Adventures in Porn
[Warning!!! The links in this segment WILL send you to an adult site--so avoid if you are at work or are offended by such sites... but it you're reading this, you've long since thrown away good taste or discretion.]

I rented some porn about a month and half ago... I still have them. Thankfully, it's one of those Porn-Netflix sites, so I'm not charged. I should probably just by them--but I find the thought of paying $60 for porn outrageous. Of course, paying $29 a month to rent it is okay... go figure.

Anyhow, the first is Detention a wonderful film about a school where the late-20's looking high school students have no problem dropping trou and fooling around with the staff... who, oddly enough, also appear to be in their late 20's... go figure.

The star is Matt Summers (obvious porn name) I don't know who he is, but he's going places. He's just stunning... and what he can do with his mouth is even more so. He can deep throat some of the biggest schlongs I've ever seen. I'm talking Chad Hunt! He can deep throat that monster without gagging. In fact, he wants to go back for more.

Quite frankly, he's my hero.

The second film is called Ambassadors of the Ice. It's about a Hungarian ice hockey team. The production values are pretty spectacular, as they use an actual--and very well maintained--arena. As with all Kristen Bjorn directed films, the men are all incredibly handsome, well built and uncut.

Bjorn was a still/art photographer and has a great eye. His films are pretty amazing. I have some of his older films, and they are pretty amazing. Usually, the "money shot" is at the very end of the scene. Not with Kristen... there would be four, sometimes five (!) money shots in a scene. With very little continuity change and it was pretty obvious that it was the same guys... I'm not sure what they put in the water in Europe, but I like it.

Okay, enough perving for today...

Good Name

Just before I delete the hundreds of junk emails in the morning--my spaminator dumps them into a file--I was reviewing the list to make sure nothing got falsely dropped in. It's interesting how they try to get past the spam stoppers by changing "Slut" to "SIut" or "s1ut".

They are clever those spammers...

Usually the addresses are "Bob" or something that instantly tells me that I don't know the person. "Click Here" is the worst name ever.

However, as I was about to delete the 236 spam emails I got today, I noticed a new name: Zsa Zsa LaHore. Muy excellante! That is one terrific name. If I ever get into drag--and I'm pretty confident I'm not pretty enough for drag--Zsa Zsa LaHore will be my stage name.

Heck, I might use it anyway...

Pulling A Groucho

Groucho Marx, who went from an international comedian/movie star with his brothers to a huge success as a game show host, died in 1977. His career followed the golden age of Hollywood into the golden age of television. He was a truly remarkable man. Sadly, he is not remembered that well because he made one final, fatal mistake:

He died the same week as Elvis Presley.

All that history, all that joy was forgotten as the world mourned the passing of a rock 'n roll singer who died on the john...

Now, when someone of note passes at the same time as someone even more of note and gets eclipsed by the press in the process, it is called "pulling a Groucho."

Everyone knows that the Pope has entered his final moments. As a Catholic, I am truly saddened by this fact. Millions of Catholics and non-Catholics alike will mourn his passing. However, another Catholic in the tiny principality of Monaco their ruler since 1947 and the husband of international star Grace Kelly is also entering his final moments.

Prince Rainier, the man who doubled the size of his nation by building out into the Mediterranean and took his small 'gambling friendly' nation into an international banking capital, will most likely pass the same time as The Pontiff. Thus, his 81 years, his ruling of a nation, his changing of Europe and his note as a husband to a great American actress will be instantly passed by another ruler of sorts who also made great changes in the world.

Prince Rainier, ruler, architect, financial mastermind: you are about to pull a Groucho and I salute you!

Has No One Told Terri It’s Okay to Let Go?

Man, that Terri Schiavo is a fighter, isn’t she? I couldn’t last 20 minutes without something and she’s going on week 7 or something… (With such a personal and national tragedy as this, I could not resist being facetious). Seriously, it always works in the movies. The family sits next to the dying person and says, "It's okay... it's okay..." and then they drift off.

My sister-in-law—a Rabid Republican (foams at the mouth and loves Dubya)—thinks the government is right on in getting involved in her case. This is the same woman that was upset at the government for going after a company that knowingly put carcinogens into the ground water, then lied about it, then lied about lying about it, and then had doctors say that the carcinogens were “good” carcinogens, and then tried to underpay everyone. With that, she felt the government should stay out of our lives.

Yet when it comes to stopping gay marriage and keeping people on life-support systems, this is NOT government intruding on the rights of states or individuals. I’m not sure what planet she lives on, exactly, but it’s a planet with its head up its ass…

Who Crapped on My TV?

I know spring is the dumping season for movies that are never going to be competitive for an Oscar and aren’t decent enough to stand up against any competition with the summer blockbusters, but now spring has become a dumping ground for absolute crap on television.

Case in point: Spring Break Shark Attack on CBS. Just the title sounds like the whole film was thought up by a marketing committee: “Our research shows that people like sharks and they want to see scantily clad women—I’m thinking ‘Jaws’ meets ‘Girls Gone Wild’”. Let me note that “Girls Gone Wild” involves more talented writers.

The film stars a bunch of young actors of no real note. Currently, they are working on such classic shows as Joan of Arcadia and The O.C., as well as soap operas like Guiding Light and The Young and the Restless. All of them I’m sure are fine actors, but with a telefilm as crappy as this, the script was the last thing considered and everything they utter is pretty much pointless. In fact, I’m not sure if they had a script. I think the director said, “Now point at the water and yell ‘shark!’ Yes, dear, I know that the water is filled with blood and screaming people being eaten by sharks and this is redundant, but just point at them and say, ‘shark!’”

Sure they had some good looking actors, but on an event film like this, you need real actors—NAMES—to draw in those that might think that this is some piece of crap spit out by a bunch of hacks. So you bring out the big guns: Kathy Baker and Bryan Brown.

For those of you who don’t know Bryan Brown, years ago, before the heady days of Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman, Hollywood hired Aussies for a different reason: they were cheap and had accents. Accents, as you may know, adds a touch of class to a film, but Brits are quality actors and that costs money… So, you go outside the ring: Welsh, Irish, Scottish and, finally the Blue Light Special: quality roles… but she had a house payment so, she took the job. She spends much of the film being understanding to her frustrated son. He’s frustrated because… well, does it really matter? It’s the “James Dean Effect”: a good-looking guy that is pissed off for some reason or another. However, he’s still a nice guy. In fact, too nice. He’s so nice and understanding, yet still pissed off that he’s not off getting laid with all the spring break whores that you just know he’s going to live.

Alternate to that is, er, bad guy. I couldn’t tell you his name, and I’ve been looking all over to find it. He’s so unimportant that they list him as an actor, but do not note the character’s name. The actor is Justin Baldoni—a good looking guy with a terrific body. Apparently, women on Spring Break don’t respond to that. They want the kind, good-looking guy, who is also understanding. Not hot guy with hot bod. Right.

Poor guy with no name, while he looks great, he’s an asshole. He even tries to give Danielle (aka “The Virgin”) roofies! Let me just stop here for a moment to note that I’ve been on Spring Break. You do not need roofies to get a girl in bed. A couple of beer shooters or Jaeger shots and tops are off. With the use of roofies, we know he’s bad… very bad. You just know that eventually he’s going to get eaten by a shark.*

The gist of the story is this… They (not sure who ‘they’ are, but it’s most likely the government) installed an artificial reef off shore of a resort. This is bad for Bryan Brown—his resort is on the other side of the island and no one is going to his beach, so he chums the waters off shore of the beach, hoping to bring in some sharks and scare people to his beach. Yeah, that could work. No major holes with this theory. Just how bad of a hotel do you have to run for it to not make any money during Spring Break? I once stayed in a room with 8 other guys with one twin bed, a bathroom that none of us dared to enter. We paid a fortune for that room and felt we got a bargain in the process.

Later, in this mini-epic presented by The Tiffany Network, as the beach is awash in half-eaten college students, and the water is churning red and foamy with 20+ attacking sharks, he mutters in his indistinguishable accent, “I never meant for anything like this to happen.” What did you think was going to happen? You put blood in the water between shark feeding grounds and pouty-breasted college students! I once fed my dog chili and beer and was shocked at the noxious results—I was completely disgusted by the results, but I was in no way surprised. Bryan was surprised.

The best performance was by the shark. I know it’s supposed to be sharkS, but it was pretty obvious they kept using the same shark over and over again. In fact, he seemed to come at everyone from the same direction. After watching this piece of crap, I now know three things: 1) sharks only attack from the right (or underneath if they are being ‘stealth’ and don’t wish to be seen—however, the jets of red water shooting 20 feet into the air as they eat tends to give away a shark’s location; 2) six buoys connected by wire can cause sharks to scatter and 3) sharks live in mortal fear of lifesavers.**

The sad thing about this film is that it was just two steps to the right of being a full-on camp film. Everyone seemed to be trying to take the crappy material and bringing something out of it. If they had taken a cue from the sharks and chewed up the scenery a little, this film would have been hysterical.

Instead, it was just dull.

Okay, there’s more to talk about in bad television*** but I’ll save that for another post.

*He does.
**Not joking… when seven sharks attack the fishing boat with some kids, they don’t attack the livesaver ring thrown to Danielle (“Virgin”), however, they have no problem ramming the boat.
***Mansquito, anyone?

An Act of Futility...

I joined a site metering website to track and manage the throng of visitors at Mornings of S&T. They monitor the number of visitors, how long they stay, what pages they viewed, etc. It's a very sophisticated system and I'm thrilled--yes, thrilled--to use this powerful tool. Tonight, they sent me a comprehensive analysis of my readership.

I anxiously opened it and I am amazed at the information they provided. On behalf of everyone here at both our Palo Alto and San Jose offices: I would like to thank my reader. (Kidding. I'm kidding.) I exaggerated, the meter shows zero hits for the week.

