Can't wait for this movie

Despite the fact that they obviously used the same art director they used for the poster for the 40-Year-Old Virgin, I gotta admit, this is a highly effective teaser poster. Where does the line start?

And now, for the news...

It was a weird news day.

Suspicious devices found all over Boston that sent Homeland security in to full battle mode turned out to be promo materials for the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie. Note to Homeland Security: Hire more people under the age of thirty! Please go back to your lives as normal folks, or else the Mooninites win.


There are parents threatening to boycott any future Harry Potter movies because Daniel Ratcliffe is doing a play in London where he shows off the little Harry Potter. People, it's a goddamned play. Seats are limited. Unless your pre-teen daughter is begging you for a plane ticket to London, settle the fuck down. You can't blame the kid for wanting to avoid typecasting, otherwise I've got two words for you: Mark Hamill.


A woman in Florida gets raped. While being returned to the scene of the crime, the cops find out about an outstanding warrant for her and arrest her. The emergency room doctor gives her the Plan B pills. She takes the first dose, and was supposed to take the second dose within 12 hours for it to work, but a religious nutjob who works at the jail refuses to allow her to take the second dose. Insult upon insult to injury. That tops any "bad day" story anyone has ever had.

Speaking of which, I've been noticing that the same pro-life zealots putting up the "Birth Control is Harmful" billboards around town are now offering couseling for women who've already had abortions. Great...shame-based therapy.

Of course, shame-based therapy may be the order of the day for this guy. Now, I'm all for making your job a little more fun...but if you're a cop, and you bust a teenage couple for rounding third base in the back seat of their car, you don't offer them freedom in exchange for the girl doing topless jumping jacks! I have never understood the appeal of seeing women doing any form of exercise topless. Breasts are supposed to be admired in slow-motion and in soft focus, preferably with some Marvin Gaye playing in the background. Maybe it's because I came of age on a steady diet of arty and airbrushed, but as Seinfeld once put it, "There's good naked and then there's bad naked."

And, back to Homeland Security. If you're going to the Super Bowl on Sunday, and you're undergoing radiation treatments, you better take a note from your doctor. Cancer patients are setting off dirty bomb detectors. Can't you just picture the crew from the Make-A-Wish Foundation having to deal with this shit? Little eight-year-old Timmy spent his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the Super Bowl in a holding cell being interrogated by the FBI. It's kinda hard to claim jihad with a zero t-cell count, guys.

Moving past frustration to uncontrolable laughter

Last week I had a project for one of our more high-maintenance clients. It was a program (she called it a flyer) for a performance they were putting on. On Thursday, I got an email from her telling me it was perfect, so we got it on the press right away.

Friday morning, she emailed me saying she needed a PDF of the flyer for the performance so the theater could do something with. She said she needed the one with the white space at the bottom. The one I just did, however, didn't have this white space she spoke of. I assumed that she meant that she needed a PDF-only version of the layout that would have space for mailing information. I sent her an email to clarify this.

By the time I was getting ready to leave, I had not heard back from her yet. So, I emailed her a PDF of the program we just printed for her with the message "please let me know what changes I need to make to this PDF for the theater people in regards to this 'white space" thing."

I get into the office yesterday to find three messages from her. The first one telling me that she wanted the PDF of the full-color POSTCARD we did for her back in May. That's what she meant! The second message was the same as the first, only worded a little stronger, and this time in all caps with at least five exclamation points at the end of each sentence. The third was a forwarding of her email from Friday morning with the words "CAN'T YOU READ?!?!?!!!!"

Calling me an idiot three times before I get my coffee. Wait, it gets better...

A few minutes later, she requests changes to the program we just printed with blank space on it for mailing info. I inform her that it had already been printed, and she goes absolutely apeshit! "Why did you ask me about changes, then?" Because I thought you only wanted the changes made for a PDF version of the file for the theater people to use, and I've already apologized for that mix-up. "Why did you print it already?" Because you told me on Thursday that it was perfect! "I can't accept these without space for mailing." Then, we'll re-print it.

