Blather. Wince. Repeat.

Blather. Wince. Repeat.

Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Ah Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

Guess who got four notices in the mail today?

Guess what those notices said about Medi-Cal approval?

Guess how many different $ amounts they cited as my income?

1. Me!

2. I am totally approved for Medi-Cal! Four separate times!

3. Three different income amounts! There were two in each envelope, and they all contradicted each other!

That's right, after a cold hearted refusal of services post approval of services, we have a late game reversal of the reversal!

Not only do I qualify for coverage again, I qualify under three different income amounts. I QUALIFY FOR MEDI-CAL THREE SEPARATE WAYS (SO HARD, SO BAD, AND WICKED HARD).

How did they get these amounts? Who fucking knows? I'm pretty confident that no matter what, this still isn't going to work out for me.

Hilarious. Tragic and ultimately foreboding about humanity's chances for long term survival, but hilarious.

Schrödinger's Health Coverage.


Monday, September 29, 2014

The Hits Just Keep On Coming

I received a letter today that informed me I have been denied coverage under Medi-Cal.

Which is interesting, since they already issued me a card, signed me up for services, and even re-registered me in an hour long phone conference.

It's funny because the whole reason I applied for Medi-Cal is because I am not allowed to apply for any of other programs.

I am termed a "medically indigent adult" and I my application has been denied.

The claim that I submitted in January and which has languished in some sort of bureaucratic purgatory for the last 9 months. Many pointless phone calls. Many dead ends.

It's almost not surprising. It certainly is inconvenient. Well, harmful, really, I suppose.

But then again, the healthcare industry has never really done me any favors. It's like my longest term relationship and it is wholly abusive. 

I suspect that somewhere deep, deep down inside I am furious. But I don't feel it. I just feel tired and depressingly unsurprised. Just another day.

same sad story that's a fact
one step up and two steps back


Wednesday, September 24, 2014

WTF SoCal: Atomic Mosquitoes?

So, the last three nights of house sitting, I have been plagues by super itchy bites.

I'm talking about shit so itchy it wakes me up.

Washed sheets, blah blah blah, fearing the worst--bedbugs. But I think it's actually mosquitoes.

Evil, vile, venomous mosquitoes with genetically altered saliva that WON'T STOP ITCHING. This is insane.

I actually didn't sleep at all last night and have only managed to clock a few hours tonight.

No bueno.

What the crap, SoCal? You are supposed to be better than that.

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Keeping It Real In The LBC

Prepare for randomness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House/cat sitting for some friends in a ridiculous house in a ridiculous location. I am one house back from what is technically a public, but essentially a private, beach. I am unsure about my commas in that preceding sentence.

This place is stupid. Will update with pix later. My guest bedroom has an ocean view. So does the side porch. Unreal.

~~~

It's not always about money. Only mostly. Individual taste rules all. This is an awesome  house, but I wouldn't have purchased it. For the $$$, I would have liked something altogether different. But then again, I've owned approx 0 homes to date. Maybe a house like this is something you grow into?

~~~

As I have a place to myself, I am naturally not taking care of any business and am instead marathoning stuff on Netflix. Oh, Netflix, the destroyer of all good intentions.

Watching some episodic television and I come across That Actor With The Glasgow Smile. He's playing a Scot in this one. Scottish mobster. Surprise. You know the guy? I'm gonna bet his name is Tommy something. And I'm going to bet he's Irish. Let's find out together, shall we?

Survey says: Tommy Flanagan!


This guy has done a shit ton of work. You may remember him best from Sin City, Gladiator, or a little movie called Braveheart.

Everybody remembers this scene. Primae Noctis--worst wedding gift ever.
Now brace yourselves, because I know everybody relies on Braveheart for its stunning historical accuracy, but jus primae noctis might not ever have been an actual practice.

This just in: if a white guy is telling the story, remember there's a reason it's called history.


And apparently I don't know shit (today is just full of bombshells). Msr. Flanagan was born in Glasgow, it seems. See, I thought he was Irish because his Scottish accent was so good.

Too good. I could understand him. This led me to believe it was put on, rather than natural. Perhaps it is just his Scottish-American accent. Did you know he's on Sons of Anarchy? I didn't till just now.

~~~~

Long Hair Tip #17:

If you are housesitting and wearing something just horrible because it's laundry day and ALL your necessary garments are in the wash because Hey-Noone-Will-Knock and then somebody DOES KNOCK. . .

. . . you can drape your hair over your shoulders to hide your sketchy wardrobe as well as camoflauging the fact that you have no support garments on. Which is good, because it turns out there is a construction worker convention in the courtyard.

Just saying.