I do this for the joy of writing... f*** that, I want readers. What do I have to do? Bribe people? Write better? Be funny? Use correct grammar and spelling? Well, none of those things are going to happen, so I guess I'll have to be content writing for my own enjoyment.

I guess this answers why no one seemed to be leaving comments. Whatever...

I Loves Me Some Trailers...

The best part about going to the movies is seeing the previews for what I hope will be a better movie than the crap I'm seeing. Let's face it, most movies today are either bad remakes of great films, or unbelievably bad remakes of great films passed off as a "reimagination." Either way, Hollywood has lost it's ability to be creative and has gone for the buck only. Don't they realize if they create something truly original, people will flock to it... more than once?

Anyhow, [he said getting off his soapbox] I love Apple Trailers! It's a great way to see all the great trailers without the expense of going to the movies ($9.00 and Jude Law remains clothed? I don't think so...)

I just went to the site and here are my expectations of these upcoming films:

Fever Pitch: This film starring Jimmy Fallon and Drew Barrymore looks so formulaic they could publish a Working Paper on it. However, all is forgiven for the last 'hit' in the preview. I'm gonna put this down as a Want to See.

Roll Bounce: Um... I can't tell if this is serious or a satire. It's about roller disco in the 70's. If the 70's are no longer being spoofed, then I'm outta here. The soundtrack looks good... which usually means the film bites.

House of Wax: Oh, good! They took a classic horror film and "reimagined" it. Terrific. And Paris "I'm such a whore I make Christina Aguilera look like Mother Teresa" Hilton is in it too? Why not just sh*t on Vincent Price's grave and be done with it? I'll Netflix this.

Unleashed: Jet Li kickin' some ass. You know, this looks like it might be pretty good. Uh oh. Morgan Freeman is in it. There's an Academy rule that states: When an actor wins Best Supporting Actor (particularly for their body of excellent work) their next film must be crap. (I believe it's the Joe Pesci Rule). I'm hopeful, but not expectant on this...

Downfall: I'm thinking the best film of the year might be a German film. What is causing controversy is that it shows Hitler as a complex individual--both as the cruel madman and as a friend in the last days of WWII. I don't know if I can handle thinking about Hitler as anything other than pure evil. However, if someone told me a year ago that I would laugh, applaud and cheer the sight of Hitler on stage with a giant swastika behind him--I'd have punched them. Then I saw The Producers on Broadway—sure they’re mocking him, but we are applauding “Hitler” as he stands in front of a giant swastika... Apparently, Bruno Ganz mimics Hitler's voice to a T. I doubt he’ll get a nomination for this role… It will be tough, but I want to see this one.

"Older People"...
This is an excerpt from a friend of a friend's email. I can tell I'm getting old because I agree withe her. (Her name is Maia... She doesn't know me, so I won't say anything else about her, except she's very funny). I'm saving her Paul Giamatti quote for my next issue of Slap & Tickle.

I interviewed 5 undergrads out of 40 who applied for the job, and asked them the standard questions like, "why do you want the job?" One young lady said to me, "Honestly, I don't know very many OLDER people, and I thought that I could really learn from someone who knows what they are doing in life." The interview didn't last much longer after that, as I didn't want to qualify for the category of being OLD, and I didn't want the pressure of having to seem like I know what I am doing in life. I actually taught her a valuable lesson-that people who are older don't actually like to be reminded of it, and if you choose to draw attention to it, they might not hire you.

That's Entertainment...

Denise Richards is six months pregnant and filing for divorce from the increasingly sleazy Charlie Sheen? Well, that is one marriage where they are definitely not going to remain friends. Thank you, Denise for restoring my faith in human nature and it's ability to cultivate bitterness...

Free at last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty, Martha is Free (but under house arrest) at last! Will someone sound the church bells? I cannot tell you how happy I am to have her free--if only so we can stop hearing how she is "faring" in jail. If her release hastens the demise of that awful “Wickedly Perfect” show on CBS, then that’s alright with me. I think she’ll come back and come back big. Bitch or not, the woman knows how to throw a party—and properly pronounce crudités.

FOX cancelled North Shore… that thing is still on? I started to watch an episode and the second Shannen Doherty showed her ugly mug, my television shut itself off.

Survivor… well, poor Jeff got voted off the island. Well, at least he’s away from those losers in Ulong (which is Palau for “You Long to Get the F*** Away from These Morons”). Jeff was some nice eye-candy on that team. How am I gonna rub one out to James?

And what is it with Southerner men that they can only be Southern Gentlemen or Rubes? They don’t seem to have a middle ground for that. James didn't trust Jeff and Kim... I like how James was going "keep an' eye on dem"--probably from the bushes.

I also enjoyed how Kim tried to make the snuggling with Jeff an innocent keeping warm strategy. Honey, when your tongue is down his throat, you're not keeping him warm, you're heating him up.

Here are two things I don’t understand on Survivor:

1. They always keep the idiots that don’t do anything. “We need their strength,” is the logic the morons throw out—but if they don’t actually do anything (ever), they probably aren’t doing much more than they need to in the challenges.
   
2. Why is it when someone has a problem with another tribe member, they feel the need to express it by exploding on the individual? Did Caryn wake up and say, “I feel like being a target, so I’ll go and yell at Katie?” Trust me on this Caryn, when they vote out the annoying one, it won’t be Katie…

Get Real…

US Weekly, the bastion of quality journalism, is reporting that Katie Holmes and Chris Klein have called off their engagement. A publicist for Holmes is quoted in the magazine as saying, "They broke off the engagement but are remaining good friends."

When are celebrities going to get real and act like humans when they break up? Where’s the drama? Where’s the public humiliation?

This is what I want to read (and it’s probably closer to the truth):

Katie Holmes and Chris Klein, two minor stars in the Heavens of Hollywood have broken off their engagement. Holmes is quoted as calling Klein a “cheating bastard,” and has stated she “hopes his tiny dick falls off. That’s right… you write that down! It’s T-I-N-Y. Tiny.”

Klein stated, “She [Holmes] is messed up… I’m hangin’ large—totally large,” he stated while playing “Halo2” in the living room of a bud’s North Hollywood condo. “She always wanted to snuggle after and… uh… but… damn, did I just die? F**K! This is her fault! Jerry, I want to beat those Covenant mother f***ers, let me go again… You know, [“actor” Christian] Bale banged her in his trailer…”

“That’s a f***ing lie!” retorted Holmes while shopping at the Beverly Mall. “Christian and I never went past second base…” One of her shopping pals quickly pulled her aside and whispered in her ear, to which Holmes shot back at the reporter, “…third base! Besides, he’s carrying the whole [Batman Begins] movie and he’s stressed. I was just there to help.”

Asked if they were going to remain friends, Holmes said, “Never! To think I let him…” and then ran into a changing room to cry. Klein responded, “No way. Unless she lets me go through backdoor again… then all right.” After some quick high fives with his buds, Klein was quickly lost his game.

Yeah. That’s what I want to see. Less Demi & Bruce and more Liza & David.

Lost... with Boobs

I love the show Lost. It's full of mystery and suspense. While Jack is hot and there's a certain something going on with Sawyer, my favorite character is Hurly. He's the only man who has bigger man-boobs than I. Mine aren't as bulbous as his though. I mean his look round, more 'booby' than mine.

I'm not sure what this means other than I'm a fat ass... and I'm hungry. (well, that explains a lot, doesn't it?)

I'm off to eat...

Amazing Race Returns... and Television is Saved

Amazing Race has started again… oh, how I love this show. 11 two-person teams are on a “race around the world” performing tasks, finding markers, and most humorously, trying to communicate with the locals. (There is always one person per episode that says “Why doesn’t anyone here speak English?!”)

Most reality shows require people to backstab and plot against each other. This show simply requires you not to F’ up… and that’s where the fun comes in. Usually, there is a stunt for them to perform, sky dive, play water polo, etc. Usually, this is connected with something particular with the country they are in. Last night, the contestants were in Peru and they had to wrangle llamas. Disgusting, spitting, smelly llamas… eww.

The best part is the interaction of the members of the teams. They all have a pre-existing relationship, so there is plenty of room for drama and meltdowns. Nothing says “quality television” like watching a marriage self-destruct in a foreign country… While most teams get along, it’s the ticking-time-bomb-couples that make this show work.

Here are the teams for Amazing Race 8 (for future reference, I’ve decided to give each team their own name):

Ryan & Chuck/Team Name: The Rubes. From North Carolina (or was it South… it was a red state so who cares?) Two big (and I mean big) Southern Boys who say things like “I’m a-fixin’ and “Whoo-ee!” No clichés there. They lost… by mere seconds. They would have been fun to watch (or “Fun to be a-watchin’”).

Megan & Heidi: The Boobs. Two blondes who, obviously, had boob jobs. As a guy, I shouldn’t complain, but I’m a card-carrying homo, so they do nothing for me…

Lynn & Alex/: The ‘Mos. These guys couldn’t be any more gay if they tried… and boy do they try. They are “Executive Assistants,” which is one step up from hairdresser or production designer. They aren’t really racing… their swishing.

Susan & Patrick: The Mo-Mos. A Mother and her son, Li’l Mo. How do I know the kid is gay, you ask? Because he tells EVERYONE every chance he gets. I’m sure his mother is open minded… but like most mothers, only to a point. I’m waiting for that melt down: “Patrick, take that thing out of your mouth, put it back in his pants and let’s go!”

Rob & Amber: Suvivuhs. “Survivor” winners Rob and Amber (or as Rob says wit his tick Boston accent: “Ambuh”), think they know everything because they won Survivor… yet they couldn’t figure out how to pop the trunk of their car…

Ray & Deana: Team Timebomb. A poor man’s John & Victoria from AR6...

Uchenna & Joyce: Team Token. Why is there only ONE African American couple per race? This is diversity? They are a power black couple because, as Uchenna made a point of telling us, they “have both been laid off by MAJOR corporations.” Good thing he wasn’t laid off by a minor company… or hired by one, either.

