Your craft-challenged child decided to learn to knit and make glorious gifts for everyone for Christmas. Fast forward 4 weeks and we have two projects in motion, somewhere around the 8th iteration of each. Little progress had been made, but there were great hopes for the downtime during this trip.
Others, however, had different plans.
Crime Scene Photo: Exhibit 1
Crime Scene Photo: Exhibit 2
But who could be so nefarious?
Main Suspect
The suspect was found with bits of bamboo on his muzzle. These pieces closely match the fragments shown in Exhibit 2. Investigators believe the suspect blitz attacked the developing scarf, catching it completely off guard. The knitting was dragged from the coffee table and deposited on the ground. It is believed that the suspect was really after the bamboo needles, as the majority of slobber and tooth damage were found on those remnants.
Those close to the knitting, which was a casualty of the attack, have reportedly said, "Oh well, it was crap stitching anyways." There are reports of laughter upon finding the crime scene.
I'm actually relived that it's the end of the world, because my
unemployment just ran out. Now I don't have to get a job. Thanks Mayans!
#EndOfTheWorldConfessions
Mom and Dad--I lied. It wasn't drug experimentation. It was a clinical dedicated case study with laboratories, government grants, and lots and lots of field tests. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
Exes--you were right. "I'm fine" was actually code for "I want to rip your spine out with your skull still attached and flail your helpless body with it."#EndOfTheWorldConfessions
I love Journey. Un-ironically. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
The jokes about stalking hot mens? Not jokes. Don't tell my parole officer. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
While you weren't looking, I licked the rim of your drink. This actually applies to everyone, ever. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
I would have probably slept with you if you'd managed to keep your mouth shut. Yakkity yak yak. . . Lord, I hate a yakking man. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
I'm the person at the party who clogged your toilet. Then drove away. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
I didn't forget your birthday/anniversary/event. I was just too lazy to drive to the store and buy you a card. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
I have Kanye West and Lady Gaga songs on my iPod in heavy rotation. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
It wasn't really cancer. I just said that to make everybody feel guilty and be nice to me. It didn't work out nearly as well as planned. #EndOfTheWorldConfessions
Out running errands with my Moo and this happened:
She left one building to walk to her bank, thinking I still had to conclude some business. Turns out I didn't, so I followed soon after, perhaps twenty yards behind.
At the bank door was an older black gentleman. I mention his ethnicity because we are in The South and it retains a certain flavor (bitter) in these matters.
This gentleman was on one of those medical scooters, which wouldn't fit through the door. He was having a terrible time of trying to stand up, brace his fumbling legs, open the door and walk.
I heard my Moo's voice like a crisp bell across the parking lot, "I can help you."
Then she maneuvered the gentleman up. He could barely hold steady, much less take a step. She drew her arm around his waist and he mimicked the action. And so they walked through the bank doors and all the way to the teller, arm in arm like small children at play.
She never saw me. I elected to stay outside. Somebody had to guard his scooter. And something seemed to have gotten in my eye.
You ever have one of those friends whose constitution is wholly indecent in its ability to sustain? One of those friends who eats McRibs and is slender, can drink a pint of rum and be sober(ish), stay up all night, and get up and repeat the process?
I know a few of these unholy people. Let me introduce you JoT, the Dawnbreaker.
Beware! the bumptious Dawnbreaker
Who parties from dusk till day
With merriment and mischief aplenty
To steal your sleep away!
But perhaps my leetle seester summed it up best in Epic Text Of The Weekend:
Those who laugh know nothing of the Dawnbreaker. Just yesterday, I know a man who broke dawn with JoT, offering supplications of Jack Daniels and beer, but no mercy was shown him the next day. His mouth was become dry, and his head and back were racked with pains. He spent the day burning incense and abasing himself before all the gods, but he knew dawn had broken upon his head, smiting him as if with a club, and the gods do not hear the cries of the fools such as he! Be warned and laugh no more, for the rays of sun signal your doom.
Flying cross country is a bitch, even when it goes well. Does it make anybody else all achy?
I was back in NoFla approx 20 minutes before I got my first phone call and first invite for a night of rousting about. And from an old friend I don't see much anymore. How's that for Not Bad?
Hanging out tonight with Sveltana and Prince Choco Coco (AKA Will). Svet and me ended up laughing our asses off, per the usual. Will continues to crack me up and we scare Svet because we think so much alike. Which either means young Will is quite mature and erudite, or I have the same interests as an 11 year old boy.
I think we all know the answer to that one.
Tink, Champagne and even my little bro all touched base. Tres cool.
I could say a lot about upcoming events, but let me just offer an example instead. Let this be known as my current theme song. It's certainly been on my iPod enough. Heavy rotation is the only way to go with this much awesome.
That's right. Theme song. Soak in it.
And now I'm away. No tales of exploding nail polish in the luggage or dreams of a post apocalyptic asylum with Ricky Gervais and Alan Rickman for you tonight, dear readers.