~~~~

I had lots more stuff to say, but I have fallen down a hole. It started with finding that Craig Ferguson reaction gif up there.

So this is Craig's last season on The Late, Late Show. Boo. Hiss. We are losing a national treasure. (No really, he's ours. He got his citizenship and everything).

How can anyone not love Craig Ferguson? He's gorgeous and silly and All That Is Light And Good In This World. He's just a few rungs below babby kittehs. He's that amazing.

Classy.


After you've watched craigyferg for a while, you can kinda tell what voice he's using just by his facial expressions.

And the dancing. My god, the dancing.


Who's at the door? Secretariat!?!?!

I could write a whole sonnet about these damn puppets.

What's not to love.

No, seriously, what? He is adorable. I'm totally getting lost in this image search.

Then it happened.


OKAY THAT IS FRIGGING IT I HAVE HAD IT WITH THE INTERNETS WHAT THE SAM HILL IS HAPPENING HERE HOLY CRAP CRAIGYFERG IS QUOTING..

..ACK...

HE'S QUOTING...

..KAFF...WHEEZE....

HE'S PULLING A MR. PILKINGTON!!!

I CANNOT EVEN WITH THIS HOW THE EFF DID THIS HAPPEN HOLY CRAP WE ARE AT DEFCON 1 STALKER ALERT I DONT UNDERSTAND ITS LIKE HE'S INSIDE MY BRAAAAAAAAAIN

yeah, okay.
that's pretty much it.
i quit, internet. 
you win.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

You Know The Heat Is Making You Crazy When. . .

. . . you start looking up your friends' addresses on weather.com to see how hot it is where they are.

What do they have over there?

Monday, September 15, 2014

California In September

Next time I get a bright idea about SoCal after summer, someone please remind me that September is SoCal's hottest month.

And no one in this area has central A/C. Fancy schmancy houses don't have A/C. (But they do have central heat, wtf?)

It's not the worst, but it damn sure is affecting my mood.

On that note, I advise everyone to stay away from me for a bit. The heat makes me mean.


Saturday, September 13, 2014

Olympus Has Fallen

Imagine my surprise when the credits rolled and the director was Antoine Fuqua. I expect Fuqua to be uneven, maybe a little hammy/epic, but well shot and almost slavishly devoted to plot.

Or maybe I'm just talking outta my ass here. I'm probably at least partially conflating my expectations of Fuqua as a director with Gerard Butler as a producer/creative input.

See, I really enjoyed Law Abiding Citizen. I owned it. It was a comfort movie. Not a fall-asleep comfort movie, but one I would def watch on the regular couple times a year.

It was horrifically and viscerally violent in parts (dat opening scene), it also had lots of implied violence that was just as (if not more) disturbing. C'mon man, that scene where Clyde is calmly and cheerfully informing the rapist/murderer/pedophile(?) about how he's going to torture and dismember him and keep him conscious and looking in a mirror while it happens? That is some fucked up shit, man. Very disturbing. And well played.

Which is a long winded way of saying that I like violent movies, hell, I even like violent Gerry Butler movies, but I don't like Olympus Has Fallen. This is not the fun kind of violence. Which is a shame, because there's a shit ton of it. This movie had so many dead bodies as part of the interior and exterior props that I kept expecting Sheriff Rick to bust through bushes and lay six slugs from his heater into soon-to-be-zombies.



C'mon y'all: admit it. Rick is a Badass. And whoever has done the season branding and concept art totally has to be consulted if they ever do any film on the Dark Tower series. Fo realz.

There were some really good (and inexplicably unarmed) hand to hand combat scenes. They did a nice job with several of the Special Forces aspects, including knife defense and offense, tactical takedowns, and general gun competence. But, a lot of the action felt almost mean spirited. People were hurt excessively for no reason. I mean, they don't even make the evil guy a sadist or anything. They just need excuses to head tap or beat the shit out of anybody in the room who has a vagina. Am I supposed to be grateful because no one got raped?

And that's what I mean--lookit that thought right there. If a movie is entertaining me, I don't have time to draw that kind of conclusion. This movie, it gave me lots of time.

