cream, or B. why they didn't ambulate about four feet forward and stand in the sun. Whatever.
The other thing I noticed was that they were (as they usually do) going out of their way to say 'hello' and be all nicey-nice. Every shopper was getting a wave, a 'how you doing?' and such.
Except me.
As I approached they immediately tensed up and stared at their ice creams like Dead Sea Scrolls were printed there.
Wha?
I can only surmise the I must have had on my Eff You face. This is the face I used to put on when I went to the seedy part of Phoenix at 3am on a Saturday to go to an all-night Taqueria. It's the 'You don't wanna mess wit' me pal, I'm a powder keg of danger! I'll stab ya! Then I'll set you on fire and say mean things!' look that I may or may not pull off when attempted.
Apparently, I had that look this day.
That, or the missionaries are weenies. I dunno. They seemed like nice enough fellas, I guess they just thought I was scary or a lost cause.
Either way, they were gone when I exited the store.
And, can you believe it?, I didn't win the lottery. Again.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Sean Sean
I have a co-worker named Sean. He's a decent fellow, perhaps a bit cynical, jaded, bitter, argumentative, snarky, he doesn't suffer fools gladly, and he is occasionally mean, but decent.
So there's this girl at work. She works for a different company (we all rent cars at the airport...Sean and I at Hertz, that girl at Budget) so we don't talk to her much.
One day she comes over to Sean to presumably ask him something and she calls him Sean Sean.
We don't even know her name, yet she is A-OK with giving the mean bastard guy a silly nickname.
He was totally flummoxed. This officially bugs him. It officially amuses me.
My point?
There is no point. I just thought it was funny.
So there's this girl at work. She works for a different company (we all rent cars at the airport...Sean and I at Hertz, that girl at Budget) so we don't talk to her much.
One day she comes over to Sean to presumably ask him something and she calls him Sean Sean.
We don't even know her name, yet she is A-OK with giving the mean bastard guy a silly nickname.
He was totally flummoxed. This officially bugs him. It officially amuses me.
My point?
There is no point. I just thought it was funny.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Steroids suck.
I like baseball.
Scratch that. I love baseball.
I love that there's no clock on a game. It unfolds at its own pace; each game different than the next. I love that it's a game that rewards both individual and team efforts. I love that I can watch a game intently or in a half-doze and enjoy it either way. I love going to a stadium and watching a game while I sit in the sun eating pork by-products.
So when some ass clown tarnishes the game I love, well, I get a little cranky about it.
When I was a kid I was the shortest, slowest, least athletically gifted person in my school. In all of the class pictures we were sorted shortest to tallest. I was always the shortest.
I was always picked last, and I always sucked at the game. You name it: dodgeball, kickball, softball, basketball, football...whatever it was, I blew.
As such, I eventually decided that watching sporting events, rather than playing, was a better way for me to spend my time. I can watch most sports most of the time, but my favorite is baseball.
I used to watch with my old man. Boxing was his favorite, but he liked baseball a lot too. We watched many a game together. Sometimes we'd have a game on while we played chess.
So when Pete Rose cheated and bet on baseball, I was offended by him. Charlie Hustle, they called him, the guy with the most hits ever and he'll probably never go to the Hall of Fame. I'm okay with that because he broke the rules of my favorite sport.
The last few years have been hard on baseball. A labor stoppage did a great amount of damage in the 90's. Ill-advised expansion made the talent level more shallow than the Kentucky gene pool. And now, finally, to my point.
To all of the players that used steroids or Human Growth Hormone or Creatine or whatever...
Shame on you.
You cheated.
I don't care if you've come clean about your past use. I don't care if you've used carefully worded apologies to beg forgivenss.
You cheated. You've tainted the game I love with your selfish actions. Please retire and go away so somebody with some integrity, some passion for keeping the game clean, can take your place and keep baseball pure.
As I write this, Barry Bonds is awaiting a perjury trial for allegedly lying about steroid use to a federal grand jury. Roger Clemens recently sat in a courtroom on Capitol Hill in Washington DC vehemently denying ever taking performance enhancing drugs. He may or may not be indicted for perjury. Guillermo Mota pitched for my favorite team, the Mets, and in 2007 he was suspended for 50 games because he took steroids. Since his return, he's been inconsistent, to be kind. I could go on and on with this list, but let me suffice it to say, I'd rather watch the game with less home runs and less power and feel better about the viewing experience. So take your denials, your balloony-cartoony muscles, and your heads that look akin to Butterball Turkeys and just fade away, willya? I'd rather see a rookie find his way with a little integrity than watch someone who can't let go so they take illegal drugs to help them stay in the limelight just a fraction of a second longer. Enjoy your back acne, your swollen head, and small penis and just disappear.
