At least here at BlatherBlahg, we are quite amuse by our own personal ridiculousness. Irritated and exasperated, but amused. We know we are foolish and silly. We have the receipts and the playlists to prove it.
Speaking of BlatherBlahg and its COMPLETELY FICTIONAL denizens, the accomodations here are nice, but some features continue to vex. Among those being the inability to post music tracks and unsatisfying comment features. One of these days somebody on the staff here will make good to do some serious research on alternate blog platforms (further research, I should say.).(.).
******
Somebody finally tired of my incessant whining and wallowing and suffering (I was being rather obvious about it) and extended an Official No Shit Offer Of Support. And you know, it's the same person who it always comes down to, pretty much.
It's a little tricky, that. I don't want to have just one person to count on, especially THAT person, because it's just a set up. But at the same time, in several ways you couldn't ask for a better person to be Your Designated Person. She'll always be on my side. She'll always take my part. You can't say that about everybody. Hell, you can't say that about most people.
And you know, I'm on the phone talking to her, trying not to tell her that everything is just shit on a stick because we both know there's nothing to be done for it, and I don't want her to have to hear this song from one more damn person. I want to call her up and tell her everything is great and some idiot is going to pay me a ton of money because I magically manifested some worthwhile skill (hahahahaha) and now she never has to worry again because I'm going to buy her a purple mansion.
But instead I'm whining because I'm a whiny asshole and nobody else wants to listen to me whine. She feels bad because she's got no advice. But the truth is that after weeks in hell it just took somebody to love me enough to listen to me be sad and mad, to be near me and hold still for just a bit while I'm particularly ugly and yucky and even grosser than usual.
Meanwhile, my pal Will dropped me a note in the mail. Ostensibly a note of thanks, but more like a freeform meditation on whatever insanity was in his brain at the moment. And since Will is 10 and sort of spastic and constitutionally incapable of a certain kind of artifice, it's brutally honest yet whimsically delusional (if I could get Will to focus, he would be on the BlatherBlahg staff in two shakes).
In this missive Will anointed us as the Prince and Queen of Chocolate Cocoa Land and declared that we would always fight in the shade. Just in passing, on his way to tell me he saw a hippo dressed as a pig.
Then my friend from above does come up with a solution. She writes to tell me that I can always come and hang out with her for a while, chill out. I don't know if she realized what she was saying.
Which is my long winded way of saying this: though I may have fucked my life up flatter than hammered shit, with affection thin on the ground and no scent of love in the wind, this past week my friend made me Queen of his Choco Kingdom and my mom told me I could always come home again.
*******
Every watched Crimes & Misdemeanors? Swish with mind bleach and enjoy some of Allen's earlier works. C&M is a very dark comedy, bordering on acidic. I'm always a little nervous returning to Allen films since embarrassment comedy can squick me out, but then his dry delivery is really quite impeccable.
If you only know Woody Allen schtick from seeing other people do Woody Allen impressions, do yourself a favor and catch a few of his flicks. In addition to his great comedic delivery and timing (I don't know much about him, but it's obvious to me he's a Marx Bros fan), he's obviously in love with film itself. C&M has films within films, without being confusing or obnoxious about it.
Through the power of insomnia managed to watch most of Horrible Bosses tonight/this morning. Man, does all of Hollywood marketing and research just suck donkey ass or what? I mean, do they just go for the LOWEST possible IQ/cultural threshold and make the pitch based on that? They undercut so many movies this way.
Sudeikis, Bateman, and Day were all delightful, as expected. Surprisingly, all the stunt casting worked out as well. The three dudes in concert carried the movie, and I think I might have to start watching It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, because every time I see Charlie Day he makes me laugh. A lot.
******
Daylight. Back to other other other project I was supposed to actually be getting some stuff done on. Whoops.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Billy Collins, Firefly, Nathan Fillion, Moments of Lucidity, and Other Distractions (Beautiful and Not, Per Your Personal Interpretations)
The capacity for self distraction is both a boon and a detriment, in some cases a probable cause of significant self harm, even. However, when finding oneself on what could best be described as the bipolar version of a narcoleptic insomniac's sleep schedule, it's good to be able to find things to do.