I know it ended on a preposition, but really: Things To Which To Look Forward? No.
Certain environs hold certain pleasures. To wit:
Waffle House!
Required visits to N-Squaw. Home of the three drink maximum. One martini, Two martini, Three martini, Floor.
The reunion at the Group W bench.
Carraba's with my Forever Carraba's date: Jo.
Reunion of the Three Musketeers of Debauchery: D'runktagnan, Potsmoke, and ScaruhMiss. We sometimes combine into Form of Assthos. Those are less than noble nights. (The names are interchangable, btw). Yes, The Musketeers are a fearsome bunch. When last in town they drank a waitress under the table. Accidentally. Fear them.
Going to romp n stomp some fewls on a trivia night.
Seeing the fam. Though I doubt we will match the awesomeness of the Critmus Sing A Wrong of last year.
Critmus Tree!
Critmus Cookies!
Hanging out with Hotsauce and HRad in their new palatial estate. Fending off the amorous advances of their pack of slightly wild dogs.
Marco's Pizza.
Trying to figure out which of the Brothers A people I can hornswoggle convince to throw a party.
Rolling. But not on the shabbos.
DEEP HURTING via some truly wretched movie viewing.
Calming up with Svletlana, Hahhhnk the KGB Pooch, and Prince Will of Choco Coco Land.
Seriously hoping to get see my peeps from my former place of employ. This can be hard to coordinate, but I want it so bad.
The bittersweetness of the Dojo peeps. *sigh*
Rickle Pickle and D2. Would love a proper visit.
Schooner's for the requisite Bushwacker and to get the free cup to add to my glassware collection.
I'd like to think these crazy ass early awakenings are just my metabolisms clever way of getting me ready for possible changes in time zones. For when my incredible whirlwind exotic life kicks in.
There are lots of factors, but this moment is about being invited to High Tea for a friends birthday tomorrow.
I have one dress. I have two skirts. I might be able to scrounge something together.
But the shoes I would have worn are Things We Lost In The Burglary. The nice clutch I would have carried is TWLITB.
I didn't have much jewelry, but I had a few nice pieces. I almost never have occasion to wear them, but. . . TWLITB.
(And yes, despite my poverty I did manage to try and go shopping for these items. Two stores later I'm still fat and can't find any shoes that fit. Are my feet fat now too? Things to ponder. . . )
I should go down to that one shoe store and see if something's on sale. But I'm just not feeling it. Between my lack of wardrobe and my lack of body condition it feels like a lost cause.
like rolling waves, surging forward and falling back
pain ebbs in and washes over, receding only to advance
following the pattern of breath (and you hold it
trying to stave off the next crest
and it almost works)
they say it's how to tell i'm alive
it's bigger than its source, a spring overflowing
carving out hollows in your gut with fire
rearranging the architecture of your neck with tensioned lines
setting your forehead alight
and leaving goosebumps on your arms
if the weakness has left, what's taken its place
there is no peace in movement, no relief in stillness
you are made an fragile elder and mewling infant at once
and if you are lucky enough to procure relief
all that pathetic gratitudes ends in an exhausted slump
as your body uncoils like a wrung out towel
Yup, this is the one that made me cry. Damn Ricky Gervais.
Whatever your feelings are, I urge you to take a few minutes and watch this short.
I know some people don't care for Mr. Gervais. He makes fun of stupid people. He takes shots at celebrities at industry events. People accuse him of being cruel, insensitive, and a bully. I disagree. I think Ricky Gervais is a mirror. He attempts to embody and reflect all the foibles of humanity. But he also allows some little grace to come through as well. His creative output is never one note; it's not just comedic, or dramatic, or even just satirical. His work is so bloody full of pathos that it's sometimes hard to bear--there's a terrible familiarity about the worlds that Gervais creates. We are acquainted with all the awkward denizens, we are familiar with the uncomfortable silences, we know all too well the crushing inherent sense of futility and repetition.
And yet. There's that grace note. In The Invention of Lying, the impetus for a human failing (lying) is to provide solace and comfort for loved ones. Gervais' character just wants to console his mother--and not even with real items, but just the concept of peace and prosperity, the notion of rest and care. All of his work is like this, small gems of kindness amidst the rocks of life. They are somehow more touching than all the grand gestures and sweeping overtures of other works, perhaps because Gervais presents us with such an unflinching portrayal of the worst of us, the best can't help but be brilliant in comparison.
Whether silly or snide, goofy or gloomy, the consistent push from Gervais is to Look, to See, and to Think. I think the man may be cursed with an unhappily keen understanding of human nature. He demands logic and reason, and where he finds none he'll let you know. Loudly.