Even more mind-boggling, she emails me a PDF of the postcard to show me what she need s a PDF of!

I make the changes to the program, email her a proof and mark the already printed pieces to go to the recycling plant. Within an hour, I get an email back saying it looks perfect...again. I fight the temptaion to ask her if she's sure, and decided to wait a few minutes. Sure enough, she writes back to tell me of another change. I make those changes and proof it again with her. She approves it, but I'm still waiting until the morning to send it to the press...just in case another change comes in overnight.

In the midst of all the emails she sent me today, 23 in total, she asks me to put together a newspaper ad for the performance. She sends me a link to the newspaper's ad specs. There are seven different ad sizes, so I write her back to ask her which one she wants. Her response: "I already emailed you the link to the ad specs!"

I inform her of the seven different ad sizes listed in the specs, and I get back the message: "Oh, full page, sorry." Great, color or black/white? "Color." I hand off the info so a work order can be written, and in the meantime, I get another message: "WAIT!!! We want a HALF PAGE instead. Still in color, though!"

Again, I'm waiting for whatever weird changes come in overnight before I proceed. All throughout this ordeal, I successfully fought off the temptaion to write this woman "Please ask your doctor if Zanax is right for you."

Monday Night Caption Contest

Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. Okay, I don't know how they managed to sneak a camera into my subconscience, but that settles it. No more garlic bread pizza right before bedtime.

2. Wanna know something really scary? I found this picture attached to an ad on Craigslist. Even scarier, this guy was trying to sell a used futon.


The winner of last week's contest, much against my personal policy regarding puns, was CleverName with the caption "Apple's new EyePod". I must admit, the pun was pretty good, but what makes me laugh harder is the thought that, odds are, Apple's gonna do something like this one day.

Tweakers, puking fiddlers, thieves and drunk, drunk people

Last night was the first time I worked the door at Arnie's in almost a month. Larkin was playing, which is enough of an indicator of a strange night ahead. However, just when I think I've run out of new experiences to have on this job, something even stranger always happens.

Early in the night, I glanced out the front windows to see a guy sitting on the bench outside. At first blush, it appeared he was talking to himself. Then, his movements got a little more erratic. I asked a guy coming in to the bar what the guy was doing out there, and I was told he was rapping to himself. I really didn't mind what he did out there. He appeared to be off in his own little world. As long as he wasn't bothering the customers as they came in or started begging for money, I was willing to just let him be.

Just as I pointed the guy out to one of the owners, he leaned forward on the bench and it looked like he was going into convulsions. She leaned out the door to ask the guy if he was okay, and he just flipped out. He was picking up and throwing anything he could get his hands on, and as we got closer to him, he'd back away, screaming his head off, doing some badly coordinated karate moves and making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Case in point, after a botched roundhouse air-kick that threw himself off-balance, he screamed, "I'm undercover! Do you really want to mess with me? I'll rat you out to your parents!"

It was one of those things that simultaneously weirded us all out, scared us a little, but most of all, made us laugh our asses off. He eventually left...with his brain firing off like a set of tangled christmas lights, screaming like a madman. A walking poster for drug prevention. It makes me wonder why people start taking meth in the first place. It's hard to imagine someone seeing a guy like that and saying to themselves, "That guy's got the right idea. I gotta get me some of that action."

As Larkin was setting up, we got the news that their fiddle player was home sick with the flu. Karen, the fiddle player, told them she'd try to make it, but as soon as the words "puking my guts out" were mentioned, they decided it would be best for her not to come in for the gig. Besides, can you imagine having to hold a bucket in front of someone playing a violin for four hours? They briefly considered calling in a replacement, but ultimately it was decided that they'd rather go one one member short than have someone who didn't know all the songs. The irony was that while they were mulling it over, I saw at least three people from the Tulsa Symphony performance that just let out walk past the front of the bar with violin cases on their backs.

Another bit of irony for you: Around 12:30, I had a guy try to leave the bar with an empty beer pitcher. He had it barely hidden under his coat, but he was so drunk that he started taking it out of his coat before he made it completely out of the bar. I swiped it back and told him to get lost. About an hour later, one of the girls with him came back to the bar frantically trying to find her wallet. She found it, only it was completely cleaned out. Her cash, credit cards, ID, everything was taken. He failed at stealing, and his friend turned out to be a victim. Gotta love karma.