Things that don't wake the neighbors or require leaving the house at odd hours. Cabin activities.
Speaking of neighbors, I'm pretty convinced my across the way cohabitant has installed a small sun as the lighting source for his porch. A bright white luminescence now fills my front windows. I awoke from one of my lepto-nods today and the it was so bright in the windows I wondered if the 10:00 on my cable box was actually a.m.
******
So, my honest reaction to reading this was just to actually say outloud, "Goddamn, Billy Collins." He's just that good.
*****
I didn't get into Buffy the Vampire Slayer until the last few seasons, then at the urging of my roomate. My dood roommate. He's usually pretty spot on about good tv, had some discs, and he got me hooked.
As much as I enjoyed the series overall, one of my favorite and enduring personal memories comes near the very end. A new bad guy shows up on the scene, strutting around in a priest's outfit, and looking very, very familiar to me. It takes a bit, but my traitorous brain finally makes the connection and I reveal my shameful viewing habits:
I guess things got weird after he left Llanview. Maybe he went back and freaked because Randos were constantly walking around, claiming to be his brother and stuff (though, srsly, anything would have been an upgrade from the Kevin Buchanan model they were running at that time--that hair, and those blazers, and that freaking Cassie storyline, oy vey!) and that's what turned him to a life of pure evil?
No one knew what I was yelling about then, and probably still don't now. But Nathan Fillion, who has gone on to do many cool things since, will always be Father Joey Buchanan to me. And that always makes me laugh inside.
Interestingly enough, Father Joey Buchanan went on to play a priest yet again, though this time much less diabolical and much more yellow.
And lest we ever forget, the you know what is his you know what:
*****
So, through the magic of Netflix and continued unemployment, I've started watching Firefly. Don't even try to geek-shame me, bitches. I do things on me own schedule. I'm just now getting to some filing from the Mesozoic era. Stone slabs be heavy, y'all.
So it's a space western, which is nice. And they based Mal Reynolds' outfit on Han Solo. Which won't get a peep of complaint outta me. I could do without the outmoded sexist attitudes and very pointed use of the word "whore" that gets tossed about A WHOLE FRIGGING LOT. I keep hoping this is leading to some type of character revelation like ZOMG Mal's mom was a ho or sumjunk.
But then they have a scene where everybody gets their panties in a twist because two chicks are going to have sex. REALLY? Because that's still a cause for comment in a future filled with a sect of people who roam the galaxy cannibalizing, raping, and murdering (not in that exact order) everything they come across? I remember this from ST: TNG. Some lame ass episode where Dr. Crusher is all hot for this alien who switches hosts and when he switches into a female host, BLAMMO, then her Twu Wuv is Wuined. She even says some bs line about "Our species hasn't learned to deal with that."
It's not that I expect or even want to see omnisexuality or whatever. It's just that in the context of sci fi/fantasy these moments like that can really take you out of a work and highlight the obvious hang ups of either the writers or the society you live in.
Whatever. Let's be shallow. FX are good. The ship reminds me of some animal or protozoa or sea creature....I can't put my finger on it. Some kind of thing I learned about long ago, a water horse or something. Damn...that's not quite it. Cute Whedon-y dialogue. Nice acting. Suspiciously skinny girl who will no doubt kick ass despite clear lack of any visible muscle. Fun show.
Are they speaking Chinese sometimes on this show? Sure sounds like it, doggerel Chinese, perhaps. If so, awesome choice for a common language of the future. Very nice touch.
*****
Sometimes my mind don't shake and shift
But most of the time it does
When I get to the place where I'm begging for a lift
Or I'll drown in the wonders and the was
...Cos I'm tired of whys choking on whys
Just need a little because because. . .
When my brain does work, it sometimes works like this:
I'm reading a description of a character practicing on a cello. They start out playing pianissimo. Then they progress to piano-forte. The author says this literally means soft-hard. As I keep reading, I think that this means that piano must mean soft in Italian, which is very interesting. And in English forte is used to mean specialty. But that doesn't really make sense. A person doesn't announce that diplomatic negotiations is their business hardness. So, in addition to being your specialty, your forte could be your niche, or your. . . strength. Strength is the same as strong. So, like in English, strong and hard can have similar meanings. You strike the key or the string gently/softly or strongly/hard.