The game is bigger than any one person. It is bigger than any one scandal. The game will live on regardless of what players will do to get an edge. I look forward to a day when I don't have to wonder if someone is competing illegaly. I look forward to a clean game.
Scratch that. I love baseball.
I love that there's no clock on a game. It unfolds at its own pace; each game different than the next. I love that it's a game that rewards both individual and team efforts. I love that I can watch a game intently or in a half-doze and enjoy it either way. I love going to a stadium and watching a game while I sit in the sun eating pork by-products.
So when some ass clown tarnishes the game I love, well, I get a little cranky about it.
When I was a kid I was the shortest, slowest, least athletically gifted person in my school. In all of the class pictures we were sorted shortest to tallest. I was always the shortest.
I was always picked last, and I always sucked at the game. You name it: dodgeball, kickball, softball, basketball, football...whatever it was, I blew.
As such, I eventually decided that watching sporting events, rather than playing, was a better way for me to spend my time. I can watch most sports most of the time, but my favorite is baseball.
I used to watch with my old man. Boxing was his favorite, but he liked baseball a lot too. We watched many a game together. Sometimes we'd have a game on while we played chess.
So when Pete Rose cheated and bet on baseball, I was offended by him. Charlie Hustle, they called him, the guy with the most hits ever and he'll probably never go to the Hall of Fame. I'm okay with that because he broke the rules of my favorite sport.
The last few years have been hard on baseball. A labor stoppage did a great amount of damage in the 90's. Ill-advised expansion made the talent level more shallow than the Kentucky gene pool. And now, finally, to my point.
To all of the players that used steroids or Human Growth Hormone or Creatine or whatever...
Shame on you.
You cheated.
I don't care if you've come clean about your past use. I don't care if you've used carefully worded apologies to beg forgivenss.
You cheated. You've tainted the game I love with your selfish actions. Please retire and go away so somebody with some integrity, some passion for keeping the game clean, can take your place and keep baseball pure.
As I write this, Barry Bonds is awaiting a perjury trial for allegedly lying about steroid use to a federal grand jury. Roger Clemens recently sat in a courtroom on Capitol Hill in Washington DC vehemently denying ever taking performance enhancing drugs. He may or may not be indicted for perjury. Guillermo Mota pitched for my favorite team, the Mets, and in 2007 he was suspended for 50 games because he took steroids. Since his return, he's been inconsistent, to be kind. I could go on and on with this list, but let me suffice it to say, I'd rather watch the game with less home runs and less power and feel better about the viewing experience. So take your denials, your balloony-cartoony muscles, and your heads that look akin to Butterball Turkeys and just fade away, willya? I'd rather see a rookie find his way with a little integrity than watch someone who can't let go so they take illegal drugs to help them stay in the limelight just a fraction of a second longer. Enjoy your back acne, your swollen head, and small penis and just disappear.
The game is bigger than any one person. It is bigger than any one scandal. The game will live on regardless of what players will do to get an edge. I look forward to a day when I don't have to wonder if someone is competing illegaly. I look forward to a clean game.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I'm doomed.
My DVR will be the death of me. I've only had this thing for a week and already I've got 61% of the hard drive filled (this after I deleted some stuff) and more scheduled to record.
One of the reasons I got this thing is because it's Turner Classic Movies annual February thing 30 Days of Oscar. What they do is show about 17 trillion Oscar winning films this month and I am recording old faves as well as things I've never seen.
Also I am recording Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles as well as Breaking Bad and the occasional Celtics game I miss while at work.
*Sigh*
I haven't got much sleep because I'm always up watching shows because I don't want to run out of space.
On a positive note: I got to watch Duke beat North Carolina in college basketball while recording Vertigo. I hate UNC and I love Vertigo so this was a win/win for me.
I'm finishing this now so I can go watch something else.
Yeesh.
One of the reasons I got this thing is because it's Turner Classic Movies annual February thing 30 Days of Oscar. What they do is show about 17 trillion Oscar winning films this month and I am recording old faves as well as things I've never seen.