So, I made it through another weird night working the door. I got to thinking how this job has changed my perspective. I remembered how there was once a time when closing down the bar bummed me out and the only cure for it was to head to Village Inn for some pancakes. Now, I find myself really wanting to get home as soon as possible, but only after making sure my friends are gonna get home safe..and I find myself sick of everyone else. I used to commiserate with total strangers as we were getting ushered out the door at closing time. Now, it's like "C'mon...those telephone poles aren't gonna hit themselves. Time to go, buddy!"

We can be heroes...but there's a catch

Imagine you could have a superpower, but with limits. Which would you rather have?

1. You could see the future, but only a couple minutes ahead.
2. You can move things with your mind, but only things you could easily move normally.
3. You can fly, but you're afraid of heights.
4. You have X-ray vision, but only good for about a 1/16 of an inch.
5. You can't walk through walls, but you can fall through floors...but sometimes you can't control it...and you live on the fifth floor of your building.
6. You can hear other people's thoughts, but only in backwards Portuguese...with a lisp.
7. You can communicate with the animals, but you're allergic.
8. You can shoot laser beams from your eyes, but only with the approximate strength of a laser pointer.
9. You can't make yourself invisible, but you can decrease your opacity to about 20%.
10. You can hear things at great distances, but you can't hear anything within 100 feet of you.
11. You can control the weather, but can only adjust the temperature a few degrees...however, you have total control over upper-atmosphere humidity.
12. A highly evolved sense of smell, but you live with very gassy people.
    

Best, better, good, bad, worse, worst

Best: Home run
Better: Third base
Good: Second base
Bad: First base
Worse: Goodnight hug with sympathetic pat on the back
Worst: Restraining order

Best: Free dinner in a fancy restaurant
Better: Dinner in a fancy restaurant and the credit card isn't declined
Good: Dinner, period
Bad: Food poisoning
Worse: Parasite
Worst: Symbiant

Best: Powerball jackpot
Better: Scratch-off winner
Good: Found five bucks on the sidewalk
Bad: Overdraft
Worse: Audit
Worst: Garnished wages

Best: Mortgage paid off
Better: Refinancing at a lower interest rate
Good: Efficiency apartment
Bad: YMCA
Worse: Youth Hostel
Worst: Sidewalk

Best: Being the boss
Better: Promoted
Good: Raise
Bad: Demoted
Worse: Fired
Worst: On fire, literally

Best: A movie that changes your life
Better: A good movie
Good: A movie
Bad: Loud talkers
Worse: Broken projector
Worst: David Spade

Best: Empire Strikes Back
Better: A New Hope
Good: Revenge of the Sith
Bad: The Ewok Adventures
Worse: Holiday Special
Worst: The Phantom Menace

Best: Original
Better: Clever homage
Good: Parody
Bad: Remake
Worse: Re-imagining
Worst: Michael Bay

Best: Yeats
Better: Cummings
Good: Kerouac
Bad: Haikus
Worse: Limerics
Worst: Jewell

Best: Loved
Better: Needed
Good: Wanted
Bad: Denied
Worse: Ignored
Worst: Mind games

Approaching done

I have three boxes left to unpack tonight. Then, I'm done until I get my drafting table back from my mom.

I kinda over-extended my bank account this week. I went to Target on Sunday, and they've always been good about not posting the payment to my account for at least two days. Unfortunately, it posted Monday night, so it overdrew my account. And because of my bank's policy of posting debits from highest to lowest, I got $75 on overdraft charges, instead of $25 if they went the other way. So, I had to float a quick loan from the folks to be able to eat for the next couple weeks.

Speaking of which, I cooked my first meal in my new place. Since I'm watching the cash flow, I cooked a pot of chili. At least seven meals worth for just under $12. Sure, I've got enough gas to achieve liftoff, but I'm saving money, dammit!