I find the conclusion of a thought process like this very satisfying. I imagine it's what people who understand math must feel, when they see a problem and solve for a solution. I don't understand math--I have to work very hard at it and I am never sure of the solution, I can never see the answer within the question. But little word puzzles like this, simple as they are, amuse me to no end.
*****
Well, I've been trying to write this thing for near on 4 hours now. Guess a writer I'll never make, as I couldn't account for quite what happened there. But filling out this last part damn near took me out.
I tried to do find a live version of this one, but fookin L---knowing what I know I just can't watch that boy, it's too damn painful. I can't praise every aspect of this piece of musical brilliance enough.
i'm here today and expected to stay on and on and on
i'm tired
i'm tired
looking out on the substitute scene
still going strong
xo, mom
it's ok, it's alright, nothing's wrong
You don't really follow that up. You just put something beside it. I love this un-ironically. It curls around what passes for my heart, and and it's almost like the slowing, almost stuttering tempo in the outro is reminding that organ to sync up and that everything is broken or breaking, and don't forget to lock the door on your way out.
PS....Also, mostly Radiohead just fills the world with Amazing, but today Thom's Basement version of Last Flowers made me burst into tears within the first four lines. Fucking Radiohead. I will Not put them on heavy rotation today. *hides new Radiohead CD*
Things that don't wake the neighbors or require leaving the house at odd hours. Cabin activities.
Speaking of neighbors, I'm pretty convinced my across the way cohabitant has installed a small sun as the lighting source for his porch. A bright white luminescence now fills my front windows. I awoke from one of my lepto-nods today and the it was so bright in the windows I wondered if the 10:00 on my cable box was actually a.m.
******
So, my honest reaction to reading this was just to actually say outloud, "Goddamn, Billy Collins." He's just that good.
Flames
Smokey the Bear heads
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.
His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
into the autumn woods
with a red can of gasoline
and a box of wooden matches.
His ranger's hat is cocked
at a disturbing angle.
His brown fur gleams
under the high sun
as his paws, the size
of catcher's mitts,
crackle into the distance.
He is sick of dispensing
warnings to the careless,
the half-wit camper,
the dumbbell hiker.
He is going to show them
how a professional does it.
--Billy Collins
*****
I didn't get into Buffy the Vampire Slayer until the last few seasons, then at the urging of my roomate. My dood roommate. He's usually pretty spot on about good tv, had some discs, and he got me hooked.
As much as I enjoyed the series overall, one of my favorite and enduring personal memories comes near the very end. A new bad guy shows up on the scene, strutting around in a priest's outfit, and looking very, very familiar to me. It takes a bit, but my traitorous brain finally makes the connection and I reveal my shameful viewing habits:
OMG! IT'S FATHER JOEY BUCHANAN!
 |
| Do you think Father Joey took vows because of the whole affair with Dorian? Is she really the First Evil? Does Viki know? |
No one knew what I was yelling about then, and probably still don't now. But Nathan Fillion, who has gone on to do many cool things since, will always be Father Joey Buchanan to me. And that always makes me laugh inside.
Interestingly enough, Father Joey Buchanan went on to play a priest yet again, though this time much less diabolical and much more yellow.
 | |
| Dracula 2000: Father David is totes getting ready to skip town, thereby denying fans a hot makeout scene with him and Gerry Butler. Selfish. Also, I believe he was up for the Jonny Lee Miller role, and the directors liked him so much they revamped this part just so they could give it to him. |
And lest we ever forget, the you know what is his you know what:
*****
So, through the magic of Netflix and continued unemployment, I've started watching Firefly. Don't even try to geek-shame me, bitches. I do things on me own schedule. I'm just now getting to some filing from the Mesozoic era. Stone slabs be heavy, y'all.
So it's a space western, which is nice. And they based Mal Reynolds' outfit on Han Solo. Which won't get a peep of complaint outta me. I could do without the outmoded sexist attitudes and very pointed use of the word "whore" that gets tossed about A WHOLE FRIGGING LOT. I keep hoping this is leading to some type of character revelation like ZOMG Mal's mom was a ho or sumjunk.