As for the titular character in Derek? He's one of Gervais' genuinely sweetest characters to date. It wasn't until I saw this short that I realized Ricky could act. What at first seems like a cruel mime show quickly turns into a part played with fearless physicality. Derek is ugly. Derek is awkward. Derek is Not Situationaly Aware. Derek is a nuisance. He is one of the guileless people born or bred to be tone deaf to the subtle notes of human interaction.
Derek is also loving. Loyal. Tirelessly honest. Affectionate. Kind. I'm glad I don't know Derek, because he breaks my heart.
My friends, who make me laugh and drag me out of the house and pick me and drop me off and buy me movie tickets and listen to me whine and laugh at my dumb jokes and feed me and take my phone calls and act happy to see me.
My family. They are crazy and goofy and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Music. Always and forever. Lately has been rather fanciful and fun for me, including: Chris Cornell, Michael Penn, Tennessee Ernie Ford, Howlin' Wolf, Dolly Parton, Edward Sharpe, The Fray, Radiohead, Shawn Colvin, K's Choice, The Dandy Warhols, Spin Doctors, The Cardigans, John Murphy and Jay & The Americans.
Acting and film making, in its various incarnations. So. Much. Joy.
Books, and the amazing availability afforded by e-books.
My iPad and iPod, both presents from my Gulf Coast friends and co-workers.
My particular brand of friend who comment on this blog, call me, send me texts, email me, play Words With Friends, or any other method of keeping in contact, keeping our friendship alive, and letting me know they are thinking about me.
My big bro, who's making it possible to travel to visit family.
My friends Hotsauce and Mrs. R--making it possible for me to have a comfortable place to stay during my trip.
The surprise phone call from my little bro.
The surprise Skype tonight wherein my little sis stayed on an extra hour with me just to shoot the shit.
My friends getting jobs. It's so great and I'm so happy for them. And they deserve it, for realz.
Rowdy Rodi and Jones. Awesome people that I'm glad to have met.
Finally getting to see my cousin again after a decade. She grew up into a very cool person.
My Uncles. Chris Rock is right, your Uncles prepare you for all the crazy shit you are going to encounter in life. They also feed you lobster and tell you horrible jokes. And sometimes they apologize for things they don't need to. And sometimes they invite you over just because.
My Bef.
Kitties and Doggies and the chance to meet them all over the place.
The beautiful weather here.
Nail polish and lip gloss. (What? I can be shallow and materialistic.)
Sushi, pickles, olives, cheese, milk, nectarines, bananas, Dr. Pepper.
My Endo doc. Though I have troubles, he is always the sweetest.
Every silly thing ever posted on the internet. Tumblr for unalloyed craziness.
That's all I got for now. I'm sure I left some important stuff out. The curse of aging and food comas.
Go see it. I did. Don't you want to be just like me, kids?
I hear instagram does fx like this. Too bad I already have Photoshop, you twittering biatches!
If you loved Casino Royale, you will love Skyfall. From the kaleidoscopic opening credits to the panoramic vistas to the artful framing of the action shots and close ups, this is a beautiful movie.
Beautiful may not be a term you normally associate with the Bond franchise. (Besides the Girls). But this film is a cinematic achievement, at turns breathtaking, gloomy, inviting, and dazzling. And for some of us, we should recall that's what Bond films used to be about: exotic locations, beautiful people, beautiful sets. In short, a recreation of Fleming's lush and snobby sensualism. A chance to see the incredible.
So many films these days rely on images of the future, faux worlds, manipulated pixels, that it's easy to forget how compelling planet Earth can be. And it's not just the rooting in the almost-real world of Bond that's a throwback. The film is rife with nostalgia and nods to the 50 years of franchise. It's a strange tone choice for Craig's third outing, but in the context of the larger Bond universe it makes sense. This may go down as one of the best of the series.
Considering the director is Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition, Jarhead) it's not surprising that the film is so damn good and pretty to look at. And it is stunning. There are too many to list, but I can still see the aerial shots of Shanghai--never has a modern city looked more beautiful. There's an amazing fight sequence done in silhouette with eerie, beautiful ghostly images in the background. Even London is shot with love, each take lingering just a bit to let us soak in the venerable lady.
Casino Royale sold me with its opening parkour scene. I never thought that would be repeated, but Skyfall did it again with an extended chase scene that will convince you MI-6 employees can't possilby be paid decent enough salaries. My mouth was literally hanging open for the duration of that scene.
But a hero can only be as good as his villian, right? Well Javier "Method Hair" Bardem is crazier than a bag of cats and twice as fun. The man even uses his freaking nostrils to act. Act KA-RAY-ZEE. So great, so incredibly great.
Side note: Daniel Craig wears the hell out his suits, even more so than usual. For those interested, Tom Ford dressed him. God bless Tom Ford, y'all. For real.
So, Skyfall. Maybe I was just primed to see a Bond film. Or maybe it's just that damn good.
Post dedicated to Shik. Hope the sacrificed length is made up for with instant gratification.