It looks like money won't be much of an issue very soon. Every day at 4:55, I ask my boss if he's got anything he needs me to take care of before I leave. Today, he said he had enough on his desk to keep me busy until midnight, but he said it could wait until tomorrow.

I've been busy ass hell as it is, and the only thing that's kept me sane has been tons of green tea and DVDs playing in the background while I work. However, I need to think things out a little more than I do. The two DVDs I had to choose from today were the Godfather and the Muppet Movie. Weird double feature, there.

Tomorrow night, I'll get to go catch an advance screening of Catch and Release...gotta love having friends at the Tulsa World with access to free passes. However, the passes I've gotten so far has been for chick flicks, but a free movie is still a free movie.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Fire away, kids. Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. Someday, technology will advance to the point where the latest innovation won't make you look like a total idiot.

2. That reminds me...gotta sell off my Oakley stock.


The winner of last week's contest is Watercolor Trapezoid with the caption "On the news today: Cloned cat experiment is going well scientist say. The new study actually uses one specimen to clone another within. Cat is expected to birth itself within the normal gestation period."

Just the visual of a cat giving birth to itself cinched the deal for me.

I'm moved in

I've been moving all this week, and it's been going really smooth. The old apartment is all cleared out, swept, mopped and damn near sterile. The new place is almost completely unpacked. The living room is just how I want it, and now I've run out of furniture for the rest of the apartment. I'll be getting my huge-ass drafting table back from my mom, and that should taake care of the big empty space in the middle of the dining room.

Thursday night was my first official night in the new place. I had five of my friends help me move all the big stuff as well as whatever we could fit in their respective cars. I did have to resort to a bit of disception, though, by not telling them until we got everytrhing loaded up that my new place is on the second floor...and there's a curve on the stairs...and the ice was worse at the new place than at the new place. Everything was loaded and unloaded in about an hour, so at least the torture didn't last long.

Chuck took a couple days to get used to the new place. Apparently, he had a fear of ceiling fans, so the living room and bedroom was avoided at all costs unless I was in there with him. He's good now.

Even though the old place is all cleaned out, I'm gonna wait a week to turn in the key. I gotta let the change of address take effect before I will finally be rid of that place. Given the fact that when I moved in there, there was a stack of old mail about a foot high, I don't feel too comfortable leaving my credit card apps around for the next guy.

I'll take the next week to finish unpacking. I've got the place comfortable enough at this point.

I dare you not to laugh at this

Monday Night Caption Contest

Here we go again. Post your captions in the comment section below.

And, here's mine for the week:

"Now to our pet adoption segment. This is 'Skinny". He's a (cough) healthy little tabby with a taste for catnip, tuna and small children."


Last week's winner was Sibanate with the caption: "You got that right assholes. The line starts here!"

Fritschie fall down, go boom

At lunch today, I signed my lease. My utilities get turned on tomorrow. I got off work early and decided tyo go ahead and take a truckload over to the new place. Since all of my boxes are the same size, it's easy to fit them in the truck. I had space for one more box, so I grab the box marked "pots & pans".

Keep in mind my front steps and sidewalk are still covered in three inches of ice. Know where this is going yet?

I slip. Badly. All I see before I hit ground are my feet and a cloudy sky beneath them. I hit ass-first on the sidewalk, then my shoulders on the first step and my head on the top step. Then, the box lands on my stomach. If only someone had a camcorder on me...I could be swimming in America's Funniest Home Video cash.

Once I regained my senses, I thought that normally when one falls and bumps his/her ass, shoulders and head, that the best thing to do is put ice on it. So, I just stayed on the ground for a few minutes.

I stood up and looked down at the ass-shaped radial crack in the ice and the silver-dollar-sized crack in the top step. I already had a truckload of stuff, and I could either unload it back into the old place or bite the bullet and move it to the new place.

Already long story slightly shorter, I'm one truckload down. Depending on how sore I am tomorrow, I'll tackle another load. Maybe move the big stuff on Thursday. In the meantime, Tylenol.

Tink...tink...tink...tink...tink...tink...tink...