Meredith & Gretchen: Geriatrics. Along with the lone black couple, there is always a lone old couple. I will spend most of the time praying neither breaks a hip. I’m still trying to figure out which one is Meredith and which is Gretchen…

Ron & Kelly: Team America. She was a beauty queen; he, a prisoner of war. Fear them, for they are the self-described “All-American Team.” So, she’s pretty and he had the bad luck to get shot down in Iraq. He tells everyone he got shot down, but tells them to keep it quiet. Hey, Ron, if you really want it “kept quiet” you’d shut up about it. At some point, in the middle of a challenge, he’s going to say, “I was a prisoner of war… in Iraq… I can handle this.” And I will promptly throw up.

Brian & Greg: The Dudes. I like these guys. Their nice looking and their schmoes. They are such typical guys, it’s a riot to watch them. The Hotties team likes to kiss and this gets the Dudes all hot and bothered.

Debbie & Bianca: The Hotties. Currently, they are my favorites. They’re smart, fun and currently in the number 1 spot. They work well together and with the other teams. They should be fun to watch… and to watch the Dudes hit on them.

I already can’t wait for next Tuesday…

Oscar Wrap Up

Wow... 100% again!

Christmatica seems to have found its groove.

For the most part, I enjoyed the Oscars. I thought Chris Rock did an admirable job, but I didn't think he had the control of a Johnny Carson or Billy Crystal. Mabye that will come in time... we'll see.

At least he didn't pull any punches. I don't know if I'd go after Jude Law like that (don't get me wrong, I'd go after Jude Law... just in a different way. By 'different way' I mean I'd pay him to sleep with me... okay, I'd pay him just to sit and stare at him for 20 minutes). He was funny, just not FUNNY.

I was VERY excited about Sideways winning Best Adapted Screenplay. Such a wonderful movie.

Some other notes:

• When did The Simpsons' Sideshow Bob start singing for The Counting Crows?
• A STANDING OVATION for Chris Rock... at the BEGINNING? Johnny coming back, yeah, that deserves a Standing-O. Billy Crystal coming back... sure. But first time out of the gate? Not so sure... and after seeing the results--definitely a no.
• What was up with Scarlet Johansen's arm? It was flopping around like a dead fish.
• I did enjoy Chris Rock's comment about Producers waiting for the actor they really want... then again if you're looking for Salma Hayek, you can easily replace her with a Penelope Cruz (and vice versa).
• I found it interesting that Salma Hayek and Penelope Cruz--two people with very thick and hardly understandable accents--gave out the best sound awards.
• I'm not sure if I like the bringing the nominees all on stage... Can you imagine heading back to your seat? "'Scuze me... I'm the guy who just lost... can you move your feet please?"
• I'm also not sure about the handing out awards to people in their seat. "No, no... don't bother getting up... you're really not that important."
• Why must the winners thank everyone they've ever met? Who are these people? Their lawyers, agents, friends, cousins, yada, yada, yada. What about your barrista? The kid who delivers your newspaper... the guy down by that place with the weird limp...
• Where was Peggy Flemming? Sure, she's not an actress and has no reason to ever attend, but we haven't seen much of her lately, and I felt the need to bring her name up.
• I know I mentioned it earlier, but Scarlet Johansen's arm flop was really disturbing to me.
• The handing out of the technical awards (by "L-Flop Scarlet") from the balcony was a little odd. I half-expected her to announce that the first person to climb up and get the Oscar will win it. (The other half expected her to grab it with that floppy arm and chuck it out to the crowd.
• It's amazing how "poor folk" like Hillary Swank can afford lawyers, managers, agents, stylists and a host of other hangers-on can win an Oscar.
• With all the build-up that Swank and Foxx were going to win, shouldn't they have at least come up with NEW acceptance speeches? They reused their speeches from the Golden Globes... and the SAG Awards.
• How much money did the Academy save having Beyonce warble through three nominated songs? Did she at least get three of the swag-bags?
• Lastly... Jeezus. That arm thing of Scarlet Johansen is going to give me nightmares!

I'm sure I'll come up with more on Monday, but I wanted to get some of this out before I forgot.

Only 365 days until the next telecast!

AND THE 2004 NOMINEES ARE…
Last year, I had a 100% success rate at predicting the Oscars using my patent pending method called: Chrismatica™! In the order of their scores, here are this year’s Chrismatica™ predictions:

ACTOR IN A LEADING ROLE
Don Cheadle - HOTEL RWANDA: Didn’t see it… and neither did anyone in the Academy. But everyone heard he was really good—and isn’t that what’s important?
Leonardo DiCaprio - THE AVIATOR: Hey, it’s that kid from Titanic! He’s still working… good for him.
Clint Eastwood - MILLION DOLLAR BABY: He’s going to get one for Best Directing, and it would be a little much to give him Best Actor, Director and Picture…
Johnny Depp - FINDING NEVERLAND: Brilliant role. Totally understated. Johnny is truly one of the most gifted actors of his generation. But, he’s practically made a career out of being peculiar, and no one wants a weird-o making an acceptance speech.
Jamie Foxx – RAY: Personally, I thought Clint and Johnny did a much better job. Both were extremely understated roles. Foxx did a dead-on impersonation of Ray Charles. In fact, it was so dead on that most of the Academy think they’re voting for the real Ray Charles…

ACTOR IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Alan Alda - THE AVIATOR: Hey, look it’s Hawkeye!
Clive Owen – CLOSER: Well, he IS British and the Academy LOVES British. Let’s face it: this was a slow year for supporting actors. He really should be happy to be nominated (because that’s where it ends for him).
Jamie Foxx – COLLATERAL: Now this is a performance not only worth nominating, but winning. He did a brilliant job in this film, but it’s an action film… with Tom Cruise. And the Academy hates Tom Cruise (well, Scientology… but to the Academy it’s pretty much the same thing—If the costar was Travolta, he wouldn’t have been nominated).
Thomas Haden Church – SIDEWAYS: A gifted performance in a brilliantly written role that most actors would kill for. Tommy-boy took it and ran with it. However, Paul Giamati in the lead role didn’t get nominated and it would be in poor taste to give him an Oscar and snub Paul…
Morgan Freeman - MILLION DOLLAR BABY: Who doesn’t love Morgan Freeman? Great actor, great voice, great presence and has consistently given many great performances. So what if this is a role he could do in his sleep? He is perfect in this role. The Oscar is more for his body of work than for this film, but it’s Morgan’s all the way.

ACTRESS IN A LEADING ROLE
Imelda Staunton - VERA DRAKE: Who?
Catalina Sandino Moreno - MARIA FULL OF GRACE: ¿Quién?
Kate Winslet - ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND: Hey, it’s that chick from Titanic! She’s still working… good for her.
Annette Bening - BEING JULIA: What an amazing performance with an amazing role. Sublime and over-the-top at the same time. Magnificent. It seems like nothing can stop her… However, when Annette was nominated in American Beauty, she gave a brilliant performance and was all but guaranteed the Oscar… then Hilary Swank pulled the socks out of her top, stuck them in her pants and stole her award. Don’t look now Annette, but Hilary’s wearing a jock strap…
Hilary Swank - MILLION DOLLAR BABY: A really great role, but why does it seem like she’s done this before? Because she has. However, like Monster a year before, the Academy loves it when beautiful women play “ugly.” Somehow this is considered brave and that translates into “acting.”

ACTRESS IN A SUPPORTING ROLE
Sophie Okonedo - HOTEL RWANDA: Who?
Natalie Portman – CLOSER: Hey, it’s that chick from Star Wars! She’s still working… good for her.
Laura Linney – KINSEY: The Academy loves Laura, but everyone’s scared of sex right now (shhhhh… Bush might be listening)
Virginia Madsen – SIDEWAYS: My personal favorite. She’s resurrected herself from a former pretty “actress” into a real actress (her looks faded, she had to do something).
Cate Blanchett - THE AVIATOR: Normally, I’m not a fan of an impression, but Cate really played Kate well. It wasn’t just the voice or the look, but she captured the personality of Hepburn and took a movie that worked hard to make you believe you were in the 1930’s and made you feel like you really were in the 30’s. The kicker: The Academy adores the quirky best supporting actress… (Remember Marissa Tomei?)

BEST DIRECTOR
VERA DRAKE: A pro-choice movie in George Bush’s ‘merica? Don’t think so…
RAY: Taylor Hackford hasn’t directed anything of note since An Officer and a Gentleman. Hack/Hackford either/or. Not happenin’ Taylor…
THE AVIATOR: Poor Marty. Brilliant body of work and still nothing. The losing streak continues… (sadly, he will win someday, for some piece of junk. Remember Paul Newman won for Color of Money). The movie was good, but too long and had none of the subtleties of his earlier/better work.
SIDEWAYS: Nicely directed. But it’s a small picture way outside the studio system. Most importantly…
MILLION DOLLAR BABY: Are you going to say “No” to Clint Eastwood? Has anyone seen Peter Jackson since he beat Clint last year? ‘nough said.

BEST PICTURE
RAY: Nice biopic… but it’s already at Blockbuster, who wants to give an award to a movie that already has the outtakes showing around the world?
FINDING NEVERLAND: Deserving in so many ways, it’s just too intimate a film. Understated in so many ways, Oscar loves films an epic.
THE AVIATOR: Ultimately it’s about a really weird rich guy who liked flying.
SIDEWAYS: My personal favorite. Just a wonderfully crafted movie. Sadly for this film, Clint’s baby is going all the way.
MILLION DOLLAR BABY: Everything the Academy loves in a Best Picture: drama, wonderful relationships, great tragedy, narration by Morgan Freeman, a (sort-of) love triangle, a couple of characters you love to hate, overcoming great odds and a bittersweet ending. Since, it’s already going to rack up some big acting awards, they might as well give them The Prize—the Academy is not known for being subtle…

Letter From Paris (I)

Bon Jour!

