Monday, July 31, 2006

how many schizophrenics have you identified today, society?

I caught The Boston Strangler on Fox Movie Channel over the weekend. Tony Curtis stars as a cross-dresser on the run from the mob. Nope, that's not it. Tony Curtis stars as the Boston Strangler - no cross-dressing is involved.

[Spoilers abounding.] The catch is that the strangler has multiple personality disorder. (Which, admittedly, is not synonymous with schizophrenia.) Some of the time he's a well-mannered furnace repairman, other times, he's the brutal Boston strangler, killer of 13 women. His fits of strangling are usually triggered by some obviously-filmed, discrete event. Perhaps a bra ad (no joke) will flip the strangling switch or maybe someone stealing his parking spot. There's little to indicate what will next trigger his episodes of instability. Throughout the movie, it just kind of happens.

Whatever, standard fare for the most part. He then attempts to break into an apartment with an un-single woman. The husband chases him and the strangler ends up being hit by a car and taken into custody. At some point, he left strangling mode and entered furnace-repairmen mode.

Curtis is sent to a psychiatric hospital because the judge thinks he's incompetent to stand trial. Henry Fonda (lead investigator) interrogates Curtis, trying to get furnance-repairman personality to remember strangling-chicks personality. Eventually Fonda makes this happen despite the docotor's warnings that getting the one personality to recognize the other personality will cause Curtis's head (I paraphrase here) to explode.

Fine. Head explosion, final shot of Curtis in a milk man outfit, standing in a padded white room completely absent mentally. The end . . . until, a departing message, "This film has ended, but the responsibility of society for the early recognition and treatment of the violent among us has yet to begin."

Such a strange ending, really. The whole movie portrays him as a mostly normal guy (besides all the strangling), unable to control impulses that he doesn't even know exist. How exactly is society supposed to identify him? Twice-yearly psychological evaluations? I got the feeling they decided at the very end, "Hey for kicks, at the end of this thing we should blame it all on society." Surely a powerful (though completely out-of-place) message. Or maybe they were just emphasizing the fact that the movie was over.

(As it turns out this movie, while purporting to be based on actual events, bears little semblance to, you know, actual events. They both agree there was a Boston Strangler. After that, they diverge considerably.)

Friday, July 28, 2006

the long march

My beloved, my parking lot, has betrayed me. Long were the days (and walks) when I paid but a single dollar to park on her beautiful asphalt. Imagine my shock and dismay when I recently pulled in to see her elegant, svelte $1s turned into gaudy, hideous $2s. That's right. Dollar lot is now two-dollar lot. It doesn't have the same ring to it, does it? Egads. My parking costs have doubled overnight. And this after I had converted a number of people to my dollar lot and the long trek in. We were like a club of intrepid explorers.

But a lot loses a lot of its charm when it doubles in price. There are many 2 dollar lots. So, I've moved. It's not the same. Sometimes I look out at dollar lot and think what might have been . . . if she hadn't gone high society on me.


A new insomnia medication. I saw a commercial yesterday. Among the litany of "possible side effects" was drowsiness.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

a series of email subjects I received at work from theMonica while I was golfing, which she had forgotten about and then remembered

"I can get club seats to Friday's Indians game"
"And Cedar Point tickets"
"Are you in a meeting?"
"You never respond to my emails anymore."
"It's over!"

Ok, it wasn't nearly that bad, but it was funny to read them all at once. It's nice to be loved and needed.

Friday, July 21, 2006

work is to anti-matter as blogging is to matter

And as my grandmother was fond of saying, "It's not a laughing matter, but it doesn't anti-matter if you laugh." Well, that without the anti- part.

Let me drop some knowledge on you (I hate myself for using that phrase, and thus the dropping begins):

  • Friday is omelet bar and omelet buddy is not here yet. I can't go solo to omelet bar. Always bring a buddy. Sometimes you have to wait 15 minutes for your omelet (buddies are handy for chatting) and there's always the risk of cramping. That's why you should have a buddy (perhaps one who climbs a tree) with you at all times - because of the cramping.