My attorney has advised me that posts like these should come with extra super duper disclaimers. Actually, my attorney keeps trying to get me to stop posting and delete a bunch of stuff. BUT THE SHOW MUST GO ON. Anyways, just keep in mind that I'm not real, I don't get much sleep these days, my assertions aren't real, and nothing I say should be taken seriously by anyone. Ever. The Matrix has you, Neo.
Ho ho ho! What is this? My sweet baby!
ABrods, looking like the pensive hepcat he is.
He's been bumming around Europe for a bit (I think). He hangs out on yachts, goes to Cannes, you know, just like how I've been spending my off time.
This saucy minx. . . I want photos of him shooting finger guns. Kwanzaa prezzie! Anyone? Anyone?
Oh, so happy to have some pics to scroll throu--waitaminute. What is that?
What
The
Hell?!?!?!?
So, some gorgeous model type has rolled up on my honey pie? Well, I'm sure it's not ser--
Hold the phone, there, Sparky. I'm onto this interloper. I think we can all see that she's manipulating ABrods, trying to subliminally affect his psyche. I mean, just look at that dress. It's like waving a whiskey bottle in front of an alkie in DTs. Know what I mean? No? Well, let me illustrate:
Remind you of anybody's dress?
That's right. Look real close. Artful wench! How many boxes do you think that took?
That cruel temptress! She has taken his greatest strength and turned it into an Achilles heel! And why didn't I think of this first?
Oh Adrien, you lovely, impressionable, flu-season fearing darling. I will just have to remind myself that this phase will pass away with the winter months. And pray that you aren't prone to hay fever.
And I may not be tall, beautiful, or able to strategically apply tissue paper as clothing, but I will always love your profile, The Brothers Bloom, and never ever ever watch The Pianist or The Jacket again. See, I can promise you things.
Denial Survey Says: That's not a kiss. He's just about to sneeze.
So, like a good little citizen I went to vote this morning. I even walked to the polling station, since it was only a mile away.
After twenty minutes in line and some minor confusion over whether I voted by mail or not, I filled out my ballot form and even scrupulously double checked all my entries.
At the ballot deposit the box the helpful attendant folded my stub correctly, and told me to feed the form through the machine.
Then she said, "Uh oh."
Not a phrase one likes to hear in these situations.
Long story short, some setting was off on the ballot collecting machine and it didn't register my form. As I stood there, various volunteers were congregating. A cell phone was whipped out to make an emergency call and a volunteer was muttering repeatedly, "He's gonna kill me."
They assured me that the ballot collection device was only for collecting, and that all the ballots would be removed and counted for real at the close of polling that day.
Because this is so typical of my life, I didn't even make a fuss. I just slung on my backpack and trudged the mile home.
Remember kids, vote early and vote often. Because who knows when it will count?
For California proposition breakdown, please go here:
http://votersedge.org/
Non partisan with some great metrics, including what a Yes/No vote means, the finanical impact of each choice, who contributed what $ amount to each campaign, who's endorsed each viewpoint, and links to editorials in favor and in opposition of each measure.
Just really great info. And read between the lines, kids. Great example is Prop 32. Makes it sound like it limits all corporate and union contributions to campaigns. In reality, it doesn't affect corporations at all. In fact, it specifically hamstrings unions, while corporations are free to do whatever they like with their money.
Why does all this stuff have to be so damn complicated and convoluted? I'm beginning to believe that we should eradicate politics as a career choice. Maybe Congress and the House should be like jury duty--you get called, serve your two years, and then the next citizen is up.
I had just drifted off to sleep, a singular occurrence, when my phone rang. I checked the number and dialed back to get my little bro.
I'm really glad I did. Turns out it wasn't a death notification. He just wanted to share his demented and perverse glee over his trivia team's merciless ass whooping of their opponents. We ended up talking for almost 2.5 hours.
He's one of the funniest people I know. Though not everybody gets his references, which is a shame because they are always awesome. For example, his trivia team is named "Deep Hurting."
Classic.
I wish I had been a better sister to him all those years ago. I'm immensely grateful that he doesn't hold it against me, and that we can have a relationship now. I wish, as I do with much of my family, that I could do morenfornhim, help him out in life.
That is the sound of all of my puny muscles, crying out in pain.
Here's a fun fact about being without thyroid post a cancer diagnosis: for treatment purposes, the thyroid replacement hormone is administered at abnormally high levels. This makes you hyperthyroid.
While I haven't manifested all of the symptoms of hyperthroidism (such as, say, weight loss), I do have some fun side effects. Two of these are muscle wasting and muscle weakness.
I'm not sure of the exact mechanism, but I think it's some combination of catabolic activity on the muscles and heightened constant proteolysis. The point is that your muscles go bye-bye, especially noticeable in the large muscle groups (glutes, quads, biceps, abs). Your physical capacity is significantly reduced. Suddenly, carrying the grocery basket is a struggle. You can't do a single push up.