Jack. Fucking. Bauer. Is. Back.

The new season of 24 started tonight, and here are my thoughts:

Jack keeps his mouth shut for two years, never selling out his country, and the President refuses to take him seriously when he escapes with important information?

I guess Kumar never made it to White Castle. Low blood sugar leads to jihad, apparently.

Who would've thought the goody-two-shoes guy from Deep Space Nine could be such a good badass?

Could Chloe get any hotter...and poutier...since last season? The answer is an emphatic yes and yes!

Instead of that little weasel's plan to round up all of the muslims into holding camps, why don't they just track down all of the cargo vans in L.A.? Five seasons into this show and what I've learned is that the cargo van with no side or back windows are the terrorist's vehicle of choice.

After two years of being tortured by the Chinese, Jack still remembers the direct line to Bill Buchanan? I forgot my number from back in Arkansas two weeks after I moved away!

So, suicide bombers need a buddy to tag along to the bombing site? That just goes along with what I've been saying to my single female friends for years: Beware of any guy that has a wingman.

I can't wait until Jack Fucking Bauer teams back up with Curtis Fucking Manning again.

Ice + Boredom + Photoshop =

Ice, ice, baby

Here's irony for you: Due to the weather, we planned on closing up shop at 2:00. I left at noon because I knew the roads would be horrible by 2:00. I stop off at the store on my way home and when I get home, my boss called me to remind me that I forgot to run out this one job before I left...a job that couldn't wait until Monday. I drive back to the office, run out the job and sure enough, I leave the office at 2:00.

On my way back to work, there were three cars holding up traffic because they had to turn left into Starship records. Yeah, with ice building on the roads, you gotta stock up on CDs and bong screens!

So, I'm home for the weekend. I can rest assured that I won't have to work at Arnie's tonight.

Time to take my time...

Well, I got the apartment. In a perfect world, I could start moving in immediately. However, with the weather forecast predicting rain tonight, freezing rain and snow tomorrow, sleet and freezing rain for Saturday and Sunday...I'm opting to pick up the keys on Monday. There's no sense in paying over sixty bucks in pro-rated rent for four days where I won't be able to move anything in. At least I can get the utilities turned on in the meantime.

Last night, I finished up the big box of stuff to shred. Given that I've been tossing stuff in there for years, so as I whittled away at it, I was going through years of my life in reverse chronological order. I found Christmas cards going back to 1998. I found an old bill, unopened, from the days after Colleen and I broke up with "NOT AT THIS ADDRESS ANYMORE!!!" scribbled on it with magic marker. I can tell she was a bit mad at the time because of the way she wrote it and the fact that the ink had bled through four layers of paper. The oldest thing in the box, right at the bottom, was a payment schedule book for my first Saturn, the one I bought in the fall of 1997.

Tonight, I'm ordering a pizza and tackling the kitchen...maybe the bedroom. I'm gonna narrow myself down to the bare essentials for the next few days. I wanna be able to move everything in one fell swoop...or at least three or four truckloads.

One last thought: Today, I had to run an errand for work, and I got stuck on the Broken Arrow Expressway behind a semi-truck going about 45 MPH. No one would let me in the other lane to pass him for at least ten minutes. When I finally got around him, I laughed my ass of at the flames the guy had painted on the side of the cab. Apparently it's better for some people to look fast than to acually be fast.

Making progress

Okay, so the whole idea I had of having everything organized before I move has gotten a little bit out of hand. For the most part, everything in the living room and storage closet that I intend to take with me is packed in boxes with clear labels as to what is in them. I even have a box full of board games...which are already in their own respective boxes. I have three candles in a small box clearly labeled "candles". Everything I don't plan to take with me is now in a big pile in the middle of the living room. Tomorrow, I need to pick up some Hefty bags to collect all the garbage.

This morning I filled out an application and put a deposit down on a new apartment. It's very much like my current apartment, only it has smoke detectors, doors and windows that actually seal when they are closed, recent paint on the walls, secure locks on the doors, etc. The walk-in closet is larger than my current kitchen. And most importantly, the landlord are nice people who actually want to sell me on the apartment.

