Quote of the Day

From the very beginning of a phone conversation. Said in earnest, not jest, from my friend:

My friend: Oh, you have pants on? I haven't made it that far yet.

I laughed through the next two minutes of conversation.

Mah friendz. Is besta, ya?

ETA: You don't often get two in one day.

Skype-ing with my family for the first time.

Me: It's been great talking to you guys. I'll just got throw myself in traffic now.

My Dad: Don't worry, hon. You'll miss.

My old man, inspiring ego melt downs since 1888.

BBC As A Spectator Sport

I'm a moron.

I'm watching a BBC miniseries on line, set in the 19th century. You know you've watched too many when the following occurs:

BBC Proper Lady in a Bonnet to a scurrilous dude: "You are not a gentleman!"

Me yelling at the screen: "Damn, you just got told, bitch!"

I don't know if this is better or worse than how I treat Law & Order like a sporting event, kibitzing the arguing attorneys:

"Objection, relevance?"

"Objection, your Honor. Badgering the witness."

I take a great deal of pride in usually beating Jack McCoy to the punch on those calls.

I now return myself to my regularly scheduled idiocy. (And secret stalking).


ETA:

What it's like to be in the room when I watch this stuff.

Romantically galloping on horseback to catch his girl?!?!?!

This is the actual pose I was in for half the show. I know because I saw my reflection in the monitor and was agahst. Also, you wouldn't believe how freakin long it took to find an appropriate image online. Thanks, Jeremy Renner.

Feel Free To Skip This Post

It's like an endless buffet of all you can eat shit.

Yesterday was the call from the unemployment office (following the three confusing form letters over the last 10 days, including the one that says "OHAI, UR INFO IS WRONG LOL KTHXBAI!).

That call necessitated paper wrangling and emailing, but it was at least doing something. I still have a call scheduled for Friday with these pricks (because they can call you, but you can never get them on the phone) and I have to go in for a personal interview next Tuesday.

Yesterday's mail brought a notice from my Cancelled For Five Got Dayum Months auto insurance. They have been trying to charge me on the auto pay form that I cancelled with them before I even cancelled the policy. Now they've turned it over to a collection agency, despite my months of emailing with the Allstate agent who was "taking care of it."

So I called the credit agency to contest the charge and left the house to go fax them some stuff that might or might not make a difference.

Came home to ANOTHER letter from the EDD (unemployment office). Requesting the same goddamn information I have now provided twice, and has once been rejected (see OHAI above). And it has to be to them in. . . four days. Which, if you are familiar with my mail drama, you know that ain't  happening.

So, got to dig up some more info and drive through the total craziness of this town to fax more shit. Think I'll do that tomorrow. Because of homicide and my proclivity towards it.

On the positive side, I got my printer to magically work again. How, you may ask?

Basically exactly like that.

No, really.

After a careful inspection of all moving parts, checking the ribbons, blah blah carefulcakes, I smacked it. Then I picked it up, turned it upside down, and smacked it again.

Flawless victory.

Now excuse me while I go curl into the fetal position and surf tumblr for ocd inducing images wonder why the world is so mean.

Because Who Wants to Sleep?

ME. THAT'S WHO.

But noooooooooooooooooooooo. No rest for the wicked.

BRAINZ!! Y U NO ACK RITE??

And may I just add, what really sucks is not being able to sleep, but still feeling all tired and low energy and not getting shit done anydamnway.

What's the point of all the extra free time if I just lay there? What?

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!?!?

Universe: I am so dissapoint.

***********************************

But here's something worth your while--actors and musicians reading poetry.

http://speakcelebrity.tumblr.com/

This is an interesting experiment for me, since I generally hate hearing poetry read. Nothing (not even my own vocalizations), ever match what I hear in my head.

Though I must say, John Hannah reading of "Funeral Blues" by W.H. Auden nearly brings tears to my eyes. I venture that the especially emotional tone of that rendition is due to it being pulled from a movie.

Also, John Hannah. Duh.

Blogging: Duty Versus Relief. And Eat Your Oatmeal.

Hey there, BlatherBlahg. Feeling neglected? Well, our relationship has been a little rocky lately. Trust issues and all. Where will we go from here? Let's not talk about it now. This heat is not conducive to rational and calm discourse.

On a related subject, my brain is like a cross between the results of "the push" from Firestarter and The Ballad of the Flexible Bullet. Say what you will of Stephen King, he has a handle on being Not Quite Right. In The Head.