Also I am recording Terminator: the Sarah Connor Chronicles as well as Breaking Bad and the occasional Celtics game I miss while at work.
*Sigh*
I haven't got much sleep because I'm always up watching shows because I don't want to run out of space.
On a positive note: I got to watch Duke beat North Carolina in college basketball while recording Vertigo. I hate UNC and I love Vertigo so this was a win/win for me.
I'm finishing this now so I can go watch something else.
Yeesh.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
I steal ideas.
Two of my friends have blogs that I read and I am now stealing a list idea thing from them. Let the apologies land where they need to.
Four things I often say
1. What the?!
2. You're an idiot.
3. Pull my finger.
4. You wanna super-size that?
Four things that attract me to friends
1. Lack of clingyness
2. Lack of drama
3. Their taste in movies/music/books
4. Their hot mom.
Four songs or albums that I could listen to over and over
1. Cure - Disintigration
2. Public Enemy - Fear of a Black Planet
3. Underworld - Dirty Epic
4. Fujiya and Miyagi - Conductor 72 (I included this one because it's the most played song on my iTunes)
Four things you may not know about me
1. My thumbs are double-jointed
2. I am frightened by clowns (I blame this on Poltergeist)
3. I am frightened by mimes (I blame this on mimes)
4. Last year the Mets broke my heart
Four things I am passionate about
1. Screenplay writing
2. The First Amendment
3. Baseball, especially the Mets
4. Sleeping in
Four things I want to do before I die
1. Make a living as a writer
2. See all Major League Baseball parks
3. Live near/on the beach
4. Be thin again
Four books I have read recently
1. East of Eden - Steinbeck
2. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson
3. Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
4. Bottomfeeder - B. H. Fingerman
Four things I often say
1. What the?!
2. You're an idiot.
3. Pull my finger.
4. You wanna super-size that?
Four things that attract me to friends
1. Lack of clingyness
2. Lack of drama
3. Their taste in movies/music/books
4. Their hot mom.
Four songs or albums that I could listen to over and over
1. Cure - Disintigration
2. Public Enemy - Fear of a Black Planet
3. Underworld - Dirty Epic
4. Fujiya and Miyagi - Conductor 72 (I included this one because it's the most played song on my iTunes)
Four things you may not know about me
1. My thumbs are double-jointed
2. I am frightened by clowns (I blame this on Poltergeist)
3. I am frightened by mimes (I blame this on mimes)
4. Last year the Mets broke my heart
Four things I am passionate about
1. Screenplay writing
2. The First Amendment
3. Baseball, especially the Mets
4. Sleeping in
Four things I want to do before I die
1. Make a living as a writer
2. See all Major League Baseball parks
3. Live near/on the beach
4. Be thin again
Four books I have read recently
1. East of Eden - Steinbeck
2. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson
3. Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
4. Bottomfeeder - B. H. Fingerman
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
I'm weak.
*sigh*
Last Monday (eight days ago) I watched the new Terminator TV show on Fox and mostly enjoyed it (see earlier posts) and was ready to watch again yesterday. On a related note I also posted earlier about me not wanting to get a DVR because all it would do is add to the pile of unwatched things I've already got.
So this Monday I got called into work because somebody was out sick. Fine, fine, I like money, so I went. About halfway through my shift I realized that I was missing this week's episode of the Terminator show. Grrrrrr.
So here it is, Tuesday evening, and I'm sitting in front of my TV trying to get used to the new remote that goes to my new DVR. As the headline says, I'm weak. All it took was one episode of one show that my internal jury is still out on and I fold like a well-oiled ironing board.
Why do I lack will power when it comes to entertainment and the enjoyment thereof? There are millions of things that I can conquer or deny myself by utilizing my will. It seems the two things I fail at the most are being prudent about movies/DVD's/TV and not stopping myself from placing any and all nearby fatty foods into my cake hole (witness the corpulent mass of my expanding belly). I guess I just like watching movies and eating while I do so. Pretty simple when I think about it. These are probably two mostly harmless vices. Better than shooting black tar heroin into my tear ducts while I'm window peeping at the old folks home, I guess.
Last Monday (eight days ago) I watched the new Terminator TV show on Fox and mostly enjoyed it (see earlier posts) and was ready to watch again yesterday. On a related note I also posted earlier about me not wanting to get a DVR because all it would do is add to the pile of unwatched things I've already got.