We made it! Flying on Christmas is not, I repeat NOT less crowded than normal. A lie I am still trying to find someone to blame (currently, I am blaming the Wesely Snipes' movie "Passenger 57").

I am not sure how long I can type because my patience with this keyboard at the little cyber cafe I found is already at an end. Punctuation is all located in the wrong spots and the letters A Z Q W M are placed in places so incovenient, I imagine the French rarely use them at all--making it difficult to type. EXAMPLE: "
We have walked approx. 1000 miles during the last few days. We seem to think everything is much closer than it is. Today was a red-letter day in walking as we went to the Louvre (seeing a lot of it; yet still not seeing it all), and then went to the Arc de Triomphe--walking some 385 steps to the top (there is a warning before you head up). Needless to say, my dogs are barking.

The only news we get here is CNN International--so we are all well informed on what is happening in Iran after the quake--however is anything ELSE happening? That's ALL they are reporting. We've also been watching the French News, and while we don't understand what they are saying, it fun to comment on the fabulousness of the news anchor--he has these amazing eyebrows that form these well sculpted trangle/arches. You can see my priorities remain in order.

The French have been more than patient with our French--or lack there of. Lots of pointing and nodding. Jill nearly killed a poor postal worker who kept urging her to use a pre-paid envelope to send postcards because it saves about half a cent per letter--Jill would have none of it; she wanted the envelopes to have a postmark. The poor guy kept saying how it was cheaper and would get there faster... he couldn't understand why she wanted to spend the extra half cent... after about 3 hours of this he relented. (by the way the 3 hours is in Euros, which works out to be about 10 minutes US). Naturally, I bought the prepaid envelopes--I didn't want to be the cause of the first French employee to go 'postal' ('postale' in French).

I went to mass at Notre Dame on Sunday. Truly spectacular--except for the tourists walking around taking pictures of the church... the mass... the priest... Later, I went back toured the church while a mass was in progress--they had two (count 'em TWO, gift shops running--while the Catholic Church is responsible for the religious aspects of the church, it is owned by the French government who knows a thing or two about getting every last dime from the tourists.

UPDATE: it has now been 40 minutes since I started this letter--If you hear of me being involed in an international incident, it started when a keyboard was thrown through a window...

The French are all young and beautiful--both the men and women--all stunning, thin, well dressed, looking fabulous wherever they go... I hate them.

The weather has been cold--we picked the windiest day to go to the top of the Eiffel Tower: Gorgeous view; bitter cold wind; It cut right through us. I can't imagine the poor people that went up on Sunday when it was even colder, windier... and raining.

Speaking of cold, it is my mission while I'm here to tie my scarf like the French; Everyone does it differently and everyone looks more cool than the last. I am in awe of their scar tying abilities--the US is way behind in scarf tying technology. Every tme I attempt to tie my scarf I look like I stuffed a bunch of socks in the top of my shirt--things pointing up everywhere (there are only two ends, so how can there be six ends sticking up at any given time? You know you've achieved something when the blasè French stop, point and stare.

I shall write more when I get a chance. Musee d' Orsay is tomorrow!

Au Revior (if that's how it's spelled, it was a total accident)

A Sad Day in the Neighborhood:
Tragedy struck Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood recently as Fred Rogers passed at the age of 74. The official cause of death was stomach cancer, although most of us know better: that bitch, Lady Elaine put a hit out on him. Oh, sure, you may say I am heartless to bring up such a subject at this time. I should be more respectful, I should show compassion for all the joy and self-worth that he gave to kids. I loved Fred as well. I learned a lot from him. I made many a journey on Trolley to the Land of Make-Believe, so I must speak out at the injustice of it all.

The monarchy of King Friday XIII has always been a bit shaky. Queen Sarah always seemed to be looking to other monarchies to emulate and Prince Tuesday seemed all-too-ready to try and take the crown. Mister Rogers always brokered the peace in the neighborhood. He fought for unilateral disarmament between Friday and X the Owl. X, with his constant studying at correspondence school, thought himself superior and wanted to prove it to the world. It was only with Mister Rogers sitting down with Friday and Owl, that things got settled…

…until Owl got “sprayed” in the middle of the night.

Everyone suspected Henrietta Pussycat, but with her being so quiet and unassuming, who would put such an innocent pussycat up to such a task? None other than Lady Elaine!

S&T has obtained shocking documents pointing to Elaine as the silent money for ‘Operation Castle Keep.’ Elaine, knowing that she was never going to get the throne legitimately, used underhanded and devious tactics to overthrow Friday. Using drugs, sex, money and an advanced knowledge of puppetry, Elaine’s dastardly plan came to fruition.

Most shocking, Queen Sarah, Elaine’s part-time lover, was also involved. Few involved will even talk to our reporters. Only our "confidential source,' whom we call Deep Pussy would speak, saying, “Meow, meow, kitty, meow, meow, follow the money and you’ll find that meow, meow bitch Elaine is behind it all, meow, meow.”

Rogers’ death is not the first to happen in Make-Believe. Sources indicate that a number of Elaine’s victims were “spun to death” in her “spinning house of pain”: The Carousel. Shouts of “How do you FEEL?!” could be heard coming from the round multi-colored column abode. Pressed for comment, Elaine simply stated, “Look, toots, I got nothin’ to say.”

A spokesman for The Children’s Television Workshop (CTW), at nearby Sesame Street said only that they had heard the rumors of the killings, but they were trying to remain uninvolved. That was, until Speedy Delivery Man was found dead on ‘The Street,’ of an apparent cocaine overdose, next to a 15 year-old muppet prostitute.

A spokesperson for CTW, stated that they were indeed concerned with the goings on in Rogers’ Neighborhood, but they do not discuss any active cases. Inspector Snuffalufogus stated that there are leads and they hope to make an arrest soon, but that the Land of Make-Believe is a monarchy and added soulfully that “It’s Chinatown all over again.”

Rumor around the Neighborhood was that Picture-Picture had a video of the killings, but Rogers’ home was ransacked and Picture-Picture was stolen. A monetary reward and a new pair of sneakers are offered to anyone who can provide information for the safe return of Picture-Picture.

Only two others, who have critical knowledge of the incidents leading up to the death of Mr. Rogers, are available for comment: Trolley and Daniel Tiger. Unfortunately, the only person who could understand Trolley, was Mister Rogers…

…and everyone knows that Daniel is too shy to talk.

Keeping In Touch

It’s been a while since I’ve written, my apologies to those of you who actually read this… [knock, knock, knock] Hello? Anyone there?

sigh...

Anywho… so I got an IM last night from an old… uh… friend? (Acquaintance? Lust? IM buddy?) Basically, he’s a guy I met once in a bar, had a brief but nice chat and then IM’d a few times. I didn’t think he was really interested in me (or that he’d forgotten me—which was most likely the case) and we quickly lost contact. Suddenly, he was back!

I was quite happy to hear from him—he’s rather cute—and thought that maybe my luck with men might actually be turning around.

Alas, no such F’ing luck.

The guy, I’ll call him Buck, has a freakin’ boyfriend! Well, crap on a stick, what’s up with that? Don’t guys usually start contacting old friends/acquaintances/lusts/IM buddies after the breakup?

He started asking me questions about cigars and pipes, etc. And I replied that I enjoyed them, although, most of my pipe experiences have more to do with 4:20 than tobacco. (nudge, nudge, wink, wink)

Apparently, old Buck has quite a thing for ‘gars and God bless him for it. Too often I’m told they smell, they’re offensive, they sit around and do nothing all day but watch Sports Center… okay that last part only applies to me, and my quiet lust for anchor Trey Wingo, but I think you get the drift. He’s a man who likes men who like cigars and the guys that like them for it. Who wouldn't love that?

Now if only he would break up with his current love (or cheat on him) because it’s been a while and I’m feeling mighty restless…

ON TO OTHER TOPICS:

If I’m thankful for one thing this Thanksgiving, it’s that Thanksgiving is over. What a silly holiday: you have to gather with family that mostly drives you crazy and eat until you’re sick, and then sit around with those same losers, because you’re so stuffed you can’t manage to get the hell out the door. Worse, Christmas is less than a month away!

Egad…

I’ve barely done any shopping… I’m trying to be “creative” with my gifts to friends, which can mean only one thing: none of them will be speaking to me next year after they receive my crappy gifts. The idea was somewhat original, the wording mostly clever, the execution, however, sucked like a Hoover set on high shag. Ugh. It’s too late now, the sleigh is packed and the reindeer are raring to go—so my sad, poor friends will be getting the worst gift with the best of intentions.

Okay, that’s a little extreme, my intention was not to be lusciously kind, but to save money. I just thought something that was handmade would be charming, no matter how poorly made. Unfortunately, I lack any kind of creative talent. I’m good with ideas, shitty with execution.

Story of my life… which can be found in a hastily hand-bound book with mostly illegible pages, that is pointlessly and poorly illustrated.

I did manage to get most of my bills paid off this month. Big chunk of change to accomplish that, but I feel much better getting a lot of that debt off my financial books (also hastily hand-bound and poorly illustrated).

Well, I can’t think of much else to say today, but have a night evening. Maybe I’ll be more creative the next time I write… which could be tomorrow, or possibly 2005, keep looking and find out.

Hasta!
--cml

Palm This!

So, my boss gave me her old Palm Pilot as she recently upgraded to a newer, better, faster version. Apparently, it can fly, do her laundry, her taxes and her nails, all while keeping track of her many meetings.

The version she gave me, sits in my office, causing me aggravation and collection dust. At least I think it’s collecting dust, as I boxed the little fucker up and threw him way up on top of my filing cabinet, where it is out of sight and it can rot until for all I care.

