After all the phone calls, personal emails, and what not that poured in over my recent difficulties with a chemically malfunctioning brain, some people might be moved to look at the world in a different way.
Why, if I had a dime for every concerned call, engaging voicemail, encouraging email, or apprehensive text, I'd have about .03 cents.
What I did get, however, was my head out of the Morass of Doom (AKA my Ass) and ask and receive some help from my pal Handy J--chauffeur service around town for a coupla days. Allowed a few key things to happen, including bill paying and banking, yadda yadda yadda. And we got to play with guns. That's always fun.
On a health note, I'm sort of really over these headaches and these neckaches, which seem to crop up independently, but work amazingly well to augment each other. Oh, what Palestine and Isreal could learn from my body: separate systems working together to achieve the common goal of rendering me cross eyed with pain. It's a beautiful thing.
Drug my own ass out of the house (post script: driving is feasible at this point, but let's keep it to low stress situations that don't require high levels of awareness/fast reflexes) and saw The Avengers with my pal RJ. We then managed to geek out about various things for approx 6 hours afterwards. That's a pretty impressive timespan, even by my records. I have the outrageous parking receipt to prove it, too.
And the hype for Avengers is well deserved. It's fanboy fun, a good movie, and a rather amazing writing feat on the part of Whedon, b/c those were some disparate storylines to interweave. And in the end the story, while serviceable, wasn't nearly as interesting as the people in the story. I could watch a whole nother hour of Stark, Banner, Widow, and Cap just shooting the shit.
Also, Hulk = LULZ. And I think that Bruce Banner's secret is a lot of people's secret. It never stops. It never goes away. It's just dialed down. Maybe I'm just feeling empathetic these days. It aint' easy being green. And green is what I be.
Also also: pretty. Pretty shiny things. Pretty boom ka pow. Pretty action sequences that mostly make sense. And pretty, pretty, pretty men and women running around naked, half naked, and nekkid. And in nerd glasses. And in rumpled suits. And in Black Sabbath tight t-shirts. Geez, even Thor's ridik armour was revamped to maximize his shoulder to hip ratio. And god bless them for it.
As always, RDJ wins the prize for maintaining the fiercest ass on any white boy to date. And he works it honey. Somebody needs to put this boy in a Western, he's got the hip movements down.
Special note to Chris Evans:
Dear Chris,
You seem like a nice, serious young man. I'm glad you went to therapy to help deal with the fame monster. I respect your dedication to your roles, and hope you continue to pursue both your popcorn fare and what you seem to consider more personally rewarding roles.
With all that in mind, thank you for every single shot of you from behind in this move. Standing, running, whatever. Seriously, just, thank you. That is a masculine silhouette that should be used as a template for future reference. Or just stored in my bunk. And I don't even like big, muscley blond tall dudes. You are just that impressive.
Sincerely,
My Ovaries
Okay, well off to fend off zappity synapses in the search to deposit an actual paycheck (!) and search for one of the most elusive creatures in the world: the right pair of shoes. But this is rather serious. My go to pair of Earth sandals (which actually correct your posture and stretch your hammies and just Never Hurt Your Feet) have shuffled off their mortal coil. Not Cool. And finding some is proving to be a challenge. Babby is no in mood for challenge. Doom requires complete satisfaction and utter submission!*
*Full disclosure: Doom's been waiting on this a long time. Doom has contacted Doom's lawyers, but those wankers never do anything right. Doom begins to suspect Utter Bliss may be longer in coming than previous assurances made out.
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