So this Monday I got called into work because somebody was out sick. Fine, fine, I like money, so I went. About halfway through my shift I realized that I was missing this week's episode of the Terminator show. Grrrrrr.
So here it is, Tuesday evening, and I'm sitting in front of my TV trying to get used to the new remote that goes to my new DVR. As the headline says, I'm weak. All it took was one episode of one show that my internal jury is still out on and I fold like a well-oiled ironing board.
Why do I lack will power when it comes to entertainment and the enjoyment thereof? There are millions of things that I can conquer or deny myself by utilizing my will. It seems the two things I fail at the most are being prudent about movies/DVD's/TV and not stopping myself from placing any and all nearby fatty foods into my cake hole (witness the corpulent mass of my expanding belly). I guess I just like watching movies and eating while I do so. Pretty simple when I think about it. These are probably two mostly harmless vices. Better than shooting black tar heroin into my tear ducts while I'm window peeping at the old folks home, I guess.
Monday, February 4, 2008
One in a bazillion
I was not a child actor. Therefore the only way I can relate to a child star is to watch their lives unfold on the TV, in the tabloids, on TMZ.com, and then try to understand their lives as opposed to my own.
I guess I just don't get how hard it must be to transition into the actor-as-adult biz (not necessarily the adult actor biz), let alone to be just a normal type human.
We've all seen Lindsay Lohan's mugshot (not to mention her naughty bits) as she careens towards another stint in rehab. It seems the entire child cast of Diff'rent Strokes has had it rough (witness Dana Plato, Todd Bridges, and Gary Coleman) and do I even need to mention Scott Baio? If you've seen Scott Baio is 45 and Single, or the new one ...46 and Pregnant, then you'll know that he is a merely a child grown older. I'm an immature dork, and I learned stuff in high school that he hasn't even contemplated yet.
Which brings me to my point...child actors who become grown up actors without robbing liquor stores, or doing multiple turns in reality shows/rehab are few and far between.
The reason I was thinking about this is because I was watching a movie with Christian Bale the other day (the movie was Equilibrium, and it was okay, I'll give it a C+) and I thought about his early roles (Empire of the Sun, Newsies) and how he now seems to be a hard workin' guy who is a darned good actor. I never heard of him getting a DUI, going into rehab, getting arrested for soliciting a hooker who turned out to be a dude, getting high with Danny Bonaduce, or getting in a fist fight with Peter Billingsley.
If Bale has done any of these things, then he's got a tremendous PR team. However, he seems to be a normal guy from Wales who tries very hard to master his craft. Lately he's been in a whole buncha good movies. The Prestige, Batman Begins, the Machinist, 3:10 to Yuma, American Psycho (this one is a guilty pleasure for me) and The New World.
I hope he keeps it up and I don't have to start looking for him as the contestant named Actor Boy on I Love New York 7.
I guess I just don't get how hard it must be to transition into the actor-as-adult biz (not necessarily the adult actor biz), let alone to be just a normal type human.
We've all seen Lindsay Lohan's mugshot (not to mention her naughty bits) as she careens towards another stint in rehab. It seems the entire child cast of Diff'rent Strokes has had it rough (witness Dana Plato, Todd Bridges, and Gary Coleman) and do I even need to mention Scott Baio? If you've seen Scott Baio is 45 and Single, or the new one ...46 and Pregnant, then you'll know that he is a merely a child grown older. I'm an immature dork, and I learned stuff in high school that he hasn't even contemplated yet.
Which brings me to my point...child actors who become grown up actors without robbing liquor stores, or doing multiple turns in reality shows/rehab are few and far between.
The reason I was thinking about this is because I was watching a movie with Christian Bale the other day (the movie was Equilibrium, and it was okay, I'll give it a C+) and I thought about his early roles (Empire of the Sun, Newsies) and how he now seems to be a hard workin' guy who is a darned good actor. I never heard of him getting a DUI, going into rehab, getting arrested for soliciting a hooker who turned out to be a dude, getting high with Danny Bonaduce, or getting in a fist fight with Peter Billingsley.
If Bale has done any of these things, then he's got a tremendous PR team. However, he seems to be a normal guy from Wales who tries very hard to master his craft. Lately he's been in a whole buncha good movies. The Prestige, Batman Begins, the Machinist, 3:10 to Yuma, American Psycho (this one is a guilty pleasure for me) and The New World.