I imagine that this, combined with my prolonged absence from a regular work and exercise schedule, is the reason why my body is in revolt after two days of activity. Standing: aerobics for the horribly sedentary.
I mean, the muscles on the balls of my feet hurt. It's painful to walk barefoot around the house. WAT???? Crazy.
It's all good, though. Some funny stuff happened the last two days, including a Bona Fide L.A. Moment. All of which I will type later, after unfurling my wretched knotted muscles a bit more.
Because apparently October is when all my relatives do their visiting.
Despite my earnest desire to forgo any human contact, there is a force more powerful. And that force is the Guilt/Obligation Engine. Getting my ass out the door since 19-neveryoumind.
It is pretty impressive. In a time when I can't even be arsed to go see awesome movies with my (long suffering) friends, I will run around with an untreated sinus infection so I can do whatever it is the recent visitors want.
But when I'm not acting as shuttle service for cousins and uncles, it's been rough. There are many times I've started composing an entry about life at this point, only to discard the effort because it seems pointless and depressing.
This last week of doctor visits didn't help. The summary of their input is "Try this stuff you already did before (even though it didn't work before)" and "What do you want me to do about it?"
What do I want? I want to not spend over a year talking to you only to have to recap EVERY GODDAMN ASPECT OF MY TREATMENT WITH YOU EVERY FUCKING VISIT. I want to not have to approach my visits like an attorney preparing to argue a case for litigation. I want you to see me as an individual and quit confusing me with your other patients. I want you to remember what we've discussed. I want you to look into alternatives when the current regiment isn't working.
I want you to listen. And hear me. But why would you? We live in a world where no one listens. Nobody has time. Nobody cares. If I'm barely a blip on the radar of friends and family, how can I really expect to register with people who are just doing a job? Despite the fact that their job is, in fact, to pay attention to these matters I'm bringing up.
Let's face it: I'm exhausted. The realm of health care is like Sisyphean gladiatorial combat--and you have to be your own champion. Even when doctors care, they still aren't really tuned into your case. Which is how you arrive back where I am: here, throw some pills at it (the ones that didn't work before) and here's some lame ass advice about life changes that might help. (Get a job seems to be popular. Which, yeah. Because I've chosen this life of glamorous unemployment). Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
And I just don't have the energy to fight back anymore. In any area of life: friends, family, dreams, jobs, health. I was running on empty when I moved out here and life since has just tapped my reserves. I just don't bounce back like I used to. I guess I should have had a better plan, or immediately made a better one when the latest round of things went to shit. But I am without inspiration.
My 401k/Pension Plan. It's actually kind of morphed into my General Income and Homelessness Avoidance Plan as well.
The returns on this investment aren't quite working out as I'd hoped.
As if this tableau weren't tragic enough, the pathetic truth is that I didn't even bother to check any of these tickets until I cleaned out my desk. Some of them are over six months old. Some are from across the country.
That's right. I buy lotto tickets and don't even check them. Insert profound observation about expecting disappointment even in my fantasies here.
Ugh. Back from the doc's. In addition to continuing with my current regime, she put me on some antibiotics. She's under the impression that I have a rather intense sinus issue. TMI territory here, blanked for your delicacy: [When I get sinusitis or infections, I don't get all snotty and traditionally congested. I just get irritation. And pain. Apparently my congestion is hard and deep seated. Like so many of my issues, really.]
Being against antibiotics is basically as close to a solid political position as I get. I avoid them at all costs. Whenever I take them I usually end up feeling A) Like I'm doing a great disservice to the human race and B) Like crap. Don't get me wrong--antibiotics are miraculous drugs that are a boon to medicine. They just get overprescribed like it's going out of style. I will now cease before I descene into a MRSA/flesh eating strep diatribe.
So, I don't consider myself a hardcore scifi geek. Like most things in life, I have a passing interest that lends me some air of credibility when I speak of it. But my shyster-like existence is a pondering for another post.
In keeping with today's earlier offering, here's something wonderful. You treat me like a Bantha, and that feels so cold.
So, heard of Seven Psychopaths? Good prelim buzz on it. The guys at Screen Junkies like to to mix up the usual Q&A a bit, and this is amazing. (Side note: can I get a job at SJ? These guys seem awesome).
In additon to containing a lovely collection of Colin Farrell, Chris Walken, and Sam Worthington, this clip also allows me to indulge in my condemnation of the Honey Boo Boo phenomenon in a non-vomitous way.
Unfamiliar with Honey Boo Boo? It's basically an encapsulation of what's wrong with modern parenting, the objectification of children, the current media obsession with grotesquerie, schadenfreude taken to it's horrific zenith, and why the aliens should just blow us all the fuck away.
Chris Walken is such a precious human being. Did you catch how in all that trainwreck he voices concern for the kid?