Oh, how did such a happy-go-lucky boy like me get so pissed off at an inanimate object, you ask? Well, last week, Carla, my boss, gave me her old Palm Pilot. She handed me the box, the cradle, the Palm Pilot, the instructions and installation disk—everything I needed to get started right away! Oh boy!

It was all so simple.

I followed the instructions, installed everything and hit HotSync, which is supposed to link everything together: my Outlook calendar, address book, tasks, etc. Instead, it started to download all of Carla’s information from the handheld onto my computer! I yanked the SOB out of the cradle and rechecked all the settings. I made sure that the information on my computer would override the information on the Pilot. I didn’t set it up to exchange or synchronize the information. No, I wanted my computer to override the handheld.

I tried again.

Again, the bastard started to download Carla’s information!

Carla suggested I uninstall and reinstall and make sure the system knows to delete her old information.

So, I uninstalled… the folks at Palm were too kind not to attach a uninstall function on their program like everyone else, so I had to search around for a while until I remembered that Microsoft had a link to uninstall any of my programs. God Bless the boys at Microsoft. (Who’d ever thought I’d say that?)

I tried again. This time, when installing, I was not asked to enter my name. Odd, I thought, but who knows? We’ve been hanging out for the past few days, so maybe it understands me? Maybe this time, it will work.

It didn’t work. Again, Carla’s system attempted to invade mine.

Once again, I deleted and once again I reinstalled. This time, I carefully checked each install page and set up everything as carefully as possible. When I went to HotSync, it seemed to know that I was going to shut if off, so it pulled a fast one and dumped Carla’s vast and neverending datebook onto my computer (even though I had set the parameters to never allow the handheld to override the computer. Never).

Since the little bastard wouldn’t listen to me, I said a quick and happy “Fuck you, you fucking piece of fucking shit,” uninstalled again, and promptly threw the “fucking piece of fucking shit” back in its fucking box and under my fucking desk.

When I relayed the story to a co-worker (sans the many “fucks”), she suggested that I do a “hard clean” of memory on the handheld. If hard clean meant dipping the thing in a vat of boiling ammonia, followed by a vat of acid, well, I was all for it. Apparently, I only had to push here and prod there and life was good again. So, after prodding and pushing and pulling and a slight tug here and there, it cleared.

I reinstalled again.

This time, Su—a coworker and a successful user of Palm and its many fine Palm products—stood by me while I installed. She read each page carefully. Oh, dear Lord, was she careful… and slow. As much as I wanted her to hurry her ass up and read, I realized she may be on to something: reading and following directions apparently works for many.

We completed everything and life was good. “Hurray!” I exclaimed, “You did it Su!” Su patted me on the head and said, “No, we did it.” And she was right and everything worked out wonderfully…

…if by wonderfully one means: to totally not fucking work worth a fucking good god-damn!

When we went to HotSync, the system said that because there were “multiple users” on the system, it could not download information from Outlook. Where are the multiple users? Only my name was on the registration. Only my name was on my computer. And only my name was on the handheld.

Well, to make this already too long story not go on too much longer, we couldn’t find the answer, and man, did we try. When we would try and sync, we would get a message telling us to go online and look up “Syncing Multiple Handhelds to Same Profile.” So we searched and searched and searched their website. You know, there is no listing for “Syncing Multiple Handhelds to Same Profile.” And what little information there was on synching (or “syncing” as they spelled it) was not helpful at all. I mean, not one bit.

Amazing.

So, we spent about two hours going through the program, trying to sync the damn thing up—or at least figure out why it thought there were multiple users. Carla was no longer listed anywhere, why did it think there was someone else?

We thought it may be confusing my Outlook profile [clion] with my full name, which I’d entered into Palm at registration. So, we adjusted it and tried again.

No sync.

Uninstalled and repeated the process…

…and did it again…

…and did it yet again…

Each time, we tried something different, hoping we’d find the key.

We read the instructions all the way through and still no luck. The little bastard just wouldn’t give. Finally, I’d had enough and once again, uninstalled.

Then Andrew came in my office.

He had Carla’s USB cable that she’d originally ordered for her handheld (now mine) and did I want it? I practically grabbed it out of his hands. It was the connection! That was it! Oh, how silly I felt…

I reinstalled and then tried to attach the USB cable.

What the fuck?

There was a disk that came along with it, but it didn’t open the installation. When I tried searching the disk, I could never find anything that would start the installation process.

So, I followed the directions, which are very detailed, very precise and yet, incredibly vague. How do the folks at Palm stay in business? Why do people use their products? Is it a world full of masochists?

The directions said to make sure that Palm software was installed, but when I tried that, it didn’t work. So I tried again… after uninstalling again.

I think we all know what happened, don’t we? You know it ended up in a box on top of a cabinet in the deepest, darkest crevices of my office, so why go on? Yet, I must.

Suffice to say, I don’t see how the little bastard could help me accomplish anything. It wasted an entire day of my life. I had things I could have been avoiding at work today, things that I won’t be able to enjoy avoiding tomorrow.

As I was getting ready to leave, Su walked up to one of our IT people and asked if they had any experience installing Palm Pilots? After working all day and pulling what’s left of my hair out of my head, I certainly didn’t want to find out that it only takes minutes to complete. I was ready to kill her.

“Yeah,” smiled Neil, “It might take a few minutes, but I can get it all sorted out in a few minutes.” Now I was ready to kill him.

Right now, I’m enjoying my hatred of Palm too much to allow anyone to quickly and easily install this bitch of a program. So, I’m going to wait a few days, before I request some help.

However, if they don’t run into any problems, then it will clearly be my incompetence that I couldn’t get it to work—and I will probably be even more ticked off (if that's possible). But if they can’t install it, then victory is mine and that “fucking piece of fucking shit” Palm will be torn apart by my palms!

Incidentally, I did send an email to the fine folks at Palm… they say they’ll get back to me in 24 hours. God help the poor bastard that has to help me, as they may end up on the back of a very tall cabinet, collecting dust…

Sweet Home Alabama

I hate seeing movies alone. It’s so depressing. But I really wanted to see Sweet Home Alabama this weekend, and since I couldn’t find anyone to go (and it was so last minute I only called one person), I was forced to go all by myself.

Comedies are the worst to see alone, especially for me. I laugh far too loud, or I’ll try and cut a loud laugh off and sound like I’m choking. Suddenly, everyone is looking over at the pathetic guy choking in the dark… Or worse, I say something out loud, some silly comment and then I’m the guy talking to himself in the theatre. I used to mock those people—and now I’m one of them.

My only way to combat a situation like that is to try and sit near some people and look like somehow I “belong” to them. Usually, I try and listen in to their conversation and laugh when they make a joke. When they look over, I smile, say I couldn’t help hearing and make a favorable comment. In my sad, pathetic little mind, I’m now going to the movies with them. I don’t feel quite so alone.

However, that doesn’t prevent me from making those choking noises…

Back to Sweet Home Alabama, it’s exactly what you expect it to be: cute, funny and no surprises. Sure, there were those people in the audience that audibly gasped at moments (and those of us who laughed at them), but nothing we didn’t already pick up from the trailer.

I tend to hate “cute” and “sweet” movies because they try so hard to be cute and sweet that they end up being pandering and obnoxious. The credit for the success of this film goes directly to Reese Witherspoon. Reese, as always, is adorable and plays the part of Melanie Carmichael, the embarrassed former Southerner well.

Melanie is caught between her soon-to-be ex-husband Jake (played by Josh Lucas, who could not be any cuter) and Andrew (played by Patrick Dempsey, who is so JFK, Jr. it’s almost distracting).

My adopted friends for the feature sat directly behind me: two very chatty queens and their fag hag. I couldn’t say anything out loud, without looking like a complete idiot—so they were my voice in the dark. Unfortunately, I never got the opportunity to make a connection, so they were “my friends” only in my twisted mind. However, they made all the right comments at just the right moment—or should I say, just as I was thinking them.

When Jake took off his shirt, revealing his very nice chest (oooh… fuzzy!) one of the guys said, “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”) Whenever there was a close-up of Jake, and his eyes sparkled in the lights, they would sigh and talk about how damn cute he was… because he was so damn cute!

But when it came to the town gay-boy Bobby Ray, played by the very sweet Ethan Embry, they were very vocal about wanting to “put him on a plate and sop him up with a biscuit.” Okay, they didn’t actually say that, but I was thinking it when they were salivating over him, so close enough.

When Bobby Ray, Andrew and Jake were all standing on the front porch, I was letting my mind drink in the nasty possibilities of the scene, when one of the guys started making porn music sounds and the other queen said, “That’s a scene I think this movie really needs!”

Not only does this movie work well as a comedy, but the porn possibilities are endless. I have a feeling we are going to see several porn movies based on the very same concept. Frankly, they couldn’t come soon enough for me.

I’m sure they will make a sequel of this film, and I hope to see it with my new movie buddies… whoever they are.

YO!semite

This weekend a group of us went up to Yosemite for the weekend. I drove up with Scott and was pretty happy we were leaving so early, as I had never arrived in Yosemite until after dark.

Not that arriving at night is a bad thing, it’s actually quite nice. The place is dark and quiet. After setting up our tents, we would walk over to the bridge, and with an unobstructed view, we would sit down and gaze at the billions and billions of stars in the night sky. Among all the amazing things at Yosemite, the amount of stars in the sky just floors me (good thing I’m sitting down when I’m looking at them.

And in the morning, I would wake up to the most spectacular scenery: The trees that are so tall they go on forever and just beyond them sits Half Dome. Pictures do not do it justice. It is beyond awesome to gaze up at it. Half Dome is almost hypnotic in it’s grace and beauty. It’s truly inspiring.

…sigh…

Oops, back to my tale…

So, Scott and I left at 2:00, expecting to arrive around 7:30. Maybe that would be cutting it a bit close, but at least it wouldn’t be dark. We had directions, and since it’s not a holiday weekend, we knew traffic would be light.