I hope he keeps it up and I don't have to start looking for him as the contestant named Actor Boy on I Love New York 7.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Stupidest holiday ever = a really good movie
Friday night I get home at about midnight and Groundhog Day, the movie, is on TBS.
As I believe that Groundhog Day, the holiday, is perhaps the lamest of all holidays, this was the first time that I realized that it was, indeed, early on February second, and that a fat, pampered, probably sedated rodent would soon be prodded from it's shelter so we could know if there will be six more weeks of winter.
Hey, dumbasses, it's FEBRUARY SECOND. We'll be lucky if there's ONLY six more weeks of winter (see previous post).
Now, I don't live anywhere near Punxatawney, PA, but when I look out my window here in Idaho, there's a foot of snow on the ground, and that snow is on top of a sheet of ice that will likely still be in the shady spots come May Day, another useless holiday. Last week three days didn't get above eight degrees. I'm confident that whether or not Phil the groundhog sees it's shadow the weather here will not be affected.
So, it was midnight and a few minutes and I sit down to decompress and watch Groundhog Day, the movie. There's a few movies that whenever they're on cable, I will set the remote aside and just enjoy them even if I've seen them a thousand times already. Groundhog Day, Dodgeball, any Pink Panther movie with Peter Sellers, X-Men 2, Blade, the underated The Gift, among many others.
So there I sit, in my long underwear, a bowl of Lucky Charms resting on my ample belly, and I still laugh out loud (I nearly choked on my cereal) when Bill Murray "kills" himself with a bath and a toaster.
If you haven't seen Groundhog Day, the movie, it's about a self-obsessed weatherman who gets roped into going to Punxatawney to do a human interest piece on Punxatawney Phil, the goundhog, and the Groundhog Day festival. Murray's character is named Phil ("Like the groundhog!") Connors and he predicts that a winter storm in the area will miss Punxatawney.
Phil turns out to be wrong, and he and his crew (camerman Larry, played by Chris Elliott, and producer Rita, played by Andie MacDowell) get snowed in and have to stay the night in Punxatawney.
The next morning Phil wakes up and he thinks (as any sane human would) that it is February 3rd. However, the fates have a cruel sense of humor, and Groundhog Day, February 2nd is repeated, much to Phil's chagrin. Hilarity ensues, because we, the audience, are in on the joke, and Phil is not.
Day after day, Phil awakens to find himself still in Punxatawney on February 2nd. He at first attempts to find a way out but he cannot. Then despair sets in and he tries to escape via death. But no matter how he "kills" himself, he still awakens the next day, same time, same place.
Eventually Phil sees the error of his previous ways and he begins to grow and learn and become a better person. Eventually, the Groundhog Day fates release him after he finds true love. Awwww, that's so sweet.
This is one of my favorite comedies ever. Bill Murray shows a lot of range in this film, range that would later serve him in shows like Rushmore and Lost In Translation. I give it four-and-a-quarter stars.
As I believe that Groundhog Day, the holiday, is perhaps the lamest of all holidays, this was the first time that I realized that it was, indeed, early on February second, and that a fat, pampered, probably sedated rodent would soon be prodded from it's shelter so we could know if there will be six more weeks of winter.
Hey, dumbasses, it's FEBRUARY SECOND. We'll be lucky if there's ONLY six more weeks of winter (see previous post).
Now, I don't live anywhere near Punxatawney, PA, but when I look out my window here in Idaho, there's a foot of snow on the ground, and that snow is on top of a sheet of ice that will likely still be in the shady spots come May Day, another useless holiday. Last week three days didn't get above eight degrees. I'm confident that whether or not Phil the groundhog sees it's shadow the weather here will not be affected.
So, it was midnight and a few minutes and I sit down to decompress and watch Groundhog Day, the movie. There's a few movies that whenever they're on cable, I will set the remote aside and just enjoy them even if I've seen them a thousand times already. Groundhog Day, Dodgeball, any Pink Panther movie with Peter Sellers, X-Men 2, Blade, the underated The Gift, among many others.
So there I sit, in my long underwear, a bowl of Lucky Charms resting on my ample belly, and I still laugh out loud (I nearly choked on my cereal) when Bill Murray "kills" himself with a bath and a toaster.
