Accounting Day

Now that I’m unemployed, I’m rather amazed I ever managed to be employed in the first place. Here it is, one o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve managed to get shit-all done. Just been knocking about the house for hours now. The interwebz is evil, but I waste plenty of time Not Online as well. 

I will look on this all as further proof that I need to win the lotto and be independently wealthy for the rest of my days.

And before rampant accusations of taking advantage of the system come forth, be advise: I still have not received ANY compensation from CA unemployment. I did manage to finally contact them. Seems they never received a claim form from me. This is because I never received the form from them, in order to fill it out and mail it back to them.

So they’ve re-mailed the last several weeks claims. Which shouldn’t be a problem. But my mail carrier has this nasty habit of skipping my mailbox. Why? If I’m being generous I can say that the mailbox construction is such that a flag cannot be used, therefore I cannot indicate that I have items in the box for pickup. If I’m being less generous, I could say that the postal worker for this area is a lazy ass, never does the mail run at a regular time, and takes every opportunity to shirk their duties.

In any event, those Netflix DVDs have been sitting in that box since early Monday morning. Chop, chop, USPS. Babby needs new movies and to get on the dole!

Last Friday turned out to be Accounting Day. I spent it with Princess Overhoff, who is currently looking for full time work as a forensic CPA. She is very active in the local accounting organizations, does presentations, goest to conferenes, etc. In short, she does everything one could do to land a job, including taking temp work and going to tons of interviews. But she just can’t seem to land a job. It’s a bullshit situation, to be sure.

Anyhoo, she’s always going to these accountant meetings, and has asked me to accompany her a few times. Lord knows I’ll try anything twice (three, maybe four times), so I finally said yes and found myself at the meeting of the local chapter of California CPAs. Free lunch, if nothing else. 

Well, I wish I could say it was boring. What it really was : infuriating. The two speakers were tax lawyers, and by the time they had been speaking for about ten minutes, I realized that it’s not just paranoia: rich people and corporations really DON’T pay taxes, only the rapidly dwindling “middle class” and poor people. And I was in a room full of people, some of them middle class themselves, who were determined to keep it that way.

I like to think of myself as a realist, honest with myself and others. So that’s why I can freely state that I’m pretty much a bad influence on everyone around me. I think I might even be able to corrupt clergy. This meeting was no different. After one particularly brutal statement, I scratched a note to my CPA friend on the back of the meeting pamphlet. The following occurred.

Me: Is he saying the govt is going to LOWER corporate taxes?

PO: It’s a consideration, but S corps do not pay any taxes b/c all profits are “passed through” to owners.

Me: Tax cuts for large corps is insane. –AND they are going to cut charity subsidiaries? This is the reason I don’t watch the news.

PO: Welcome to the wonderful, fascinating world of tax. 

Then there’s about a half page of us discussing tax education, some details from the speakers, and some stuff I frankly still don’t understand. Then this.

Me: We are terrible. Quiz time! How well do you know Hawkeye? Identify what she likes about the gentlemen on the right.

PO: I personally like the nose.

Me: THIS IS WHY WE IS FRIENDS!!!!!

At this point Princess Overhoff whips out her iPhone and begins to show me a series of pictures of various men with similar features. Starting with this one:

Very like the nose in question. After about ten images the writing recommences.

Me: Did you just Google “big nose?”

PO: The Habsburg Nose. Yay Austrian royalty. Another advantage of inbreeding, instantaneously recognizable. 

So, yeah, I learned a lot at my accountant meeting.

After learning how much the government and evil tax lawyers were bent on depriving us of money, there was really no choice but to go shopping. We hit up some stores and ended up down at the Third Street Promenade. Which I still just wander around in, having no idea where I am. 

I resisted all buying urges (even in Sephora!) until we passed by Yummy Cupcakes. You have to know where to draw the line. I draw it at sweet treats.