The directions to Yosemite from San Jose are pretty clear: Take 280 South, which turns in to 680 North, up to 580 East , which turns into 205, and then east on 120 and you’re there! So simple, anyone can do it, right?

We did it all without a hitch. I chattered away, Scott slept—or pretended to sleep to shut me up—and we made really good time. Along 120 there are two big signs for Yosemite. The first says that Yosemite is 66 miles away. The second, some 21 miles later, notes that Yosemite is 45 miles away. I saw the 45 miles and stepped on the gas…

About an hour later, we didn’t seem to be any closer to Yosemite. I no longer saw any signs for Yosemite… in fact, I saw few signs at all. But Scott and I trudged on, noting “familiar” bits of landscape as we drove, not thinking that we’d never seen this area in daylight and how off we might be. No, Scott and I found something familiar with just about anything. “That rock looks familiar…” “Yeah, that mountain looks familiar… in the dark, it blocks everything, just like now…”

As we started up a hill that was a 26% grade, I began to get suspicious that we were not on the right path. Scott had been saying this for about 20 minutes, but I had been “sure” that we were going the right way.

We passed a group of campers and I thought that maybe we should pull over and ask. Scott practically grabbed the wheel from me and said, “keep driving. One of them has got a shotgun and the albino kid is playing a banjo…”

So we slowly chugged up the hill…

“Give me a sign, God. Something that says we’re on the right path,” I prayed very quietly to myself… and then I saw it. On the side of the road, the first white reflector to have any kind of notation clearly read: HWY 108.”

What the fuck? Where the hell did 108 come from?

We turned around and my car no longer heaved at climbing such a hill, instead, my brakes began to smoke as we made our descent down the hill, past the cast of Deliverance and to a little tiny restaurant in some town called Dardanelle. Dardanelle consists of a 1 pump gas station, a general store, a bar and a restaurant… all in the same small building.

The kind folks let us fill up on gas, (at the right reasonable price of two dollars and 30 fucking cents a gallon!) and informed us that we were about 150 miles away from Yosemite.

I had missed the turnoff, some 96 miles previous.

So we trudged our way back. Again we drove past Wawona, right past Cow Creek, through Strawberry Creek, and sure as fuck past Sugar Pine. Yep, we went past all those “familiar” areas that we had never seen before in our sad, sorry lives.

As we drove back, we passed a small sign for route 49 that would take us to Yosemite. I decided to avoid it, as I was unsure if it would take us some “back way” that would be unfamiliar to me. Versus the last hour and forty minutes that had been a regular trip to memory lane…

Again, I missed the 120 turnoff! So, about 2 miles later, there was a small turnout and I practically did a U-turn in the middle of the highway. “Fuckit” became my mantra. We then passed the “Yosemite, 45 miles sign” and then about 100 feet further, there was a teeny-tiny little sign that noted that 120 turned at the small turnout ahead.

So as to not confuse anyone, the wonderful people at the park service, put a small brown and mostly unnoticeable sign for Yosemite. You would think a park of such note would have a much bigger sign…

The second we turned on the road everything became familiar in that “Oh Christ, how could we have not realized how wrong we were before? This IS the way!” From then on, we knew we were on the correct road. Especially, after we past the intersection where route 49 merged with 120. If I had taken it, I probably would have saved myself another half hour…

We arrived on the valley floor some 45 minutes later… at 10:15pm. So much for driving into Yosemite during the day. However, Scott and I did get to see El Capitan under a full moon, which is quite stunning: the granite glowing with these deep, black crevices. Scott thought it looked teutonic, which I totally agreed with (after he explained what the word meant).

We made one or two wrong turns getting to camp, but we made it at 10:30pm… eight and a half hours after we left. But to be able to wake up on Saturday, open the tent and look up at Half Dome was worth it.

And that full moon I mentioned? It was so bright that we didn’t need flashlights to walk around at night. It was so bright, we kept thinking a light was on in our tent. It was so bright that we couldn’t see any stars!

A Good Ride

The traffic Gods were kind to me this morning: not much heavy traffic, some cute boys on the road, and an interesting diversion or two.

I had a lovely drive to work today. The interchange for 880 and 280 was remarkably clear. Hardly a slowdown at all. Usually it takes me about 10 – 15 minutes to muddle through… today, it was less than 2 minutes.

Then, as I was zooming along, I came upon a GMC something or other. It’s a 1970’s-era SUV that looks a lot like the old Ford Broncos. Very cool. Very butch. The dude in it was so adorable. He was this little guy in this huge vehicle, blondish, sweet looking, baseball cap, 30’s-ish. Too cute. Really enjoyed it.

Another guy zoomed up behind me in his truck. Another hottie, but dark-haired; deep, dark eyes; sultry looking. He had that “I’ve been emotionally hurt in the past, don’t come near me, however, I need a hug” look that I adore. I’m sure he’s straight, but I can dream, no? It was hard to keep my eyes on the road ahead.

As I approached Page Mill Road, traffic came almost to a complete stop. I thought it might be another water main break on Page Mill, but it turned out that a woman had spun out and her car was on the shoulder, facing the wrong direction. She had this look on her face that said, “Yes, I know I’m facing the wrong direction. No, I don’t know how it happened. Please leave me alone.”

Boy, her face certainly said a lot, didn’t it?

Traffic cleared up right after the spin out.

I have been continually tailgated by drivers on Stanford Avenue. For some reason these drivers have yet to catch the clue that the police are really watching that small bit of road. The speed limit is 25 and I go absolutely no faster than 25, even though I think I could walk faster. However, seeing two cars pulled over this morning on a road that is less than ½ mile long, was all the proof I need not to speed on that road. There are too many curves and too many places for cops to hide.

My last happy sighting was as I was driving into the parking lot. A very cute guy had backed his car into his parking space and was just sitting there, staring out as I drove by. I got a nice full on look at him. Great eyes. I think I’ve seen him around. Very handsome, guy. Probably in his mid-20’s… such a child. I feel so old… Yet, looking at him made me feel like a 25 year-old, or was it that I wanted to feel up a 25 year-old?

Kudos to the traffic gods…

Java Jive Adventure…

I've removed this one... too many people can figure out who the respective parties are and I just don't want to go there.

If you MUST find out what was said here, send me an email: cmlion@hotmail.com

Good Friends; Bad Movie

My friend Scotty and I have a constant battle over which films to see. Our tastes vary widely, sometimes crossing over into one another, but for the most part we disagree entirely. He likes the more popular films, while I enjoy playing the elitist movie snob. Give me a good, long subtitled French film any day. This would, of course, drive Scott right over the wall. Not to say that he doesn’t enjoy art films, it’s just getting him there that requires work. He’ll go to the worst, schlockiest films ever and walk out surprised that it was mind-numbingly awful (example: Any film starring Vin Diesel). Yet, he will go kicking and screaming into an “art film” and walk out loving it.

So it was with great pain that I went to see Blue Crush last night… Good Lord, they could not have put in any more clichés if they tried. I would warn you about spoilers, but you have already seen this movie half a dozen times (and much better, I might add), that it is all but impossible for me to ruin this for you.

The story centers around Ann Marie—unfortunately, not Ann Marie of THAT Girl fame, that would have been too cool—no, this Ann Marie is a surfer chick who’s “the best anyone’s ever seen.” She’s so good that:
* no one, outside of her two friends and little sister have heard of her.
* the filmmakers have to constantly tell us that she’s so great, because she hardly surfs (she just relives the “horrible accident” again and again, to the point you want to yell out, “Just drown already!”)
* people have to constantly tell her how to ride the waves. Near the end, a champion surfer actually tells her that she is going to help her catch a wave, like she’s never done it before. Shouldn’t someone competing in the “Pipeline Championship” have some clue as to surf?

Poor Ann Marie, she had an accident four months earlier (no scaring, outside of her psyche), and it renders her too chicken to take on the waves. However, every morning she gets up, checks the surf report, wakes up her friends so they can all go surfing. But every time she goes to take “big pipe,” she chickens out. No one seems to understand her… poor Ann Marie.

Soon she meets NFL professional quarterback… Donald Hollinger! No, no, no. His name is even less imaginative: Matt Tollman. She tries to resist him, but he’s such a friggin’ hottie, she can’t. This is the only part of the film I found real: he’s too damn cute to resist. So they sleep together—apparently, constantly. However, we never get to see any on screen action. If I were the screenwriter, here’s what I would have to say about that: I slapped 9 bigg’ns down to not see any bangin’? If the dude had shown a little more of his swolls, wantin’ a little backside action, that would be a fancy feast!

The ‘writer’ really should have to go back to remedial English in 7th grade… If I am going to have to listen to this drivel, show me some hot, hairy ass!

Her flirting with the QB, pulls our heroine from her training. Her (total lesbian) friend Eden, played convincingly well by Michelle Rodriguez is very upset that Anne Marie isn’t training. Eden gives the constant talks on “getting out there and doing what others can’t,” along with Anne “being the best,” and “showing everyone the champion you are.”) I’m not sure where on the cliché list those land, but I believe they are all within the top 15. The sad thing about Michelle Rodriguez playing Eden is that we are constantly reminded that whoever cast this film completely missed the mark: Rodriguez should be in the role of Ann Marie, as Kate Bosworth is in way over her head playing Ann Marie.

The night before the big surf contest, Ann Marie goes out to a Luau with Donald’s football team and their skanky wives. All are hos but think they are “all that.”

Naturally, Ann Marie goes into the restroom alone so she can overhear the other women talking about her (cliché #26). She comes out of the stall and makes some stupid remark, gives a woman her shoes—her shoes!—and leaves. The best part of the scene was when another skank walks out of a stall and says, “Ohmygod! Like, was that her?” I bet the people at Pulitzer are wondering if they can give out an award for movies.