If you haven't seen Groundhog Day, the movie, it's about a self-obsessed weatherman who gets roped into going to Punxatawney to do a human interest piece on Punxatawney Phil, the goundhog, and the Groundhog Day festival. Murray's character is named Phil ("Like the groundhog!") Connors and he predicts that a winter storm in the area will miss Punxatawney.
Phil turns out to be wrong, and he and his crew (camerman Larry, played by Chris Elliott, and producer Rita, played by Andie MacDowell) get snowed in and have to stay the night in Punxatawney.
The next morning Phil wakes up and he thinks (as any sane human would) that it is February 3rd. However, the fates have a cruel sense of humor, and Groundhog Day, February 2nd is repeated, much to Phil's chagrin. Hilarity ensues, because we, the audience, are in on the joke, and Phil is not.
Day after day, Phil awakens to find himself still in Punxatawney on February 2nd. He at first attempts to find a way out but he cannot. Then despair sets in and he tries to escape via death. But no matter how he "kills" himself, he still awakens the next day, same time, same place.
Eventually Phil sees the error of his previous ways and he begins to grow and learn and become a better person. Eventually, the Groundhog Day fates release him after he finds true love. Awwww, that's so sweet.
This is one of my favorite comedies ever. Bill Murray shows a lot of range in this film, range that would later serve him in shows like Rushmore and Lost In Translation. I give it four-and-a-quarter stars.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Mother Nature
On Sunday night I was at work. I was a bit disgruntled about it. I had taken vacation the previous week, had to work Sunday as I always do, then take Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday off as my usual schedule allows. In short, I worked one day of eleven, and I would much rather have had that one off too.
But enough of be being whiney.
The weather Sunday was poopy. It snowed about three inches, that snow got rained on turning it to an icky, icy slush, then the rain turned to sleet.
So I stayed inside, occasionally looking out the window so I would have something to complain about.
I got off of work at about midnight. I cursed the weather as I was speed-walking to my car (I didn't dare run, it was too slick) because the sleet seemed to unerringly find its way into the cracks and crevases of my coat/gloves/hat combo.
As I was driving home, I sat at one particular stoplight and was in awe of Mother Nature. Usually weather is just crappy enough to be annoying. This night, however, it was tremendously crappy enough to impress. It was raining and snowing at the same time. It was windy enough to cause the rain/snow to spin about like a mad dervish. And there was lightning and thunder.
This marks the third time in my thrity-seven years that I have seen lightning in a snow storm.
The stoplight turned green and I didn't notice. I was staring, unblinking, at the raw elements on display. The shmoe behind me apparently did not appreciate the spectacle because he leaned on his horn.
I drove home slowly. Slower even than the conditions warranted. I drove slow enough to gawk at every bit of weather I could see before, regrettably, arriving home.
I again cursed the sky as I abmulated from car to front door and then I was inside, shedding layers of wet and cold only to replace them with my jammies and a woobie. I sat in the dark and listened to the howl outside and I was glad that I had shelter from the storm.
But enough of be being whiney.
The weather Sunday was poopy. It snowed about three inches, that snow got rained on turning it to an icky, icy slush, then the rain turned to sleet.
So I stayed inside, occasionally looking out the window so I would have something to complain about.
I got off of work at about midnight. I cursed the weather as I was speed-walking to my car (I didn't dare run, it was too slick) because the sleet seemed to unerringly find its way into the cracks and crevases of my coat/gloves/hat combo.
As I was driving home, I sat at one particular stoplight and was in awe of Mother Nature. Usually weather is just crappy enough to be annoying. This night, however, it was tremendously crappy enough to impress. It was raining and snowing at the same time. It was windy enough to cause the rain/snow to spin about like a mad dervish. And there was lightning and thunder.
This marks the third time in my thrity-seven years that I have seen lightning in a snow storm.
The stoplight turned green and I didn't notice. I was staring, unblinking, at the raw elements on display. The shmoe behind me apparently did not appreciate the spectacle because he leaned on his horn.
I drove home slowly. Slower even than the conditions warranted. I drove slow enough to gawk at every bit of weather I could see before, regrettably, arriving home.
I again cursed the sky as I abmulated from car to front door and then I was inside, shedding layers of wet and cold only to replace them with my jammies and a woobie. I sat in the dark and listened to the howl outside and I was glad that I had shelter from the storm.
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