I got a call at lunch from the application service that is processing my application. From what I can tell, the only hurdle in the process for me is that my landlord from the old duplex changed his number and didn't leave a forwarding number. But even without a reference from him, a little bit of pleading on my part could counteract any hesitation from the new potential landlord. I should know tomorrow morning.

Tonight, I tackled a small part of the huge box of past bill stubs and bank statements. I fished through the past two years of stuff and gave up. I took all of the identity theft fodder I filtered out and had a little barbecue in the back-yard. It was quite cathartic. The rest of the big box I'm gonna take somewhere to be shredded. I don't have that kind of time to go through everything else. Besides, anything left in that box is only gonna lead to closed accounts and long-shut-off utilities. I still have stuff there from Arkansas, and I moved away from there six years ago.

And all of this stuff tonight I've done without the benefit of dinner. I think I'll grab a quick bite before going to bed.

Monday Night Caption Contest

This week's caption pic comes courtesy of our old friend, One Charmed Motherfucker. Post your captions in the comments section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. Don't think I didn't count this as an option while I was looking for an apartment this weekend.

2. The Tulsa City Council approved new cost-cutting measures in regards to the porta-potties at Mayfest for next year.


Last week's winner was the Artist Formerly Known as Anonymous with the caption: "Ok...28 schmekel trap, messuggah counter, on zibn...Oy!" I was hoping someone would go for the Yiddish angle. Thanks, Kelly Tuttle!

Anxious to move on

Today, I started packing boxes even though I haven't officially found an apartment to move it all to yet. I have all of the stuff off the walls and about half of the living room is packed up. Not just packed up, but labeled. Given the fact that last time I moved most of my stuff was packed an moved in old Wal-Mart sacks, I wanted to do this one right.

I've scrubbed down the kitchen, dusted the shelves and mopped the floors. I know that I'll have to do it again when everything's outta here, but at least it won't be as much of a chore. A good once-over should be sufficient.

I'm not gonna pussy-foot around this time. This time I'm not putting in 60 hours a week at work and packing when I find the time. I'm not waiting until the last possible minute to find a place. I'm not gonna do anything half-assed. Every moment I can spare will be spent getting everything in order and ready to go. Once I sign a lease on a new place I'll see if the electric company will set me up right away and overlap my service at both places so I can get the essentials to the new place and still have power at the old place to move and clean.

I have seven boxes packed so far, and I'm gonna get at least another four done before I go to bed. Time for me to get back to work.

Children of Men

It is the year 2027. Women are infertile. A human child has not been born in over 18 years. No one can explain why. The world is in chaos. The only part of the world with any form of order is England, this is, if you call martial law "order". Euthanasia packets are marketed on television in the same way all presciption drugs are today, promoting a sunny alternative to the realities that surround us. England's borders are closed and a strict anti-immigration policy is in place that the Bush administration would probably describe as "startlingly erotic". But in the middle of this dystopia, a woman has been discovered to be pregnant.

That is the premise behind Children of Men, the film I just got home from watching. Words really cannot describe the sheer beauty of this film, suffice to say that if you aren't crying by the time it is over, you have no fucking soul.

Alfonso Cuarón has directed a masterpiece, plain and simple. In telling this story, he sucks you in immediately. There are no title cards, voiceovers or montages explaining the backstory as most Hollywood directors would have done. There are no long winded first-person speeches setting the emotional state of the characters or anything else that insults your intelligence. Anything in this movie that comes close is done very delicately and only when absolutely neccessary.

With most movies today I'm usually shocked to see characters with any depth to them at all, but with Children of Men, even though it takes place in a world we (hopefully) will never know, I found myself fully understanding everyone's motivations. Whatever their agenda, good or bad, I saw why each and every character did what they did. They all believed that what they were doing was the absolute right thing to do.