But then they have a scene where everybody gets their panties in a twist because two chicks are going to have sex. REALLY? Because that's still a cause for comment in a future filled with a sect of people who roam the galaxy cannibalizing, raping, and murdering (not in that exact order) everything they come across? I remember this from ST: TNG. Some lame ass episode where Dr. Crusher is all hot for this alien who switches hosts and when he switches into a female host, BLAMMO, then her Twu Wuv is Wuined. She even says some bs line about "Our species hasn't learned to deal with that."
It's not that I expect or even want to see omnisexuality or whatever. It's just that in the context of sci fi/fantasy these moments like that can really take you out of a work and highlight the obvious hang ups of either the writers or the society you live in.
Whatever. Let's be shallow. FX are good. The ship reminds me of some animal or protozoa or sea creature....I can't put my finger on it. Some kind of thing I learned about long ago, a water horse or something. Damn...that's not quite it. Cute Whedon-y dialogue. Nice acting. Suspiciously skinny girl who will no doubt kick ass despite clear lack of any visible muscle. Fun show.
Are they speaking Chinese sometimes on this show? Sure sounds like it, doggerel Chinese, perhaps. If so, awesome choice for a common language of the future. Very nice touch.
*****
Sometimes my mind don't shake and shift
But most of the time it does
When I get to the place where I'm begging for a lift
Or I'll drown in the wonders and the was
...Cos I'm tired of whys choking on whys
Just need a little because because. . .
When my brain does work, it sometimes works like this:
I'm reading a description of a character practicing on a cello. They start out playing pianissimo. Then they progress to piano-forte. The author says this literally means soft-hard. As I keep reading, I think that this means that piano must mean soft in Italian, which is very interesting. And in English forte is used to mean specialty. But that doesn't really make sense. A person doesn't announce that diplomatic negotiations is their business hardness. So, in addition to being your specialty, your forte could be your niche, or your. . . strength. Strength is the same as strong. So, like in English, strong and hard can have similar meanings. You strike the key or the string gently/softly or strongly/hard.
I find the conclusion of a thought process like this very satisfying. I imagine it's what people who understand math must feel, when they see a problem and solve for a solution. I don't understand math--I have to work very hard at it and I am never sure of the solution, I can never see the answer within the question. But little word puzzles like this, simple as they are, amuse me to no end.
*****
Well, I've been trying to write this thing for near on 4 hours now. Guess a writer I'll never make, as I couldn't account for quite what happened there. But filling out this last part damn near took me out.
I tried to do find a live version of this one, but fookin L---knowing what I know I just can't watch that boy, it's too damn painful. I can't praise every aspect of this piece of musical brilliance enough.
i'm here today and expected to stay on and on and on
i'm tired
i'm tired
looking out on the substitute scene
still going strong
xo, mom
it's ok, it's alright, nothing's wrong
You don't really follow that up. You just put something beside it. I love this un-ironically. It curls around what passes for my heart, and and it's almost like the slowing, almost stuttering tempo in the outro is reminding that organ to sync up and that everything is broken or breaking, and don't forget to lock the door on your way out.
PS....Also, mostly Radiohead just fills the world with Amazing, but today Thom's Basement version of Last Flowers made me burst into tears within the first four lines. Fucking Radiohead. I will Not put them on heavy rotation today. *hides new Radiohead CD*
Monday, May 7, 2012
Next Time I Mention Leaving The House To Try and Feel Better, Just Put A Bullet In My Head
The shoes, the ugly granola but expensive shoes that I want that the Beverly Hills store said they had---they didn't have them so much. Well, they had *one* kind. That sort of looked like toddler shoes.
These shoes are becoming damn near impossible to find. And suddenly finding yourself shopping in Beverly Hills when that's not where you realized you'd be shopping is. . . interesting. At least I wasn't in the really ritzy part.
So--off to other things. Like bankings and returns and wandering around in the sun. I wear things that show some skin (my version of showing skin, which is like from the knee down) to work on my ever distant goal of one day having a Real Tan. You have to have dreams.