  • Two tips for you future hoboes out there: hoboing is just like picking-up chicks - and not even necessarily hot chicks. You don't have to have a "line" per se, but it helps to have your game in order somewhat. For instance, ask the time. Ok, good tactic. "Excuse me sir, what time is it?" "Ten till 6." "Ten ‘oh Five?" (What??) "No, ten till six." "Five oh' six?" By then I was 15 yards away, reverse-bionic-woman-hobo-that's-a-guy, get your shit in order! So, right, it's difficult to keep a conversation going with a hot chick (in this case, me) by continuing to pretend that you can't hear what the time is. Additionally, sitting on the ground, around the corner from some form of visually obstructing structure (building, wall, mailbox, etc.) waiting for your "mark" to be directly across from you and loudly saying, "EXCUSE ME CAN I HAVE SOME CHANGE?" will probably garner you neither change nor chicks. You are a hobo; there is a 65% chance your insane; do not scare the change-givers. Besides, the unexpected yelling caused me to leap in excess of 6 feet from your change cup. I guess I'll catch you next time.

  • I will sometimes throw trash away in the community garbage can, rather than my cube's can, so whoever empties my garbage doesn't think I'm a total fat ass.

  • I have a temporary boss right now, in charge of me for the past couple of months, until the end of this one. TB makes me work, a lot. Overtime. That might seem cool, but I'm not a big fan of the overtime, actually, kind of hate it. If there's one thing this blog is a clear indication of, that's my complete lack of "go-gettiveness" and complete presence of "word-making-upednessty." At any rate, aside from making me work far too much, TB also tries to use fancy words. For instance, TB told me that we couldn't get "lacksa-daisy-uhl" on our project because it is so "high profile." Yah, that was exactly how TB said it. Odd. I know TB wasn't joking because whenever that happens TB will awkwardly laugh right after the joke. Invariably, this catches me off-guard. The comment was so wide of a joke that I had no idea that it was even an attempt. At this point the courtesy laugh would be WAY late and would totally look like a pity laugh. Hmmm, but TB did just say, "lacksa-daisy-uhl." TB would probably take the pity laugh as authentic.

    Another one TB busted on me was "frew-tay-shun" for fruition, which, in spirit, I suppose is correct. "frew-tay-shun" does evoke images of flowering trees and accomplishment, right? At that point, TB had lost me, focus-wise. "frew-tay-shun" . . . huh? For serious? YOU are giving me work? Not that I'm some master wordsmith. I don't use big words. I don't use foreign words. I don't say Champs Élysées. Even though I've heard the Bartleby lady say it like a million times. You've got to know your onions AND your limitations people!

  • TB's persistent whip-crackin' has left me with little time for blogging. Not that I blog at work a whole lot, but if I have a little downtime, I can often formulate a couple of posts here-and-there and maybe finish one off by the end of the day. Lately I've been to busy to make this happen. That's really unacceptable. How do I explain to TB that I have tens of readers that want, nay, NEED to hear from me on a consistent basis? Does TB not understand the signifigance of my absence? How could TB be so obtuse? Month in the hole for TB!

So endeth your lesson for today, Friday, July 21st. Tell all your friends about the things you've learned.

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

musical algebra

This one's for Alan.

Monday, July 17, 2006

musical algebra

Shakira = somewhat-talented singing comedienne * bad Cher impression

Friday, July 14, 2006

terrible twos

My blog is now 2-years-old. Have you noticed my blog is going through it's "no" phase? NO! funny posts. NO! interesting topics. NO! good movies blogged about. It's tough times and potty training hasn't even started yet. I guess I have been somewhat negligent as well. It's tough sometimes, you know?

As theMonica is anxious to point out, I have a habit of reusing my material. I like to think of it as going with what's gold, but she seems to think my shtick gets tiresome. Take for instance last season's last episode of the Office. (If you don't watch: Jim is in love with Pam. Pam is engaged to Roy (names may be off here). The Office is hosting a casino night. During the night, and after an eternity of hesitation, Jim tells Pam that he loves her and later on does the dance of two tongues with her). theMonica LOVES this episode of the Office and we've (me, half-assed style) watched it a few times.

The other day it was on again. Roy leaves the casino night early and asks Jim to "watch" Pam. To which I reply, "I'll be watching her all right . . . with my tongue!" To which theMonica replies, "That the exact same thing you said the last time we watched this!!" Depression follows for yours truly. This is what I'm reduced to? REPEATED unwitty comebacks to television shows? Honestly, would you have even laughed the first time?