I got some kind of coconut chocolate cupcake, and PO got a red velvet half n half. Holy Mary Mother of God—I almost went into an insulin coma from these cupcakes. The icing was that incredible cream cheese kind and there was about ½ cup of it on there and the cake part was not too sweet and OMG GO TO YUMMY CUPCAKES.

http://yummycupcakes.com//Menu.htm  (Dude, does that say “7-Up flavored cupcake?”)

For the record, the cupcakes better be good. At $3.50 a pop, I expect deliciousness. When I paid for the cupcakes I asked the salesgirl how much, she said, “Uh, about tree fiddy.” That’s when I noticed this particular sales girl was about three stories high, long as a football field, and green: she was the got-dayum Loch Ness monster!*

Now, Princess O had been expounding on her hatred of humankind that day. Again. She is a committed misanthropist. I usually play devil’s advocate to her position, even if I agree with something she’s said. I say it’s in interest of a balanced worldview, other people say it’s just because I’m contrarian and annoying. Whatevs.

As we ambled down the street, laden with delectable confections, a women catches our eye and comments on the cupcakes. PO says, “They’re delicious. Want to try some frosting? Just stick your finger in there.”

This is after a day of venting about how much people sucked and how come the world at large couldn’t tell that she hated them and just leave her alone ranting. As the woman used a handiwipe and PO tapped her foot in impatience, I couldn’t help the shit eating grin that was spreading over my face. When we resumed our walk, I couldn’t help but tell PO that I suspected part of her problem was sending mixed messages to the world. She looked askance and I replied, “I like to consider myself a friendly person. But no stranger gets to stick their finger in my icing.”

And PO promptly put that quote on the t-shirt list. 

The day ended with drinks in downtown BH, and a showing of “Chasing Madoff,” a documentary about the four main whistleblowers in the Bernie Madoff ponzi scandal.

The film itself is okay. It’s a little hokey and over dramatic, but I think you have to take it all in context. While the other whistleblowers might not have felt threatened, by the end of the movie I believed that Harry Markopolos felt legitimately threatened. I also believed him to be a bit on the crazy side, in general. But just because you’re crazy doesn’t mean you’re wrong.

As I’ve stated many times, I’m a purposefully ignorant person. I stopped watching the news when I was ten or so, because it was so depressing. Everytime I break the abstinence cycle on this one I just hear something that really pisses me off. But there’s nothing that I can do about it. Which just makes me tired. And sad. 

So I was pretty uninformed about the Madoff thing. I had no idea how big the fraud was, in monetary or international terms. While the movie focuses on the TEN YEAR attempt by these guys to get the SEC or somebody to listen to them about the Madoff fraud,I would have liked to hear more details about the fraud itself.

The ultimate conclusion of the movie is by far the most disturbing part. You just think you are depressed that the government and all major media outlets willfully ignored well researched reports on an obvious fraud for a decade. A FREAKING DECADE. But no, the real kick in the pants is realizing that Mr. Madoff couldn’t have done this all on his own—that it took an entire network of individuals and highly esteemed financial institutions to knowingly support and perpetrate this fraud. And to this day, NONE of those aid and abetting the scheme have been prosecuted, fined, etc. 

PO had a very emotional response to the film, and I concluded that Accounting Day was depressing and needed to be over. We finished with a cocktail a the Culver Hotel. I wish I hadn’t been so tired, b/c that place seemed really cool and had a nice little jazz band busting it up in the back. After a day of unpleasant truths and self analysis, Princess O flipped the tables on my and opined on my two worst traits. While I appreciate her rigorous honesty, it was still a bit of a blow at the end of a long day.

Oh god. The autistic bird next door is screaming again. Dear lord give me strength not to kill that thing.  

*If ever you find yourself, gentle reader, perusing this blog and going “WTF? I do not understand what is being said here,” do not worry. It’s not you. It’s me. You’ve innocently stumbled into a moment of my selfish self-amusement. Just ignore it and go on with your day. If you recognize what is being said, seek medical help immediately. And call me. We’ll hang out.

Happy Birthday

To the bestest in the whole world.