Well, at the Bank the Bank Dude was incredibly confused about the recent check fraud that someone tried to perpetrate on me. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to explain a fait accompli to someone who isn't going to understand and doesn't need to, all in order for you to get a basic yes/no question from them.
In this case, the yes/no question I needed was whether I needed further documentation from them before going to the police.
Well, what Bank Douche was able to tell me was that my Business Checking account was overdrawn. Which was wonderfully ironic, because I had just transferred in some money to cover it 3 days prior. Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that I was in the bank today to deposit a paycheck to my business account--a paycheck that should have been electronically deposited last week but was instead in my mailbox this past weekend.
Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that the bump that pushed the checking account over was a charge that should have gone to the business credit card.
Speaking of bumps, Bank Douche took a moment to ask me if this was the first child I was expecting.
This is a particularly nice preggo accusation, because he was mostly basing this on how I looked from chest up. Which means that my arms and face are so fat now that I guess I just look chubby all over. Sweet.
Well, after this my urge to wander around and buy makeup and look at shoes or whatfuckingever was pretty squashed. I was feeling pretty hungry, but seeing as how even though I might eat 1.5 times every 3 days or so, I guess that's still just Too Damn Much. I wandered about in the sun a bit, before giving up and driving home.
On the way back to the lot I passed a bunch of people setting up for some kind of film shoot, just right there on the Promenade. Running around with cameras and water bottles and walkie talkies. There was some trailer parked at the end. I guess the talent was in there. In a stunning reversal of my normal cosmic karma, not a single person grabbed me and shoved a headseat/script/vanity pet/mic in my hand and shouted "Get in there---you're part of the team now! It's your big break!" Gosh! And everything else just comes up roses! Go fig.
At least the parking was free. And really, it's probably for the best. All that UVA probably isn't good for the baby.
Every once in a while the message gets so clear that it can pierce through even the densest skull:
I get it, world. You've given up on me and you're just waiting around wondering why it's taking me so long to give up on you.
These shoes are becoming damn near impossible to find. And suddenly finding yourself shopping in Beverly Hills when that's not where you realized you'd be shopping is. . . interesting. At least I wasn't in the really ritzy part.
So--off to other things. Like bankings and returns and wandering around in the sun. I wear things that show some skin (my version of showing skin, which is like from the knee down) to work on my ever distant goal of one day having a Real Tan. You have to have dreams.
Well, at the Bank the Bank Dude was incredibly confused about the recent check fraud that someone tried to perpetrate on me. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to explain a fait accompli to someone who isn't going to understand and doesn't need to, all in order for you to get a basic yes/no question from them.
In this case, the yes/no question I needed was whether I needed further documentation from them before going to the police.
Well, what Bank Douche was able to tell me was that my Business Checking account was overdrawn. Which was wonderfully ironic, because I had just transferred in some money to cover it 3 days prior. Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that I was in the bank today to deposit a paycheck to my business account--a paycheck that should have been electronically deposited last week but was instead in my mailbox this past weekend.
Even *more* wonderfully ironic is that the bump that pushed the checking account over was a charge that should have gone to the business credit card.
Speaking of bumps, Bank Douche took a moment to ask me if this was the first child I was expecting.
This is a particularly nice preggo accusation, because he was mostly basing this on how I looked from chest up. Which means that my arms and face are so fat now that I guess I just look chubby all over. Sweet.
Well, after this my urge to wander around and buy makeup and look at shoes or whatfuckingever was pretty squashed. I was feeling pretty hungry, but seeing as how even though I might eat 1.5 times every 3 days or so, I guess that's still just Too Damn Much. I wandered about in the sun a bit, before giving up and driving home.
On the way back to the lot I passed a bunch of people setting up for some kind of film shoot, just right there on the Promenade. Running around with cameras and water bottles and walkie talkies. There was some trailer parked at the end. I guess the talent was in there. In a stunning reversal of my normal cosmic karma, not a single person grabbed me and shoved a headseat/script/vanity pet/mic in my hand and shouted "Get in there---you're part of the team now! It's your big break!" Gosh! And everything else just comes up roses! Go fig.
At least the parking was free. And really, it's probably for the best. All that UVA probably isn't good for the baby.