Ann Marie does what any rational person would do in a moment like this, she walks fully clothed into a lagoon! Donald/Matt follows her in—fully dressed. What is the director saying here? Maybe he was hoping the actors would drown and he could get out of making this film? Actually, this is so we can have a discussion where the water spontaneously grows lights under the actors, so we can see them in the dark, murky water? Hey, is that a hungry, vicious shark? No, just a fantasy... a wonderful fantasy…

Because she doesn’t have a brain in her peroxide bleached head, Ann Marie asks Donald (Matt?) what to do. If he had said, dye your hair black, perm it into a flip, tease it sky-high and move to New York, I would have been happy. Instead, he took the cliché road out and asked her what she wanted (read: how do you see the picture ending). She said, “I want my mom to come home, I want my sister to go to school, I want to be on the cover of Surf magazine… even if I don’t win, I want any girl on Surf magazine.” Again, she asks him what to do and he says “Don’t let a man tell you what to do.” Which means: in a few scenes, I’ll tell you my tale and you’ll go out there and surf the best you’ve ever done in your life achieving all the aforementioned goals, plus me. That Donald says a lot in just a few words, no?

Finally, we get to the big contest. All the great female surfers are there. We know this because Ann Marie’s kooky side-kick Lena introduces them: “Hey is that [insert famed female surfing legend here]?” (If Eden has to ride Anne Marie’s ass to get her to train, then Lena is the one to encourage her to par-tay! Oh, that kooky Lena…)

Best of all is the announcer for the contest. Every sporting contest I have ever been to in my life is filled with the announcer giving out dry facts to the crowds. If there is an injury they’ll give a warning and maybe some encouragement, other than that, they are pretty quiet. Well not at this championship. No way, this announcer gives more of a commentary/play-by-play, speculating on what the surfers are thinking—even understanding what they are saying way out on the water. And the girls in the water can clearly hear what the announcer says—even under water! This is not good for Ann Marie, because the announcer constantly speculates why she is fucking up so badly. “Is it because of the terrible, terrible accident four months back? Could that be why she is so far behind and hasn’t a chance in hell of winning this, achieving anything in life, or getting laid by Donald ever again?”

To build drama, Ann Marie chokes about half a dozen times readying for her big ride. Naturally, she has a wipeout so she can come back to shore and get the necessary last minute pep-talks needed to go out. Donald comes by to tell her of the time that he got hit hard on the field and how he went back out there and did it. Gee, that was swell.

So, Ann Marie goes out one last time, and with the help of a world class surfer, is told to “paddle, paddle, paddle” to catch the “perfect wave.” Ann Marie gets perfect 10’s across the board! Although, the announcer says that this is not enough to win the meet, she is a champion none-the-less. Thank God for him, because I couldn’t have figured any of this out for myself.

Hurray! Ann Marie comes back on to the beach a champion! Everyone gathers round. Never mind the competition is still going on, the beach is crowded with people trying to get to Ann Marie—the loser, who botched it more times than anyone can count, but pulled it off at the end. Even the sponsor chick who is going to give her all she wants is there to greet her. Too bad mom didn’t show up—that would have pulled my lunch right up and onto the 15 year-old girl in front of me that was cheering when Ann Marie finally fucking did it. And then, just before the credits roll, comes the cover of Surfing Magazine with Ann Marie on the cover! She did it! Oh, the joy, the absolute joy.

Interestingly enough, Ann earlier stated that she wanted a girl on SURF magazine, what she ended on the cover of was SURFING magazine. Maybe they’re saving Surf for the inevitable sequel…

As punishment for making me watch this, Scotty now has to watch two horrible movies of my choosing. I am at this moment looking for some really bad subtitled French films…

Friday, Glorious, Friday!

I am SO happy it’s Friday. It’s been one of those weeks (I seriously do not want to relive the crap of this last week of pure hell), and I am unbelievably happy and grateful that the end of the week is upon us. It’s especially amazing to me that until a few years ago, I hated Fridays.

Long ago, in a lifetime far, far away…
…I used to work for these bastards that owned a chain of mediocre “Luxury Theatres.” I say mediocre, because they were once pretty cool, but due to the ineptitude of the management of the company, had slipped and the word luxury could not be applied to anything in the building. The company was riding on the coattails of their reputation that had been set 20 years before, and that rep was quickly erroding. An interesting side note: later they remodeled the theatres, added a lot of neon, digital projection, new seats, etc., and they seem even more behind the times. People still go, make no mistake about it, but the glory days are truly over.

Anywho… back to me.

Movie theaters do their primary business when ‘real people’ (i.e. those with jobs, or in school) are in their spare time. That would be evenings and weekends—for the school kids, Christmas break, spring break and summer break. So when were we busy at the theatres? Friday night, all day Saturday, Sunday matinee and a little on the weeknights (and the aforementioned school breaks).

While the rest of the country would be anxiously awaiting the weekend’s arrival, I would be dreading it. New movies, more crowds, and a disaster or two waiting to jump out at us. No matter how well planned we would go into the weekend, something would surely come along and F’ it all up. If a film didn’t break—and throw the show times off for the rest of the day—then employees were sick, if everything else was fine, then we ran out of some silly bit of stock like popcorn, coke, cups, along with the occasional napkins or straws. You’ve never seen a woman go ballistic until you tell her there are no straws (unless it’s when the tampon machine breaks—then you get a first hand look at the ravages of the PMS).

If we’d covered everything, that would be the night that all the plumbing (read: toilets) backed up into the snack bar, causing us to run around in our bare feet with our pants rolled up. Although it was disgusting, it wasn’t that bad until someone mentioned that the water level was quickly rising to the level of the plugs located around the snack bar. Great, do I want to die of typhoid or electric shock. Wait… wait… I’m thinking here. In the meantime, people are still clamoring for their popcorn—trust me you don’t want to get in the way of someone who came to the movies and can’t get popcorn.

Regardless of what crap went wrong, it was always at the worst possible moment. Usually, a general manager from the company would be watching when and employee would scratch their nuts; or my favorite: would drop a hot dog on the ground, pick it up, dust it off, and throw it back on the grill.

Those Fridays were a lot like Mondays for everyone else. It was crunch time, get the work done faster and better than before—generally, without any reward (at least monetarily). The satisfaction of a job well-done only goes so far for a 16 year-old (or a 36 year old, for that matter).

By the time Monday rolled around, it was a dream! The events of the weekend were over and the prep for the next weekend would begin—but at such a nice slow pace. I used to love Mondays—unless it was a holiday—then I’d f’ing hate them. I’d wander in on Mondays, get the place ready to open, read the paper, start some movies, make a call or two. If I was lucky, I’d see about 12 customers the whole shift. A day without seeing a customer was a sunny day indeed. Mondays, were just glorious…

Now I’ve done a 180 degree turn on this. I hate Mondays (unless they are a holiday) and love, love, love Fridays!

I have nothing of note planned for the weekend (okay, sure there’s the obligatory masturbation several times on Saturday—it’s been a busy week and I must catch up!). I do have a thing tonight I’m going to, but nothing for the rest of the weekend. I thought about the Lonestar, but why bother? No, that’s not self-pity, it’s my natural lethargic state. I’m excited about the weekend; it’s more about the prospect and potential of doing something amazing and fun, but not about actually going and doing something.

So, three cheers for Friday and all the potential for a possibly exciting, potentially fun, probably dull weekend. Hey, a lousy, lazy-assed weekend is still better than a fun-filled workweek.

I am not depressed…

A friend came up to me and asked if I needed someone to talk with. I was a bit taken aback because I have never needed anyone present in order for me to talk. I am a constant running conversation that people just happen to walk into and out of.

Often, in the middle of a conversation, I will make reference to some off the wall subject and the person I’m talking to will give me that ‘look.’ (You know, the one that says they are worried that I’ve lost my ever-slipping grip on reality). How do I explain that while I’ve been talking to them for 20 minutes, they are at the tail end of a conversation that began two hours earlier? You just wandered into a pre-existing conversation, buddy. While I may be talking to you about an employee situation, the conversation began earlier when I wondered what I would look like bald… all over; then if I could have any super power, what would it be; to why I continue to hate Lani O’Grady (and, in fact, the entire cast of Eight is Enough, especially the dad); and slipping into what would the world look like if the sky was green and trees were blue; leading to how cool shag carpeting used to be; and finally, why cheese is such a silly word.

So when you are complaining about what a fricken nut-job an employee is and I say “just like Dick… as in Dick Van Patten?” don’t act like I haven’t been discussing this already. You just weren’t there. Trust me, this conversation will be going on long after you've left the room.

Anyhow, back to wanting to talk…

Apparently, Scott (one of the sad few who actually reads this stuff) read my blog and thought I seemed depressed. Looking back, I realized that I may have seemed depressed—but I’m not. I’m just bitter. There’s a huge difference—I’m not exactly sure what that is—but none-the-less there is a difference.

I decided to check into the last few entries and after looking back , I want to extend to you from the bottom of my heart, my sincerest apologies. Christ, what drivel. So sorry. Poor Chris… So depressed. So depressing…

If you’ve read them (and managed to get past all the type-os and grammatical errors) I’m so sorry for you. God Bless You for attempting to get through all that. Jeez, I thought I was only a little bitter—I’m pretty fucking depressing to boot.

I have now made an executive decision that from this point forward I will stop being depressed and start being positive! (Hurray for me!) So let the positive spin begin!

[crickets chirping]

Um… I’m sure I can think of something positive to say. Something. Positive. Something. Pos...

Okay! Got one! That script I was working on? I stopped writing it... because it totally sucked. Okay, not normally a happy thought, however, I’m writing a much better script now! It’s a hair's breath from soft-core porn, but at least it’s something near and dear to my heart. That’s a good thing, right?

Funny thing… I just type the word porn and there’s a smile on my face. Good lord, I am such a perv. (I do not think of that as a complaint or something to be depressed about, it is merely an observation. Please do not judge me as depressed or bitter at being a perv, as it is strictly an observation, not a complaint).