Which is to say that things get kicking around in there and I should probably be purging them more often than I have been. Because the longer they ping, the greater the velocity, and the crazier shit gets. And the longer I wait, the less relevant things seem, and the less likely I am to write/talk/whatever. But the backlog never quite goes away.

Which is the long form way of saying you may be seeing some extra random posting in the FUCHER, as I attempt the Herculean effort of mucking out the stalls of my mind.

As noted before, this happend:

Double shot of my baby's love.

The New Beverly Cinema is amazeballs awesome. It's $8 for a double feature, the most expensive concession is $2.50, and I just found out that it's owned by Quentin Tarantino. Say what you will about his film career, the man loves movies with an unabashed joy and enthusiasm. He says, "As long as I'm alive, and as long as I'm rich, the New Beverly will be there, showing double features in 35mm." God bless him for that.

Now the double feature last Sunday had the director from Khan, Nicholas Meyer, do a little spiel before the film began. It's always interesting to hear how movies actually get made, like how much of a business it is, and how crazily that business is handled.

Mr. Meyers contributed several pieces of set trivia, the most important being the confirmation that Ricardo Montalban's pecs were indeed FOR REALZ.

Damn.

I know, right? Even with proof, it's still kinda hard to grok.

I am now going to refrain from the various geek minutiae that occupied our discussions after the movie. For now.

I had never seen the other film, though of course I knew it by reputation. John Carpenter's The Thing was an awesome surprise. Very well done and amazingly funny. The guys presenting the movie pratically jizzed their pants talking about how influential it was, so I'm sure you can find lots of critical analyses on the Interwebz if you are so inclined. Here's my quick take:

• Kurt Russell is such an effortless badass. Can you be badass in a parka and a floppy sombrero in the middle of Antarctica? Kurt Russell can.
• Furthermore, Mr. Russell does not get enough credit for his acting chops. There's a scene where he's in full beard, huge parka collar, and face goggles, and he stills gives a wordless reaction shot that is completely expressive. That is some mad actorly shit, right there.

Emote through this, bitches.

• The blood test scene is tense and freaky, suprising, ends with two different comedic beats that had the whole theatre laughing. All just with masterful pacing and editing, really.
• Speaking of funny, there is a visual gag in one scene with Wilford Brimley in the shed that is Pure Genius. I did a genuine double take, and when I finally realized what I was seeing I lost it. I'm not usually surprised like that, and The Thing has secured a place in my affections for that moment alone.
• Now, there is intentional humor. And there's the kind you bring with you, in your own head, that the filmmakers could never anticipate or counter. EVERY DAMN TIME Wilford Brimley came on screen with a concerned face, I got the uncontrollable giggles. Because some version of this was running through my head:

Space Diabeetus! The Silent Killer.

In other news, it is now officially Hot Season here. Which is still complete bewlsheet pantywaist conditions compared to other places I've lived. However, I am without A/C and the inside of my tiny abode is far warmer than I would like. If I hold real still and don't breathe too hard, I can avoid breaking out in a flop sweat. Anything more than that leads to yuckiness.

I don't know about you guys, but I have SRS problems sleeping in the heat. I can't think of a reasonable explanation for it, but it really messes me up. Well, this entry took forever, and doesn't even scratch the surface of my wellspring of neuroses and disturbing behaviors. More for later!

Montalban y Russell Es Muy Macho

So, still awake from Sunday. We saw a late double feature of ST: Wrath of Khan and John Carpenter's The Thing.

Fu. Reek. En. Awe. Some.

Hit up Mel's diner afterwards, for some truly ridiculous and wonderful conversation, including, but not limited to: Hitler/Stalin FTW, sexual deviancy and culpability, why I can't have sex with The Hulk, my lack of interest in sex with Thor, how guys never feel weird when they see a person they had a sex dream about the next day (noticing a theme here?), the vagaries of fandom and When Fans Go Too Far, Wilford Brimley, DIABEETUS, and some things I won't post because my mother reads this.

I know, right? Lookit at that list. That's the sanitized version.

Oh, this also happened. Really.

Now that the sun is up and the neighbor's babby is crying (again), I shall go lay down and maybe close my eyes for awhile.

Oh my, HELLO ALL THE MUSCLES THAT JUST REALIZED I DID 65 KETTLEBELL SWINGS YESTERDAY---WUZ WONDRIN WHEN U GAIS WOOD SHEW UP111111!!11!!!

For Lin Lin, the Woosters, My Daid, Omey Pie, and Twu Wuv