Every once in a while the message gets so clear that it can pierce through even the densest skull:
I get it, world. You've given up on me and you're just waiting around wondering why it's taking me so long to give up on you.
Schlepping Out Into the Daylight, Once More
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Unfit For Public Consumption, Does Not Play Well With Others
These are the moments you could really use a friend, but you can't quite ask for one. In part, because if your suffering isn't apparent already then the people you're dealing with aren't really equipped or willing to deal with your shit anyhow.
Also, you can't really can't justify forcing yourself on most other living beings at that point, especially those you actually like. It's not really feasible to pilot yourself around in heavy machinery while you are having withdrawals that produce auditory hallucinations, rage spasms, and electrical jolts in your noggin (no shit, brain zaps SUCK). Assistance is required. So while you might be rather keen to
Lots of people think they have bad tempers. To which I say: Fuck You.
Having a Bad Temper does not mean you freak out and lose your shit all the time and yell. Ari Gold is not the poster boy for Bad Temper. If everybody tip toes around you because you have tantrums and scream and yell and stomp around in a bad mood, that's not an indication you have a Bad Temper. That's an indication you are a shit-a-bed little twat with no self control. You're a self indulgent fucktard who blows his load in 10 seconds flat.
People with real Bad Tempers know it, and often have known it for years, possibly all of their conscious lives. Most of them have spent a great deal of time learning and practicing the control of those tempers. You may never have seen them really, truly lose their cool. Because that's how bad a scene it is. When somebody with a true Bad Temper loses it, shit gets nasty quick. They say The Worst Thing Possible without even meaning to. Evil, hurtful shit flies out of their mouths that cuts people to the quick, and they didn't even have to think about it. And if they did give it a little thought, its practically blasphemous. Relationships don't just end, they implode over moments like that.
People with honestly Bad Tempers sometimes find themselves throttling a guy in Chem class. Not because he was doing anything that awful. Choking him just felt like the right response to whatever the schmuck was doing at the moment. Other people are speaking metaphorically when they talk about curb stomping someone. The person with the Bad Temper is actually acting it out in their heads. They don't understand why you are not doing the same. But they know it's freaking everyone out and they are weird and that it's Not Okay. So they spend a lot of time and energy dealing with it and trying to express themselves in a socially acceptable way (read: repression). It's not cool, you can't summon it at will, it's not berserker fun, and you don't feel very good about yourself on the rare occasion that you indulge.
Which is to say, sometimes I stay home for the good of everyone. And when something beyond my control (say, a chemical imbalance from outside ingested legal sources) trips up my zen, it is no bueno. And yes fuckers, what you see is my zen. If you had seen my not-zen we wouldn't be associating. Ever.
In completely related news, I'm offa my nerve pills. After the involuntary 4 day withdrawal caused by my pharmacy's incompetence, I said Eff it. There are a couple of reasons for this, some quite sane. Some surely temperamental and reactive. But there's a theme and a reason here, and it's a reason that's compelled me before.
I've something in me (a competition like biting on tinfoil just a meanness in this world) and I don't know what to call it, but I get to day four of withdrawal, have the means to get the pills and end this hell, and I get pissed off and decide I'm not ever taking those god damned things again. Foxtrot that in the alpha! I'll just lay around here with a crippling headache, nausea, seizing muscles, brain zaps and flop sweats. Titration be damned. It's cold turkey time, baby.
Maybe the term for that something is Moronic Masochism.
Also, you can't really can't justify forcing yourself on most other living beings at that point, especially those you actually like. It's not really feasible to pilot yourself around in heavy machinery while you are having withdrawals that produce auditory hallucinations, rage spasms, and electrical jolts in your noggin (no shit, brain zaps SUCK). Assistance is required. So while you might be rather keen to
- pick up the meds that might alleviate some aspects of this condition
- file that police report about the $600+ checking fraud somebody tried to run on you
- buy some food
- deposit that money so you can do that other stuff
- attempt to do some type of socializing or uplifting thing for yourself, to counter the morass of negative shit in which you currently wallow
Lots of people think they have bad tempers. To which I say: Fuck You.