This next part is posted without political intent. These pix are just. . . I mean. . . really? Nobody in PR had the sense to put the kibosh on this travesty? Because the lulz, people, the lulz.
People who wear ballcaps to work out indoors are douchebags. Sorry. It's just the truth.
Head on over to Uproxx for the rest of it. But what really got me was the series of quotes they had attached to this picture.
“Yo, bro, can I get a spot?” “I need more Avenged Sevenfold in my workout playlist.” “Mind if I work in a set?” “I need new lifting gloves.” “Can I get an extra shot of creatine in that whey protein shake?”
Despite my current state of decrepitude, I've spent a fair amount of time in gyms. My first gym was an old school weightlifter affair: gross carpet, taped bars, not a Nautilus machine in sight. And these quotes all stroke home. I can almost smell the spray disinfectant (read: Ajax dish soap in a bottle with some water).
In Blahg-specific news, I've had a request to add the "follow by email" option. And we aims to please here at BB, so the function has been added. Use at your own risk, it appears to be more annoying than helpful. But I guess you could say that about everything on this blog.
I keep on meaning to wax eloquent about my love for The Mentalist, now starting it's fifth season. Oh well, those snappy waistcoats will keep for another day.
It's the anemic pitter patter of what passes for rain here in the cleverly disguised semi-desert environs of Southern California. Have no fear. It only lasted a brief while and quickly dispersed as the sun came up.
But here's another cool thing to listen to, Star Wars flash mob:
In other news, I give up on my nearly week-long battle with whatever the hell is wrong with my sinuses/cranium/life and am going to the doctor. I don't imagine it will do much good: I have applied all manner of medications and treatments to this condition. So unless it's some New and Exciting Affliction, I imagine the doc will just send me on my way. After a lenghthy period in the waiting room and the requisite stress of parking in L.A. Yuck.
I have a passing interest in quantum physics. I'm not nearly trig enough to understand it all, but the concepts are always intriguing. The math leaves me in the dust.
It's October, so appropriately we have Photons From Beyond The Grave. Scientist Joachim von Zanthier (rockstar name alert) proposed the expanded principle involving action at a distance and entanglement. Then Hagai Eisenberg went and performed the experiment, essentially proving that out of a set of four protons, Proton 3 was affected by Proton 1. The catch is the effect kicked in after Proton 1 ceased to exist.
OoooOOOOooooo! Ghost Protons! Or as I like to think of it, Jewish Grandmother Protons that can reach beyond the veil of death and jack your shit up. (Guilt: the most powerful force in the universe).
And the circle of life goes on.
LOLcats are like the Hallmark of the interwebz. There's one for every occasion.
So maybe we can figure out what's up with the cat? For some reason, this feels like cheating to me. And it also made me realize that I've an entanglement of my own. I've conflated the Schrodinger situation with the observer effect and the uncertainty principle. Oh dear. Well, that's what happens when plebes play in the Big Science sandbox.
Speaking of Universal Truths, I just got done rewatching Bull Durham for the eleventy bajillionth time. This movie is so real, fanciful, allegoric, and completely honest all at the same time.
Kevin Costner gets a lifetime pass from me for this movie. (And because he's been nice to me in a couple of dreams. But mostly this movie). I'm not even a baseball fan, but this movie makes we want to be one. So many good parts, including:
When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me.
Annie Savoy: her outfits, her philosophy, her rejoinders, everything. The contents of her bedside drawer always crack me up.
Crash's "belief" speech.
The Manager and his incoherent cursing.
Don't try to strike everybody out. Strikeouts are boring! Besides that,
they're fascist. Throw some ground balls - it's more democratic.
The "lollygag" speech.
Pretty much every facial expression Tim Robbins has. It takes a lot of guts to play Stupid so very big.
The Meeting On The Mound: We're dealing with a lot of shit.
The lesson on learning your cliches. I have worked these lines into conversations with almost all my bosses.
The rose goes in the front, big guy.
This son of a bitch is throwing a two-hit shutout. He's shaking me off.
You believe that shit? Charlie, here comes the deuce. And when you speak
of me, speak well.
One day I need to dedicate a post to whomsoever is in charge of programming across the HBO channels. I suspect they have a very perverse and delightful sense of whimsical humor. And it reminds me very much what I would do were I given this kind of god-like power over a semi-captive audience's viewing experience.
Anyhoodle, this is how I found myself catching the final parts of Harry Potter & The Prisoner of Azkaban. Then switching channels and realizing the Peacock in Kung Fu Panda 2 is voiced by the incomparable Gary Oldman. And then watching the whole movie for that reason.
In the interest of full disclosure, my road to Oldman appreciation got off to a very rocky start. See, we had to overcome what might be akin to a rather horrific first date. All because of this.
Does anybody else want some icing right now? Coffee?
I know, I know. It's shallow. (And probably blasphemous to some.) But my introduction to Oldman was as Dracula.