Quick shout out

Blogger is cool and all, but I really dislike the commenting feature, as there is no real tracking/notification system. So people have to check back to see if I've responded to their comments---can make a discussion difficult.

So I just wanted to take a second and thank Orchid Lover, Omey-pie, hcbizzy, bubblebabbles, and shik for their comments on blatherblahg. It always gladdens me black, shriveled little heart to read a comment, and know that I'm not just pissing into the wind.

Thanks for taking the time to drop a line. I really do appreciate it. And maybe one day I'll do as I've threatened for a while, and transform this sucker into something more interactive. But don't hold your breath on that one.

Jane Eyre, ad nauseum

So I caught the latest Jane Eyre adaptation, starring Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender. I’ve seen the iconic Welles version, and two BBC versions, one with Timothy Dalton and the other with Cieran Hinds. Having read and not cared too much for the novel (which I’ll delve into later), I was always willing to watch the film adaptations, if only to see how they would manage to make the characters, the plot contrivances, and the overall themes likable.

I can tell you that this is not a purist adaption of Eyre, but I believe that is to the film’s good fortune. The chronology is stirred up a bit, but not in an overly confusing way. There are also some judicious scene exclusions and amalgamations. The screenplay is very well done, and retains key elements of the book while effectively streamlining the story into something that can be delivered in a normal film length.

The cinematography is interesting as well. The director Cary Fukunaga eschews the standard pastoral framing that you unconsciously expect from British classics. There’s plenty of lovely shots that help make the countryside a character itself. But Fukunaga is not afraid of shadows, silence, or steady cam and hand held shots. I think it’s always interesting when a genre film, especially one rooted in a specific location, is handled by a foreigner to that realm. I can’t help but draw parallels between Ang Lee’s Sense and Sensibility and Brokeback Mountain: a BBC staple and the American West, through a non-native’s eyes.

Whatever the reason for his approach, Fukunaga’s treatment of the story is the best I’ve seen. The cast is stellar. I’ve been waiting to see Mia W. hit it big since I saw her stint on HBO’s In Treatment. She was (seemingly) effortlessly riveting in that role. Her take on Jane is traditional—I mean, you have to take your cues from the page, especially since the story is told in the first person—but Wasikowska does her character credit. Along with the good screenplay, Jane never seems like a doormat or an idiot. She’s an 18 year old girl who’s had a crap life, but her native intelligence and self respect have borne her through to become the inexperienced, socially awkward, but determined and thoughtful young woman we see.

I feel that this Rochester is the most relatable I’ve ever seen. He’s still a goading, spoiled jerk, but there’s so much more than autocratic despotism at work here. Fassbender’s Rochester is a man with incredible burdens, and you can almost see the weight of them on his shoulders. But before calamity befell him, this was an educated man with a good sense of humor and a willingness to love.

And the nexus where Jane and Rochester meet is where the film has its singular success—while staying true to the characters in the book, the film still delivers a believable romantic attachment between the two leads. Jane Eyre’s romance can be a little hard to take, between age and power issues, Rochester’s general asshattery, and Jane’s almost zombie-like composure. The film embraces rather than ignores those factors, and for the first time I found myself going, “Oh, I can see that happening.”

Rochester is old enough to be Jane’s father, and he plays with her emotions in sadistic ways sometimes. Jane is so unworldly and unloved that the slightest kindness from a man is liable to set her a flutter. But it works here, because these are such obviously damaged, lonely people that in a way they are ideal for each other. They are also a good pragmatic choice for each other. This is not a passionate love that erupts from first sight, it’s two people realizing they are safe with each other, and safe to be themselves with each other.

The film is not perfect, and there are moments where the individual actors seem a little lost or underdeveloped—with the exception of young (child) Jane and Rochester, but that’s not really fair because they get the best lines in the book and the most to actually do. The chemistry between Wasikowska and Fassbender is spot on, both wonderful and painful to watch. The director knows this, and there are two great scenes, the bedroom post-fire and the post wedding confrontation, which are primarily done as “American” two shots—shot is wide and continuous, with the characters facing each other in profile. Both those scenes are fantastic and I rewound them more than once to take turns focusing on each actor in the scene, as well as to enjoy the total experience. Top notch ACTING! and emoting in those scenes.