Having a Bad Temper does not mean you freak out and lose your shit all the time and yell. Ari Gold is not the poster boy for Bad Temper. If everybody tip toes around you because you have tantrums and scream and yell and stomp around in a bad mood, that's not an indication you have a Bad Temper. That's an indication you are a shit-a-bed little twat with no self control. You're a self indulgent fucktard who blows his load in 10 seconds flat.
People with real Bad Tempers know it, and often have known it for years, possibly all of their conscious lives. Most of them have spent a great deal of time learning and practicing the control of those tempers. You may never have seen them really, truly lose their cool. Because that's how bad a scene it is. When somebody with a true Bad Temper loses it, shit gets nasty quick. They say The Worst Thing Possible without even meaning to. Evil, hurtful shit flies out of their mouths that cuts people to the quick, and they didn't even have to think about it. And if they did give it a little thought, its practically blasphemous. Relationships don't just end, they implode over moments like that.
People with honestly Bad Tempers sometimes find themselves throttling a guy in Chem class. Not because he was doing anything that awful. Choking him just felt like the right response to whatever the schmuck was doing at the moment. Other people are speaking metaphorically when they talk about curb stomping someone. The person with the Bad Temper is actually acting it out in their heads. They don't understand why you are not doing the same. But they know it's freaking everyone out and they are weird and that it's Not Okay. So they spend a lot of time and energy dealing with it and trying to express themselves in a socially acceptable way (read: repression). It's not cool, you can't summon it at will, it's not berserker fun, and you don't feel very good about yourself on the rare occasion that you indulge.
Which is to say, sometimes I stay home for the good of everyone. And when something beyond my control (say, a chemical imbalance from outside ingested legal sources) trips up my zen, it is no bueno. And yes fuckers, what you see is my zen. If you had seen my not-zen we wouldn't be associating. Ever.
In completely related news, I'm offa my nerve pills. After the involuntary 4 day withdrawal caused by my pharmacy's incompetence, I said Eff it. There are a couple of reasons for this, some quite sane. Some surely temperamental and reactive. But there's a theme and a reason here, and it's a reason that's compelled me before.
I've something in me (a competition like biting on tinfoil just a meanness in this world) and I don't know what to call it, but I get to day four of withdrawal, have the means to get the pills and end this hell, and I get pissed off and decide I'm not ever taking those god damned things again. Foxtrot that in the alpha! I'll just lay around here with a crippling headache, nausea, seizing muscles, brain zaps and flop sweats. Titration be damned. It's cold turkey time, baby.
Maybe the term for that something is Moronic Masochism.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Avengers Non Spoilery Review
From my not infallible, which makes me trust it even more, favorite review source, Pajiba:
And I stopped reading right there. I was going to see this movie anydamnway. This just takes away the nagging fear of disappointment. Yays.
Of course, it’s not quite that simple, and what makes The Avengers so absolutely remarkable is not the stunning battle scenes (and they are goddamn stunning), but that Whedon and company somehow managed to weave a separate but equally important and intriguing story about each and every character into the skein of this interstellar conflagration. The film is not Iron Man and his amazing friends. Unlike films like X-Men, where there was a team but the focus really was on only a couple of players, The Avengers gives each of them their time to shine, and they shine blindingly well.
And I stopped reading right there. I was going to see this movie anydamnway. This just takes away the nagging fear of disappointment. Yays.
Monday, April 30, 2012
They F*ck You At The Drive Through
Some cool shit has happened this weekend, but I am filled with rage because I am essentially living the life of Leo Getz right now.
Between people selling me the wrong things at stores (two of the exact same lipsticks instead of the two different ones I picked out, MAC sales lady?), and the utterly ridiculous fuckover I'm getting from my insurance and the Rite Aid pharmacists, I'm about to lose my mind and bash my car upside a Dairy Queen behind it.
Here's a quick note to people in the medicine dispensing industry: it's one thing when you fuck with us and our pain meds. But when you start fucking around with people's psychiatric medications, you are setting yourself up for a world of pain. Don't you realize that they minds is gonna go completely tore up on them? Don't you realize you are putting everyone around them in danger with your foolishness?