Clive Owen gives a performance that makes you proud he turned down James Bond to do this. His balance of weary cynicism and heroic selflessness in this film is nothing short of amazing. Julianne Moore so nailed the complexity of her character, in a way that if she was wearing a clown nose and speaking through a kazoo the whole time, no one would have taken issue with it. Michael Caine is perfection incarnate as a wise old sage/bohemian recluse/merry prankster/compassionate father figure who brings both much-needed levity to the story as well as one of its heaviest, most heart-wrenching moments. Newcomer Clare-Hope Ashitey plays the pregnant woman at the center of the story with innocence, fear, hope and strength, all flowing from her simultaneously.

The film is one of those rare films that must stand alone. It cannot be lumped in with any other film, either as a casual double-feature, or in a hackneyed review on a blog, or as a full course in film school. I read a review blurb comparing it to Blade Runner After seeing Children of Men I have a feeling that reviewer must've been out getting popcorn for at least two-thirds of the movie, because aside from the commonality that it takes place in a bleak future, those two films are worlds apart and should not be mentioned in the same sentence.

NOTE: I know what I'm talking about on that one. I watch Blade Runner at least once every two weeks. It's a great movie, but it cannot even touch this.

There's such an emphasis on life in this film. Even though the world is in shambles, and that a quick and painless death is not only available for all, but advertised like a Claritin ad, that so many people still vow to go about their lives. Even in such a hopeless dystopia, there are still working stiffs. People still work towards maintaining some inkling of civilization. People still fight for freedom. People still tell jokes. There's a character that collects art even though the human race won't be around to appreciate it. Even in the seemingly absence of all hope, there's still hope!

If I have one fear about this film, it would be that it could be politicized as an argument against abortion. Even a dyed-in-the-wool liberal like me has gotta admit, it would make a damned good argument in that case. The message of humanity and its need to be saved (or in reference to our time, cherished and not taken for granted) is so strong that it would make a parent speed home afterwards just to hold their child in their arms, to make a woman who's vowed never to have kids drop an egg, and to make infertile couples want to go home and have one more marathon fuck session just in case. I'm not saying I'm changing my political views, not by a long shot, but it does say something about the power of cinema.

If a guy like me could ever narrow down a favorite movie of all time, I would have to put this as number one with a bullet. Nothing I've seen in the past ten years has come anywhere close to Children of Men.

Everything's coming up Fritschie

I woke up at dawn this morning feeling 95% better. The soreness in my chest and head is gone, my fever has broken, and all that remains is the drainage in my head walking the Green Mile, so to speak.

After taking a shower, I left to do laundry. Being the only one in the laundromat was a real treat. Afterwards, I cruised around to look at some of the apartment complexes I've been looking at online. One that I was really anxious to look at was $375 a month plus gas and electric, 900 sq. feet, 2br/1bath. The website listed it as a basement apartment, which would explain why it was such a bargain. From what I could see, that only tells half the story. As it turns out, it is literally the basement. No outside windows at all. So, I've crossed that off my list. All dark and no natural lighting makes Fritschie a dull boy.

Fortunately, as I was making my way out of that neighborhood to go home, I saw a for rent sign for another place...and the rental company was run by a friend of a friend of mine. It's sounding like it's right up my alley. I called the number on the sign, and I'm planning on looking at the place on Monday. If it looks good and doesn't have any of the glaring problems that my current place does, I'm preparing to write a check right away.

Plus, a lot of stuff got cleared out of our warehouse space at work, so I'm flushed with empty boxes for the move. I've got the pickup truck, and I'll have ample time for the move.

Life is good.

An ode to NyQuil

Oh, NyQuil, you have been my best friend during these past three days of cold and/or flu. You fill me with warmth and make me feel like I can breathe again. Such wonderful colors you bring to my eyes. Granted, it takes me fifteen minutes to formulate a cohesive sentence, but you make me not care about that, and for that reason, I love you.

I know I don't have much time to finish telling you how much you mean to me, but I couldn't let annnothur minite goo byt wifout skreeminng frum thuu mounntintopp. Evan thogh yur powwer ovver meee wil be gonn ni thee mornnign, i onnly hop thaat miy cooldd wiill lasst unutherr daye; so thatt ouur effaiir culd strrtch ouut 1 mor nitte.