Question: Why does Jane always have the same damn hairdo in every freaking version? Also: niiiiice mutton chops there, Fassy.



Other things to enjoy are Dame Judi Dench rocking her role. I know it’s cliché to say that, but it’s not my fault that she kicks ass. And god bless her for it. Again, the director knows he’s got some good shit going on, and they give Dench’s Mrs. Fairfax a nice scene at the end that isn’t in the book. This is where purists start to howl, but really, it’s a wonderful moment and adds so much to the characters. The score is noticeably beautiful and evocative.

Also, FASSBENDER is my new favorite word. Get used to it. Nothing has been this much fun to say since Mustapha and the brief return of hassenpfeffer.

Well, all this Jane Eyre film watching made me decide to go back and re-read the novel. I’ve read it once only, in high school. I didn’t hate the book, but it certainly didn’t speak to me back then. I think it might have suffered somewhat from cross contamination with Wuthering Heights.

Wuthering Heights. Heathcliff and Catherine are a couple so detestable they find their literary equivalents only in Gatsby’s Tom and Daisy. Heights is just full of loathsome people doing selfish things that have horrific consequences. All the major players should have been shot 30 pages in, and the rest of the folks allowed to live out their normal lives free of the cancer of Heathcliff’s and Catherine’s “great love.” What a bunch of douchebags.

So, yeah. JE probably didn’t stand a chance. My fourteen year old brain could not comprehend why Jane put up with so much crap, from anyone. By the time she was hanging out with “Now I lubs you, Now I don’t!” Rochester, I was over it. I would let him burn up in his bed. Shit, I woulda thrown my candle into the mix. And this St. John overwhelming her with his force of personality? What personality? He’s a hottie with a hard on for Christ, specifically for dying in service to Christ. Isn’t that kinda like being Mel Gibson, thereby rendering one Not A Hottie? And the magical cousin coincidence? And everybody just being So. Damn. Overwrought. AllTheFreakingTime! Teens are supposed to love drama, but I just wanted to read Pride and Prejudice again. At least there was some personal growth in that book, besides the funny parts and biting social satire.

Also, you can sink Jane Eyre with two words: crossdressing gypsy. SRSLY—how the fuck did that make it past the editing table? That reminds me, has there ever been a film adaptation that included that scene? Or is it kind of like the United States and its treaties with the Native American nations—everybody just pretends it never happened? And by everybody, I mean the honkeys in charge.

Anyhoo, upon re-reading, I am forced to admit that Jane Eyre is a far more engaging book than I first gave it credit. For one thing, I am better able to place it contextually, and appreciate its very forward feminist tones. (I’m also able to recognize that Jane, for all her proto feminism, is still at the mercy of the personalities of the men in her life, and just chooses love instead of God. Which makes it less remarkable as a feminist tract, but kind of more remarkable as a product of Christianity and romanticized Pagan ideals.)

And, as I noted in the film review, I was able to see past Rochester’s imperiousness and Jane’s goggle eyed stupefaction to the underlying foundations of their relationship. They are damaged people. Rochester longs for personal salvation so much he’s willing to damn himself to get it. Jane longs to be valued, respected, and safe. She needs someone to finally think that she is good enough. The paternalistic overtones are less creepy in this regard—I mean, people really do have relationships like this precisely because they both need the acceptance that an age/experience imbalance provides.

What young girl hasn’t felt the odd but pleasing sensation of being an elder’s favorite? What older man hasn’t been at least intrigued when in the constant company of a young woman? Honestly, it’s a miracle anybody gets out of high school without getting arrested, teachers or students. There are entire Russian novels dedicated to this stuff. And Police songs. With my older eye, I can at least say, “Well, she’s 18 and graduated. He’s not a complete pedo.”