DON'T YOU REALIZE YOUR CRACKER ASSES NEED TO FILL THE DAMN PRESCRIPTION, AND QUIT THIS TRIFLING SHIT. IF THE DOCTOR SAYS FILL IT, AND THE INSURANCE SAYS FILL IT, FILL THE FUCKING PRESCRIPTION. DON'T GIVE ME NONE OF THIS JIBBER JABBER 'BOUT "but..but...my server is down"
BISHWUT???? ON *YOUR* ADVICE I JUST CALLED INSURANCE AND THEY TOLD ME IT WAS GO. SO YOU BEST CALL THEM UP AND GET THE SAME OKAY. CUZ BABBY IS LOCKED AND LOADED AND YOU'VE BEEN GIVING SOMEBODY THE RUN AROUND FOR THREE DAYS. THREE DAYS OF COLD TURKEY OFF THEY SPECIAL MEDICINE. YOU PLAYING WITH FIRE, FOOL.
Seriously, though. It's taken over three days of phone tag and constant mistakes on the part of the pharmacy and the insurance that has left me without both supplement pills that I need to live to make up for organs that were, you know, FUCKING REMOVED. And also more than three days without drugs that directly control and supplement key neurotransmitters in my brainium. Small things. That keep me. From killing y'all. And they also botched the scrip that prevents migraines.
Yes. They shit on my entire life. Thanks for asking. Yes, even though all these things are their mistakes, I still suffer. And yes, they did just call, at 3:10 PDT, and tell me that the insurance host server is still down. So even though I'm covered, I still don't get to fill the prescription.
Gee. I guess it's a good thing it's not insulin.
Black rage. Black rage.
~must leave now and go find something to do so urge to kill and maim goes away. sublimation: it may not be healthy for me, but it's saved more idiotic motherfuckers since 1977 than all anti abortion methods combined~
Between people selling me the wrong things at stores (two of the exact same lipsticks instead of the two different ones I picked out, MAC sales lady?), and the utterly ridiculous fuckover I'm getting from my insurance and the Rite Aid pharmacists, I'm about to lose my mind and bash my car upside a Dairy Queen behind it.
Here's a quick note to people in the medicine dispensing industry: it's one thing when you fuck with us and our pain meds. But when you start fucking around with people's psychiatric medications, you are setting yourself up for a world of pain. Don't you realize that they minds is gonna go completely tore up on them? Don't you realize you are putting everyone around them in danger with your foolishness?
DON'T YOU REALIZE YOUR CRACKER ASSES NEED TO FILL THE DAMN PRESCRIPTION, AND QUIT THIS TRIFLING SHIT. IF THE DOCTOR SAYS FILL IT, AND THE INSURANCE SAYS FILL IT, FILL THE FUCKING PRESCRIPTION. DON'T GIVE ME NONE OF THIS JIBBER JABBER 'BOUT "but..but...my server is down"
BISHWUT???? ON *YOUR* ADVICE I JUST CALLED INSURANCE AND THEY TOLD ME IT WAS GO. SO YOU BEST CALL THEM UP AND GET THE SAME OKAY. CUZ BABBY IS LOCKED AND LOADED AND YOU'VE BEEN GIVING SOMEBODY THE RUN AROUND FOR THREE DAYS. THREE DAYS OF COLD TURKEY OFF THEY SPECIAL MEDICINE. YOU PLAYING WITH FIRE, FOOL.
Seriously, though. It's taken over three days of phone tag and constant mistakes on the part of the pharmacy and the insurance that has left me without both supplement pills that I need to live to make up for organs that were, you know, FUCKING REMOVED. And also more than three days without drugs that directly control and supplement key neurotransmitters in my brainium. Small things. That keep me. From killing y'all. And they also botched the scrip that prevents migraines.
Yes. They shit on my entire life. Thanks for asking. Yes, even though all these things are their mistakes, I still suffer. And yes, they did just call, at 3:10 PDT, and tell me that the insurance host server is still down. So even though I'm covered, I still don't get to fill the prescription.
Gee. I guess it's a good thing it's not insulin.
Black rage. Black rage.
~must leave now and go find something to do so urge to kill and maim goes away. sublimation: it may not be healthy for me, but it's saved more idiotic motherfuckers since 1977 than all anti abortion methods combined~
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