Gerry Butler is handsome and buff and skillful and manly and quippy and loves kids and he is completely wasted in this film. I'm not sure how Gerry was trying to play this. It's almost like he is doing a Mel Gibson/Lethal Weapon meets John McClane/Die Hard thing. And he doesn't realize that everyone else is in the Baysian Overkill Kablooey But Totes Serious Drama mode. Gerry's approach was too light hearted in the wrong places for a movie where not only to we get to see the killshots up close, we get to see the smear of blood left behind for the rest of the movie.

Gerry, you are better than this. You have your own charm. Don't conform to the blandness enforced by the rat bastards. You can act--I've seen it!

And just in case none of that was applicable and you were acting your heart out in that movie: stop fucking with your face, Gerry. I don't care if it's not technically surgery. Stop. It. Your face is fine. It's great. It's one of your most endearing features; don't pick at it.

Again---see? What kind of thought is that? How you gonna blow up the White House, BLOW IT UP, and me be over here thinking about Botox and the state of Gerry Butler's soul? It's your own damn fault, Olympus. You bring it on yourself.

It ain't just Gerry, though, to be fair. I'm pretty sure Dylan McDermott got tired of hearing, "Now we need you to literally snarl this line while you're waggling eyebrows here." I'm pretty sure they had to edit out most of Angela Bassett's takes because their genuineness clashed with the whole scene. Also pretty sure that Morgan Freeman will escalate to the Bitch Slap level rather than let you mis-direct his performance. Could be wrong.

Aaron Eckhart. Hmm. Okay, buddy. You're on the watchlist. In the past I would have scoffed at the mere thought, but that was before I, Frankenstein. New evidence has been brought to light, Dude. Watch yourself, Eckhart. Yes your a stupidly handsome blond--which is an accomplishment, in my book. However, you are still a blond. And you know for a fact that your nose rating is adversely affected by your chin/jaw ratio. And you're a blond. Which means, Mr. Eckhart, that you are not Required. We merely Tolerate you. And it would do you well not to fall out of Our favor. And no, We don't know why We are using the royal We now.

So, this has gone on far too long. The plot was ridiculous but not fun, grim but not realistic. The acting. . . was. Gerry Butler admittedly looked fine as hell and yes, I am always happy to see Ms. Bassett. But, the glibness, the disrespect you treat the subject matter with while offering nothing in return? You can't make that movie now. You can't show us our vulnerable underbelly and then try to soothe us with macho bullshit. That time has passed.

Furthermore, if you're gonna come at me like you are shooting at the White House, try building a set or five. Try not making your greenscreen so frickin obvious. And don't skimp on night effects just because the screen is darker. 

Wrong tone, wrong time. And a shame, because there was plenty of talent in front of and behind the cameras to make this collaboration something special.

Also wik, here is a delightful Q&A with cast from Walking Dead, addressing the Serious Issues.


*i was gonna put a disclaimer here about how the only reason i feel so free to glibly criticize like this is because there is absolutely zero possibility of this ever a) reaching or b) reaching and harming the critiqued. They will never see this. And if they did, would they really give a fuck what some loser on the interwebz thinks? It's almost unfathomable. But then i typed this instead.



Friday, September 12, 2014

Just Southern Sweet Talked My Printer Into Working


Whooooo!

I'm still not sure quite what did it, but it was a hell of an adventure getting there. I was working against the clock, since I had to use Handy J's computer to scan. And I had stolen his printer cable.

To take over to MY printer, b/c HJ's doesn't work (but I'm fingers crossed that it is only the printer that is kaput, and I will be able to scan). Dust off and plugged in my girl. Also, some time being spent mildly pissed that of all the shit I had, I hadn't managed to put my computer cable somewhere sensible? Sheesh.

Printer makes unholy animal sounds and releases blinking lights of protests. And, predictably, it tells me I am out of ink. Which sure doesn't sound right, but then again, I haven't had this thing plugged in for months. Ironically that was on purpose in an attempt to keep the ink from heating up and drying out. Oh, universe, you so crazy.

There might have been a sideplot involving a very sharp knife and the Magenta printer cartridge that got some unfortunate plastic surgery. To pass for bleck. Bleck ink. But it still didn't work because those ink bastards have got us by the balls. What to do?

Serious Sweet Talking begins. (You've got two main choices in situations with machines: you can either cuss up one side and down the other or you can sweet talk them).

On the off chance any of you are not familiar with this, the kinda line you run goes something like this:

Hey beautiful. Didja miss me?

Lookit you, ol' girl*, looking gorgeous!

C'mon sugar, I know you can do this.