I can also now better see Jane’s independence and struggle for meaning. She’s smart, she learns to stick up for herself as much as she can, and she also correctly identifies that women get the short shrift, but suffer some of the same needs as men. Again, considering the time and her age, Jane’s POV makes more sense and seems a lot more rebellious than my initial impression.

To summarize: FASSBENDER!



iSpartan: Hard rock music meets rock hard abs.




BRUSH YOUR TEETH! (FROOOOOSTING!!!!)



What Time Is It? 4:29?

It's Miller Time.

So I dropped the Meowzda off for repairs, and will be sans car probably until next week. But you know I ain't got no job, I ain't got shit to do.

Speaking of not having a job, apparently there is a hiccough in my unemployment filing--I've yet to receive any monies. I don't know what's wrong, because the automated system doesn't recognize my information and you can't get a live person on the phone. I've sent an email. We'll see how THAT goes.

Otherwise, I'm ridiculously proud of myself because I managed to get my car to the body shop, walk the two miles home, and buy toilet paper. All in the same day!

A while back my friend Blau took me for a celebratory ride in Supersonic Audi of Screaming Death. This is his new babby, a two seater, ten cylinder, dream of a machine.

Please note: This is actual photo of his actual car. No shit.

So, nothing really says "Damn, it's good to be Not Dead" nearly so much as speeding down the back end of Mullholland, through Decker Canyon, and topping out somewhere in the three digit area.

Blau has mentioned he particularly likes to take me driving, because he can go faster with me in the car than with any other passenger. This is due to the fact that at top speeds I lose all higher brain function and begin to giggle and clap my hands uncontrollably. No, seriously.

Aside from the incredible scenery and the awesome driving of my pal, it's just a nice route to take, no matter what your velocity.

Picturesque.

Beautiful, gorgeous. Wish you were here.

Now we're getting kinky, yah?

Wheeeeee!

Contrary to what you may think, the best part wasn't the top speeds. The absolute bestest, most amazing part was the hairpin turns. And I'm not kidding about the shape: these are not gentle arcs or even lazy Ssszsssszz. Balls to the wall hairpin.

There's this magical thing that can happen when entering turns/curves--if you manage the car just right, you don't have to break. If you manage it even better, you don't have to accelerate. There is this incredible moment of free fall, 0 G, unbelievable zen, as you take and complete a turn all at the same mph.

Somewhere out on Decker, Blau hit that magical point and we did 40 mph through a hairpin. It doesn't sound fast, but it was AS fast as we could take that curve. And that Audi cornered like it was on rails. And because he's just that cool, Blau had Beethoven playing for us, with the road almost cued to the music.

We came out of Malibu and ate incredibly fresh, greasy, fried seafood at a tiny dive that literally sat across the street from the Pacific. I said, "If you had anybody come to SoCal, took them on that drive, and then just casually stopped by this place, they'd be sold. They'd never leave." Blau was in agreement, and said that's pretty much how it happened to him.

Speed of Awesome.

Prescription for America: Less Prozac and booze, more fast driving in gorgeous locales with unbelievable climates.

3:47 am

Truly, it insupportable to awake at such an hour.

But, I used the time to finish a book. Forthcoming will be a review/retrospective of film and novel forms of Jane Eyre. Try to contain your excitement.

Also, in-between getting fired, (not so) voluntary organ removal, and bashing my car upside things, some other stuff has happened that I will soon endeavor to note for posterity.

A caste-less life?

We all pretend that we live in a world where there are no divisions, no common chances of highborn finery.

Yet, don't we all bend the knee and haul the yoke when it is required?

I don't know how else to describe these various postures we assume. So many times i have said, "It is only for the good of those who still govern. For the good of those who still believe in their omnipotence. Let them think themselves great. It is no skin from my nose."

But tonight it was skin from my nose. Even in my final trod home. I resent every second, shanghaied by a whatever. What's the use?

I am done with these withering limbs. done done done done done done done

"Don't Stand Near Her! Bad Things Will Happen To You!"

Ah, Cow and Chicken, whatever happened to you?