And he did not fulfill my sexiness quotient for the Ultimate Vampire.
The cinnamon bun hairdo didn't help, but it was something more.
Continuing bad long wigs? A wobbly chin? Suspect facial hair? Lack of
chemistry with Winona? I don't know. But it took me years to be able to
appreciate that Coppola flick, and it was largely due to my inability to
accept Oldman in that role.
For what it's worth, and whatever it says about my aesthetic sense, if Oldman had been sporting either of the above looks in Dracula, I probably would have been way more on board. Maybe I'm just an incontrovertible hair snob?
My next run in was The Fifth Element. Risking the stoning of cult fans everywhere, this was a movie I never quite got onboard with. I don't hate it. I just don't adore it the way most do. As for Oldman in it, well. . .
Jeez, maybe I really am shallow and it IS all about the hair.
In addition to some interesting sartorial choices, I calculate that Oldman's performance in this increased the scenery budget by at least 20%. And that he got plenty of roughage during this shoot. YMMV.
I heard about Gary throughout the years in various roles. But I didn't catch up with him again until Hannibal. And I adored him in that role. Mason Verger was a complete digusting smear of a human being. But onscreen he was simultaneously repulsive and mesmerizing. Oldman acted through about 5lbs of latex. Impressive.
I always forget this is a Ridley Scott film. And there's a deliciously glib Verger quote from this film that pops in my head at the most wonderfully inappropriate perfect times.
Well, then Batman Begins happened. And with Jim Gordon two things happened: I finally liked an Oldman character and found him good looking.
Fine. Yes. There is something wrong with me. It's very hard for me to fight against a good moustache. They just equal imminent likability. It was also really cute when he drove the BatTank.
And I've been appreciating the man's work in small increments since then.
This was a compelling character. Just file under More Signs That I Need Lifelong Therapy.
Late night cable find Criminal Law. Remind you of anyone?
I mean, seriously. Isn't it creepy how much he looks like Senor Bale here?
But the final awesome assault came this past awards season. I defy anyone to remain unmoved in the face of this level of cool.
So here's to you, Gary Oldman. Please continue rocking. And I will endeavor to catch up with your impressive backlog.
I've done this to people in staff meetings and stuff. But this is pretty ballsy, on national tv and all. And dedicated. The article is correct, he really hits his stride at about 2:21.
All of this makes me really crave a LitreO Cola. It's French.
So, somehow I've managed to watch a few more films than usual lately. It seems proper to put them down for posterity, not that I can promise any sort of sense to be parsed from these ramblings.
Due to the influence of the often well-schemed RJ, I found myself attending a few screenings at the recent LA Shorts Fest. I also seem to just be wandering around watching stuff online, staying up too late, and consuming way too much British cinema.
Beyond the cut lay films that include Joanna Hogg, Paul Newman, Baz Luhrman, PT Anderson, and my Sweet Baboo.
I'm not going to produce a laundry list of complaints and grievances. I'm not even going to cite the most recent incident-cum-insult that arrived in the mail.
I'm just going to throw this out there, on the off chance that wishing might work out, just this once:
If there is any chance and it's not too much bother, it would be awfully nice if a bit of non-Faustian, no strings attached, random good luck came my way. Soonish. Not that I'm sniffing at the good fortune I have, but it would be really awesome if I was actually overwhelming good fortune for once, instead of "crisis averted" good fortune.
Or not even overwhelming. I'd settle for just being whelmed at this point.
So, yeah--spot of luck, a good break. You know I'm good for paying it forward, back, and just spreading it around in general.
You ever find yourself reading BlatherBlahg and going, "What the hell is wrong with this person?"
You're not alone--I wonder it too! And so we begin another confessional/ therapeutic session/ uncomfortable TMI moment.
Regular readers (all .0146 of you) will have noticed that I can get a stuck on certain actors/musicians/creative public types. How? Why?
Ultimately, I blame the Internet. As with so many other
things, it just makes it too damn easy to get all obsessive compulsive about,
er, things. In fact, you don’t even have to do your own dirty work anymore,
because chances are there is some cray cray fan out there who has done all the
video hunting, magazine scanning, screen capping and (occasional) real life
stalking for you.
So, I guess it really started when I watched Thor** on pay per
view earlier this year. I was underwhelmed by the experience. To sum up, my
thoughts went a little like this:
huh, I expected better from Branagh.
WTF is up with the magically shiny Asgard made
of disco plastic?
That is some baaaad hur weave, Thor.
Natalie Portman as a scientist?? Not buying it.
That bad guy is fun. Nice helmet.
Ooo! Cask of Ancient Winters??? I remember that
from the comics!
Hellooooooo Idris Elba.
Stellan Skarsgard! He should be in every movie.
All the time.
Then The Avengers rolled around. Which was like a nerd geek
holy day celebration. Strange, because I never got into the comic. But the
movie was so much fun, and I easily forgave its flaws in the face of
entertainment.