At any rate, as my blog embarks on its third year, except more of the same. And sometimes EXACTLY the same.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

simon baker, stealer of souls

Ok, so, theMonica and I went to see The Devil Wears Prada. It was whatever, there were a couple of plot points that were abandoned, unusual sequences, but nothing majorly bad or majorly good. Anywho, the "other man" in the picture is some guy named Simon Baker. As soon as he came an screen, theMonica and I were both kind of like, "Ugh." Why? I'm not sure. Something with the skin around his eyes or his forehead - ?? Maybe he had a botched facelift right before production began. Whatever was going on, it was disconcerting and I think he was reading my thoughts. Having WAY overplayed my hand, I present to you, Simon Baker, stealer of souls.

dialogue . . .

guy1: What? You slept with somebody? We were only broken up for like 2 weeks.
girl1: Not exactly. Some . . . bodies.
guy1: Geez. You really take that "getting back on the horse" thing literally.

I actually wrote this in an email to an ex once. Sadly, she did not reply.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

I got 50 bucks

That says this ends up being the worst movie of all time.

Keep Back - Children.

This morning I got dressed for work and staring back at me was the ice cream man. This disturbed me in no way. It wasn't even a bad surprise. It wasn't, "Oh no. I look like the ice cream man!" It was more, "Hey, I look like the ice cream man. Score. I wonder if anyone else will notice and point it out and try to get rocket pops off me."

On the plus side, I can imagine that subconsciously people will be happy to see me today. For some inexplicable reason, they'll be drawn to my person and they'll want to chat and hum a few bars of "The Entertainer." And they won't know why. In this way, I will surreptitiously spread joy throughout my office. I'm unselfish like that.

On the down side, the same subconscious meanderings will work against. I will be splendid in my ice cream man outfit, BUT am possessing no ice cream on my person. Surely this subtle disappointment will affect all my interpersonal relations today, will it not? Will people feel I am missing something and not know what it is and take it out on me in a passive-aggressive way? Do they do this to their own neighborhood ice cream man? These are serious questions to ponder. Feel free to discus.

Ha ha, tricked you. I meant the track and field event not talking!

Thursday, July 06, 2006

thought . . .

So, if a beer is "ice cold" and it's mostly water, wouldn't that make an "ice cold" beer, well, ice?

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

Netflix: Bewitched (2005)

Will Ferrell never phones it in. At least, I've never seen Will Ferrell phone it in and Bewitched was the perfect opportunity - Weak script, poor jokes, dull story. The perfect time for Will to sit back, relax, and light Cuban cigars with hundred-dollar bills. Will Ferrell will do no such thing! Bewitched is a fine example of bringing it, despite the material (*cough* Vince Vaughn in Dodgeball *cough*)

The plot is that a studio is remaking the original Bewitched and Will Ferrell will play Darren. But, Will's character is a big-time movie star and demands that the whole series center around him with Samantha and all the witchcraft taking a backseat to his antics. The movie itself would have done well to follow this formula stringently - more Will, less Nicole. Will had me LOL'ing a number of times. LOL'ing to the point of CRY'ing.

Sadly, Will was not powerful enough to carry the whole movie, try as he might. But the effort was valiant and made what would have been an unbearable ordeal into a watchable annoyance.


affectations of importance

Hello all. Yes, I have been neglecting the blog. Did you see bruises on its upper-arms? Perhaps a black eye? Did it look rail thin and jaundiced? Does it have the rickets? By all means, report these incongruencies to the blog authorities.

It's really not all that complicated. I have been too busy at work to formulate posts/observe anything funny. At the same time, I've kept up my active social schedule. Last week, RS4 was married. Yes, my little sister tied the knot and seeing her so happy did cause me to tear up. Whenever I admit to something like that, I always think of the Deep Thought, "It takes a big man to cry. It takes an even bigger man to laugh at that man." Just remember that as you chuckle to yourself.

At any rate, I still love you. I will be around more. I promise. It will never happen again. This is totally the honeymoon period; the cycle of abuse rides on.