Today is the Garden Party loosely based around the fact that I've come out the otherside with the whole cancer thingy.

Unfortunately, what I have yet to overcome is myself. As evidenced by the car accident I got into while on my way to the airport to pick up some friends.

No one was hurt. I used my blinker for a lane change, but didn't see the car that was apparently occupying that lane. As they say, it all happened very fast. I'm pretty certain am very at fault. It was my first real accident ever, though I must admit that I've been driving around this town feeling like I had a big X on me, just waiting for collision to occur. It's probably amazing that I haven't gotten in one before now.

*sigh*

It's times like this I wish I was rich, had a chauffeur, blah blah was-anyone-else-but-me-cakes. I now have some good friends in town, and must steel my nerves for ferrying all across this city for the next few days.

Pray, if not for me, then for all the others who stumble innocently into my swath of destruction.

Today's Important Message: Gabriel Byrne

*woof*

That is all.

Okay, okay. Since he's robbed me of my usual obscenity laced eloquence, let's allow the adage to apply and let the pictures do the talking:

Peacoat = sexy. That's an equation I never thought would prove true.

This is the kind of picture where some people will see nothing but flaws. I see nothing but features I find immensely compelling. This isn't the best photo of him, but I feel its quite demonstrative. Also: WTFOMG Eyeball color WUT??

Error 269: Brain temporarily overloaded. Please refresh psyche and try again.

Blast my accursed knowledge of claddagh rings. His heart is given to another. *shakes angry fist*

Few people know that Gabe freelanced as a glass etcher for a short time. He saved money on equipment by simply using his cheekbones.

Sometimes I can only wonder that it took me so long to figure out that I had a "type." Because it is so very, very obvious.

GB: Hey, Hawkeye! Satan here. Was wondering if I could tempt you to tr--

Me: YES.

This entire movie is made of WIN, interspersed with EPIC!WIN and WINFORLIFE!

When I grow up I want two things: Gabriel Byrne and to get to talk like Fenster. Non-stop.

Keaton with a side of Verbal. PickitupDing!

 

 

 

 

Seriously? SRSLY? Gah!

And if you're into that kind of thing, his whole "Inside the Actor's Studio" is on YouTube. It's pretty good, and he's awfully disarming, with some interesting things to say about acting. The real fun, though, are the audience reactions. Every time they cut to the audience it's a chick. And they all have the same rapt expressions on their faces.

Here's the always fun questionnaire part of the show. I like how Mr. Byrne can say a curse word, but can't bring himself to describe what it means.

The less I have to do. . .

. . . The less I get done. Here's to hoping that my obscene waking time of of 4 am will result in a more fruitful day than usual.

And here's also to hoping that I never run across late night fare as awful and bizarre as "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls."

Sheesh, that thing will give you willies. I'm still trying to sort out if that one dude was transgendered or if he was just supposed to have a bad case of gynomastisa. Yes, I did have go look up that spelling.

ETA:  I meant to do this originally, but am limited in my iPad teknolojeez. From BtVotD, a phrase I will now certainly work into all of my banter with my arch-nemeses (right alongside perennial faves "So says DOOM!" and "Eyes and teeth, motherfuckers. Eyes and teeth," and "Zogar, lookit that!" *THWACK* "Taste Higgins' cable outlet, ye fiendish foe!")

 And is it just me, or does this dude remind you of Martin Landau, but prettier?

Oh my brothers, we'll give them a bit of the ol' ultra lipgloss.

 

I mean, that's not just me, right?

Aw, hell, while we're at it, I bet you didn't know that Eric Stoltz's's's's father was in this movie, either, didja?

Somebody get me Ann Margaret, I've got to bang out some ginger babbies.

And to answer Omer's question, yup, neophyte film critic and apparent cleavage aficionado Roger Ebert wrote the screen play for this one. To be fair, Harlan Ellison wrote the screenplay for "Valley of the Dolls." And of course, since he's Harlan Ellison, he got pissed off when they changed the downer ending and had his name removed from the credits.