Unexpected Houseguest

I'm still writing up the Uncle-palooza that has gone done in the last several weeks. As a side note to all of that noise, I ended up with a visitor.

Meet Flat Stanley. Constant traveling companion to my uncle.

When I discovered Stanley had been left behind, I was initially worried for his comfort.

However, Stanley quickly settled in. He seemed to have no problems making himself at home.

I don't have much in the way of entertaining houseguests, but Stanley seemed happy. In fact, he seemed a little *too* comfortable at times.

For the record, I don't like anybody enough to share my toothbrush with them. Gross, Stanley.

It wasn't long before I noticed that Stanley's behavior was a mite bit different when he was on his own.

Hey! That was my breakfast!

I came back from running errrands one day to a disturbing sight.

Stanley is a Winter. Who knew?

For the sake of family relations, Stanley had to go. He can explore his feminine side on his own time, with his own makeup.

11:30 PM Call

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.

Goodnight everybody.

Checking In To Say: Uuuuuuuuuuugaaaaawwaa

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.

Picked The Wrong Month To Crawl Into A Black Pit of Despair

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.

Feh. Whiny!Post is whiny.

Time for Plan B?

 

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.

Doctor Sez: You're a Sicko. Nobody's Surprised.

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).

For even more fun, check out their slideshow of the inevitable Internet reactions.

And the circle of memes continues.

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.

Do You Hear That?

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.

Magic = Physics = Buddhism = The Dreaming?

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.

As always, I remain the player to be named later.

How To Fall For Gary Oldman

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.