C'mon baby, you got this.

Aw baby, why you wanna do that?

Darling, don't be like this.

Atta girl, that's it. Doing good.

This may look ridiculous, but if you have spent any time in your life trying to fix things, chances are some variant of one of these has come out of your mouth. The more desperate you are for it to work, the chattier you get.

It took about 45 minutes, a lot of unplugging, and an amount of conversating with an inanimate object that makes even me uncomfortable, but my sweet lil' Epson came through!

Please note, also employed the "Well, Let's Just Let That Set A Spell And Comeback" maneuver. Worked like a dream.

This is all good because I had documents that were due to someone today and I feel like shizzola and had been relying on HJ's computer to do this from home and was Not Pleased with the prospect of Leaving House (of Pain).

You go 'head now, Epson!




*P.S. I was unaware that my printer was was a girl until today.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

My Epiphanies Are Your Inanities

We've had it wrong the whole time.
Always assuming that evil, though charming,
Will still be recognizably evil.

Creating explanations;
maybe we like bad boys because they are forbidden.

But the devil doesn't walk as Loki
Nor offer a Port salut across a room as Dr. Lecter
Nor sneer, nor jibe, nor scorn, nor jeer
Nor offer secret danger lurking near

Evil is Cary Grant. Evil is the Ideal made Real. It doesn't require negotiations or hesitations, twists and secrets before giving you Everything You Need. No translator needed. Straight line no exchange and gooooooo.

 He's Cary Grant. He's there with your martini, ready to rub your feet. He is beautiful and strong and suave and competent. He is kind but also challenges you. He makes you laugh.

Oh, that whole Evil part, darling. Can't be helped. In my blood you know. Love you.

And you actually want to believe it's that simple. If he's not really such a bad guy, just has this one flaw.

and OF COURSE you are thinking this,
because this is C.ary F.ucking G.rant
Are you kidding me?
Who wouldn't think about this?
Are you feeling okay? Do you know where you are?
Because that is Cary Grant, right there,
so. . . what were you saying? Because, you know, Cary Grant over there.
Are arguments are invalid because Cary Grant.

Because Cary Grant, that's why.

And that's why we gotta wake up. We thought the devil was Gabriel Byrne.
It's so much worse than we feared.

It's Moments Like These That Make Me Question The Reality of My Own Morality.

Because I can't decide if this is either the Worst Job Offer Ever or the Best Job Offer Ever:


Extras in Pop Music Video*

$50/day - male, female, all ethnicity and height/weight, 20s to 70s, model type, ordinary type, most shocking appearance, tattoo/piercing look etc...Must have an outgoing personality, provocative and MUST BE OK with kissing scenes! Kissing same and/or opposite sex.

 I mean, I think my confusion can only be interpretated a couple of ways:

  1. Maybe I'm being delusional and imagining only pretty people there when the reality is stank breaf, cold sores, and Attack!Tongues.
  2. Maybe I'm being delusional and they would never let in gross people, poor hygeine, etc, and that I'd be lucky if they picked me.
  3. Maybe I need to get back into therapy to deal with these freakish esteem issues.
  4. Maybe I need to get back into therapy because for a moment there I thought the freakish esteem issues were the problem. Obviously, the problem is that I have this problem in the first place. And publicly share it.
 EDIT:

Option 5. I totally need to go back to therapy because I just re-read the ad, saw the "provocative" requirement, and thought, "Oh, I guess I wouldn't make it into this shoot." Then I thought about what a fucked up thought that was. Then I realized I needed to stop typing.

EDIT II: I promise, Mom, it's not a porno.

Monday, September 1, 2014

(EW*): Untitled (Viscera Bard)


last time I saw him he seemed so sad,
sad down to the bone.
And maybe I’d be more mad about the emotional effluvia that kind of Sad produces,

(it gets all over you
alloveryou
and eats your heart
replacing it with shadow)

but I’m a might busy trying to stop the soup,
my heart,
from sloshing out of my ribs.

how can i tell a man, no matter his faults,
his cruelties,
his mistakes,
that the Sadness he feels isn’t breaking his heart all the same?
Aware and recalcitrant or oblivious and angry,
how can i possibly say
what lattice work of shards has soaked down through his skin?

In that kind of Sadness, aren’t we all saying the same thing: How the fuck did this happen? This is not what I want.
So, no, i really have no one else to blame
for letting the truth slip in.
Ignorance or activation,
it’s this inaction that’s a sin.