I think need to add a little sunshine to my day (to keep me on the happy trail of joy), so I think I will go home and watch some porn… that will perk me right up (no pun intended).

See? I’m a happy l’il camper! Positively the happiest little pervert around, as I’m going to go home and watch some porn… all alone… talking to myself the whole time…

Ah, Crap… now that’s depressing.

Do You Believe In Ghosts?

Santana Row, the former Town & Country Village Shopping Center burned yesterday. My God, what a sight! Flames shooting hundreds of feet in the air, apartment complexes miles away catching fire, traffic for miles diverted and backed up—in short, a real disaster. Sadly, the $500 million complex was exactly a month away from it’s grand opening. Who knows what will happen now.

While only 20% of the 40 acre complex burned, Building #7 was the largest building in the complex. It is also the main building along Winchester Blvd., which is across from the Century Theatres, so if you want a showpiece, this is the spot you DON’T want it to burn, because EVERYONE is going to see a burnt out hulk of a building rather than your crowning jewel.

Thankfully, Crate & Barrel (mind you, the BRAND NEW, JUST OPENED A MONTH AGO Crate & Barrel) did not suffer any damage. That C&B is one awesome building… plus, it’s a great store.

Oh, yeah, and no one was hurt…

Talk about a warped and twisted sense of priorities, I’m more concerned that a store is okay, versus the safety of the workers? Ugh. Actually, I think it’s because I knew the workers were okay, I could worry about trivial things, and come up with my conspiracy theories.

In my world, there are no accidents, it all happens according to some plan. Be it “The Man,” Tom Wopat, or Martha Stewart, I know nothing just “happens.” Someone has plotted or done something. This fire couldn’t be an accident, it happened at the shift change, when fewer workers were on, construction was almost complete, the sprinkler systems were about to be finished… hmmm… there’s something sinister going on here.

Conspiracy Theory #1: Santana Row Owners Did It.
Building #7 was to house the $15,000 per month condos for businessmen. When Federal Realty (the owners of SR) started construction of “the Row,” we were at the top of the internet & real estate bubble. Since that has popped (actually, more like ‘came crashing down with great thunder’), will they be able to rent to a high-end market? What company is throwing around that kind of money in these hard times? What person in this area is throwing around that kind of money?

The building burned at the shift change, when fewer workers were inside, thus, allowing the fire to start unobserved. Plus, any liability incurred with the loss of life is severely limited by most of the employees being out of the building.

Where this falls apart is that we have known the economy has been dropping for a while. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to have made some adjustments to the floor plans? Or convert them into smaller apartments than to burn it all down? Besides, Fidelity Realty is an INSURANCE company! Who do you think is their insurance company, Farmers?

Conspiracy Theory #2: Worker Wanting Job To Continue/Disgruntled Employee
With only a month left to go and not much new construction on the horizon, I’m sure a lot of these construction workers are a little concerned. Where are they going to find their next job? With all these workers looking for a job, will anything this big be coming up—if not, where will they all find work?

Why not at Santana Row?

By burning down the main building, Fidelity Realty will need to get their centerpiece up and running again ASAP, and they will need construction workers. Why look, here are some right now… just waiting to work… with no other immediate plans.

Once again, it was on the shift change, so no one could see what was going on, plus, the arsonist’s fellow construction workers would be safe from the fire. It’s perfect… but not quite.

The problem is, construction isn’t stopping at this point. There are several other phases of construction that are starting up as soon as the main buildings are done. The Ciné Arts complex needs to be built and several other condos and housing units are scheduled to start as well. There is still time to burn something else down after the current project is done.

Now, there is the possibility of a disgruntled worker. Never underestimate the power of the disgruntled worker to really F’ things up. But why not destroy more? Did they hope it would ignite the entire complex? Why not start a separate fire two buildings over and get the whole place going? It seems too random to be disgruntled.

Nope, this seems a little more emotional…

SOLUTION: Conspiracy Theory #3: Sarah Winchester
For anyone who has worked or lived around the Winchester Mystery House knows, Sarah has always made her presence known. When she doesn’t like something, she has a way of making that distinctly clear.

I worked at the Century Theatres, next to the Winchester House and across from Santana Row (then called Town & Country) for years. Sarah had a way of coming in at the worst possible time and really f’ing things up. Bulbs would blow in projectors, films would snap at start, odd things would go missing when you saw them moments before you needed them. All attributed to Sarah.

To keep Sarah out of the projection booth, we used to have to keep the light on in the projection booth when we closed at night, or else the next day, She would wreak havoc. New managers never believed this theory… until the day they opened the theatre and the light was off—and things suddenly went terribly, terribly wrong. The first (and last) time it happened to me, I walked in the booth and it was completely dark. I laughed and thought “I’ll prove that theory wrong.”

First, the first film I started broke at start (I’d checked it three times). I started again and it snapped just after the previews ended. Then, about an hour and a half later, the bulb in C-house blew. As I was changing it (an arduous task) the bulb in B-house blew. Once those two bulbs were changed, I went to start A-house again… the bulb blew. As I was changing the bulb in A-house, I said, “Damnit, Sarah, I believe you. Go away!” Problems stopped.

I was not the only one to have incidents such as this. On the later occasions I walked into the booth and the light was off, I spoke to Sarah, begging her to go somewhere else. I opened the door to the outside and shoo-ed her away. No problems. Later that morning, I told the new assistant about Sarah being around and to shoo her away. He laughed… and two films broke on him, until he shoo-ed her away, too.

In 1906, Sarah’s house was a massive seven stories tall. She felt that the ghosts did not like such a high house and that she should build out, not up—so they sent the San Francisco earthquake to bring it down. Down it came.

Now suddenly, new construction, across the street from her house is growing taller by the day. Did Sarah decide that she didn’t like such a tall place? Well, there are taller buildings just to the east of her house with no complaints. However, Building #7 appears to be on a rather touchy spot.

Years ago, there was a restaurant in the old T&C called The Brave Bull. It was a beef joint that was a little iffy, to say the least. I knew several people who worked there as waiters and bartenders and they always made comments that Sarah didn’t seem to like the place much (seriously, who did?). They reported odd things that would go wrong and how late at night they “heard strange things.” Eventually, The Brave Bull, located on the same spot as Building #7 burned down.

Also on the same spot as Building #7 was Eli Thomas Menswear. I knew a guy who worked there and he said that weird things used to happen all the time. During my stint at the Town & Country Theatre, things occasionally happened, but not with a great deal of regularity. The stores that stood where Building #7 stood, there was a significantly higher frequency of strange happenings. I suspect that Sarah wants nothing on that particular spot and I think she has made her point abundantly clear.

To Fidelity Realty/Santana Row, I issue this caution: Do not underestimate Sarah Winchester’s ability to F’ around. Make peace with her, even if it’s to tell her to go bug someone else. What about the senior center next door? I’m sure they have a lot in common (death, one being there, the others so close. Maybe they could compare ailments?) Typical of old people, Sarah won’t leave until you force her to go.

For those of you who still think that Sarah didn’t do this, remember that employees of the Century Theatres did not always believe in Sarah’s abilities, we had to be taught a hard lesson. In November of 1981, the Century 22, the flagship of Century Theatres, directly across the street from Building #7, and next door to Sarah’s residence, burned down.

“I do believe… I do believe… I do believe…”
--The Cowardly Lion, The Wizard of OZ (1939)

Lazy Days of Summer…

I haven’t written in a while. I could say I’ve been incredibly busy: traveling, working, out with friends, on dates, getting laid… but I’d be lying. The reason is pure and simple: I’m lazy.

Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing… sometimes I want to surf the internet… sometimes, I am actually working. As for dating… let’s leave that carcass alone. There is nothing there to speak of, so I’d rather not depress myself any more than I already am.

…sigh…

Don’t feel like a failure… be one!
I have not gone to the bars in ages. I’m not sure why—sudden burst of insecurity is all I can think of. I have posted to half a dozen websites in their personals sections… no response. Not one fucking response. How depressing is that?

I thought I was witty in my personal ad… maybe I was just annoying. Should I write something like “Hey, wanna get fucked?” Maybe that would be the kicker that would get a response. Good Lord… what if they sent a response that said, “Absolutely not!” I guess not getting responses is akin to that, eh?

I have no desire to go back to the bars, as I was not exactly a hit to start. Okay, I did have a nice first evening, but that was in comparison to the vast emptiness of anything previous. I chatted with Keith, I drooled over poor JD (the poor bastard had no idea that he’d hit on such a freak—maybe he did: I never heard from him again).

After that first night, my evenings at the Lonestar were strictly observations, with almost no contact with anyone outside of a bartender (who is REQUIRED to speak. Even then, they aren’t too chatty—so much for the tip-really-big-and-they’ll-like-you-and-introduce-you-to-some-hottie theory).

Okay, we’re moving on from Poor-Pathetic-Not-Getting’-Any section of our blog.

Elvis HAS Left the Building (and so has Groucho)
Apparently, after years of reports that he is alive and directing traffic in some small town somewhere, Elvis is, in fact, dead. Yes, he’s been dead for 25 years. So what? The bigger story (in MY book) is that Groucho Marx has also been dead 25 years. 25 years TODAY!

Will there be any big ta-doo over this? No. Just like his death, Groucho Marx will be completely run over by a drug riddled and bloated, has-been of a rockstar. Pity poor Groucho, who had the bad timing to die the same week as Elvis. Say what you will about Groucho, he and his brothers defined comedy in the 30’s and 40’s. His impact on comedy continues into today. The man loved and used irony with abandon. He poked fun at the establishment and made comedy more than pratfalls.

What else can I rant about?
I’m in a rather bad mood with all this ranting, so I’ll stop. It’s just so easy to complain.

I should get back to work… but it’s so much easier to procrastinate. With my penchant for laziness, I have a feeling that procrastination is going to win the day.

Finally, I’ve won something: Laziness! It's the best of both words!