Now, here’s the part I can’t trace for you. I don’t what
happened in this last 4-5 weeks that made me revisit these movies. But through
some strange twist of fate, I looked up something Avengers related and ended up
on a Wiki Walk.
Hear that? That sound was the Gong of Encroaching Doom. For
one link led to another, and another, and soon I was knee deep in You Tube
interviews, gifs, and photos. And worst of all: Tumblr. <---And that’s a huge tip off
as to what this whole thing is about.
And what happened? This asshole, that’s what:
Why can't I ever meet a man that doesn't have daddy issues?
Everybody knows they photoshop these things.
Unretouched photo. Still amazing. Disgusting
Mother Effin Tom Hiddleston. Okay, so he's pretty. If you're into soulful, mutable eyes and razor cheekbones. But there's something else. He reminds me of someone. . .
Aww. . . it's Spot.
Aww. . . you're planning patricide.
Yes, yes. There is that. That’s cute. Wait, you’re a natural
blonde? Oh good, I don’t prefer blonds.
Damn. Damn. That’s some crazy hair. I lurves me some crazy
hair. And the feeling of familiarity is growing.
OH SNAP! That’s so unfair. Why can’t you remind me of
someone I hate?
Honestly, he’s too tall. He’s too pretty and fey. He’s too,
too Eton. But, he’s also unfailingly polite in interviews. He’s passionate
about his work. He sings and dances, on stage and off.
Infamous tweet to fans as thanks for Loki support. Bastard.
Can I get some fries with that shake, shake a booty?
He does impressions of his co-stars. Really good
impressions. Uh-oh. Danger, gurl, danger! He dresses well and accessorizes.
Furthermore, his fandom is populated by some whacked out
peeps. I love a fandom that doesn’t take itself too seriously, while taking
itself really really seriously. Cognitive dissonance*** is good for the soul.
I mean, any blogs/tumblrs with “sits like a whore
appreciation posts” can’t help but win my admiration.
And so, as I tumbled down the rabbit hole of ovary imploding
life ruination that is Hiddles, I eventually wandered onto Ye Olde Wikipaedia.
You always end up there sooner or later. It was while reading that entry that
my universe did a record scratch.
One line. One simple little line.
born 9 February 1981
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. Over.
Oh no. HELL NO. This dude is young. Wait, he’s not just
young. He’s younger than my little brother. That date looks familiar because it
makes him almost ONE YEAR YOUNGER THAN MY BABY BROTHER. I mean, come on. People born in the 80s probably don't even count as actual humans. They are some kind of Pop Tart/MTV cyborgs. (I can't even talk about people born in the 90s. Are they real? Do they have all their parts? It just doesn't seem possible).
A sudden and terrible silence descended.
Look, I don’t do younger, okay? It’s not just a preference,
it’s almost biological imperative. My physiology won’t support it—the moment
the “younger” information registers, the attraction is gone. Finito. Shuffled
off its mortal coil. An ex-parrot, if you will.
So, I was pretty horrified that I had just invested SRS
Stalking Time, possibly to the point of Top Five Freebie addition, to such a
wee little bairn. After several shots of whiskey and multiple showers, I
thought I would be okay.
But I made a classic blunder. Only slightly less well known
than never getting involved in a land war in Asia—I took One Last Look.
Big mistake. Huge.
Because more crap kept showing up.
Sure, go ahead. I never liked Shakespeare that much.
*coughignoreallquotesatblatherblaghcough*
Wait, did you just make Shakespeare
sexy? Who do you think you are, Ian McKellan?
Shakespearean Sweat: When You Care To Sweat The Very Best
Dear lord. Put your shirt on.
Seriously? This is my thing, man. Everybody knows it. I
wanna be a raptor. Knock it off.
OMG---ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME? IS THIS EVEN REAL LIFE?
NO ONE IS THAT NICE. JEEZ!
Did you just whiteboy rap, trash talk, do impressions—all in
the same interview? STOP IT. JUST STOP. THIS IS RIDIC---
OKAY, THAT TEARS IT.
YOU—OUTTA THE POOL. I REJECT YOUR EXISTENCE. THIS IS MADNESS.
It’s an onslaught of charm, a full frontal of charisma, full
scale global thermonuclear geekery, DEFCON 1 dorkiness. How can I fight against
this?
But fight I shall!
I shall employ my Brodys, Fassbenders, and Butlers. I will
use the stealth Ferguson. I deny thee, Hiddles. The power of Waterston compels
you. Begone! In nomine Pacino, et Sting,
et Elliott Sancti.
I am heartily ashamed of myself. Pray for me, you guys. Pray
Harderer: The Electric Boogaloo Sickening.
*tentacles not included
**No-Prize for anybody who guessed the object d'amour from that clue alone
***No scientific evidence to back this up, but with the regularity of occurrence in my life, I sure hope it's true