Noww ii laiy mee dowwn to sllleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeertpppppppppppppppppppp.. jfjklllk flkd jkl flklfv vfkld a adf lkj . marmaset cookie peanut. olive juice. Football practice. Chicken Fried Steak. Teddy Ruxpin. G'nite.................. .....................................

One sick puppy

I still can't tell if I have a a cold or the flu at the moment because I have symptoms of both. I did my best to put in a full day at work, but the sudafedren-free Sudafed (thanks, meth addicts) had my brain on a ten-second delay. So, I summoned all of my cognitive powers for the drive home around 2:30 this afternoon.

I cranked the heater in the bedroom, threw a couple extra blankets on the bed and fell asleep. My mom called me at 6:00, and I couldn't tell if it was morning or night. That's probably a good sign that I should stay home tonight.

Other good signs include a 1/4th of a cigarette nearly kicking my ass and the fact that I can't taste the orange juice I'm drinking. Fortunately, I noticed I still had a couple of bottles of Nyquil that Candy bought as a three-pack at Sam's Club before they started taking the sudafedrene out of it. I'm setting me up a shot at this very moment, so I'll be going bye-bye real soon.

Good night!

Ringing in the new year: 2007

I had to let the after-effects of the weekend to wear off before I could report on the events.

Saturday night, I was working the door at Arnie's. Larkin was playing, which is generally chaotic in and of itself, but this was an unusual night. First of all, downtown was pretty dead, so the door didn't take in that much. Because of that, it wasn't as crowded as a Larkin gig usually is, so the hooligans (and I do mean that term as a compliment) had a little more elbow room to be drunk in. Had it been the normal near-capacity audience, all the people crowded together would have kept one another upright. Instead, they had a little space to stumble around.

The band finished up a little early, mostly due to the fact that the drummer and lead singer were getting a bit sloshed. The last few songs had a couple skipped beats and whole verses sung in a single, elongated syllable. Everyone survived, though, so it was a success in my book.

I left Arnies to head down to my friend Kim's party. It was pretty late, but it seemed like most everybody was still there. I chatted it up with my friends for a couple hours, got a kickass Rat Pack Christmas CD from my friend Mary, had some much-needed starchy foods, and went home to fall dead asleep.

Sunday, I did a little driving around looking for apartments, then went to Borders for some coffee. Coffee turned to long talks with Mary, Andey, Amanda and Kelly, then turned to lunch at BBD with Mary and Kelly.

In the afternoon, I went over to Karen and Nathan's house for a bit. I helped Nathan cut some wood for their new attic door, played with their little girl Lexi for a while, and we all (save for Lexi) had a couple glasses of really good wine. Good times, good times.

Sunday night. New Year's Eve at Arnie's. Full buffet. Beer a'flowin'. I helped pass out the comlimentary champagne for midnight, and the strategy was to pour the glasses in the back office, take trays of glasses to the front, pass them out and work our way back. The two main problems we encountered were: A) people grabbing glasses off the tray before I made it to the front, causing the tray to become off-balance, and thus spilling a few glasses, and B) people responding to my yelling, "Excuse me!" by either staring at me blankly and not moving out of my way or actually going out of their way to get in my way. We were a couple of glasses short, so my toast at midnight was done with a Bud Light pitcher filled about two fingers up with champagne.

Midnight came and, while I did get a couple kisses from friends, I didn't have a real New Year's kiss. Not that I've ever really had a real New Year's kiss. I'm talking about the kind of kiss that nullifies all background action and lasts so long it makes most anyone around you a little uncomfortable. Even the times I had a girlfriend at midnight, there was always some reason it didn't happen. One time it she had the flu, once it was strep throat, a couple times it was either or both of us being really tired, and one time she came down with a near-crippling case of paranoid delusional psychosis leading to a break-up two days later.

Not thatg I truly minded not having a girl at midnight. I was having fun regardless, and I didn't have any drama like I did last year. All in all, it was a great night.

Monday, I slept in really late. So much so that I had a really hard time getting to sleep last night. I ventured out just once to go pay my rent and put in my notice with the landlord. I roasted some chicken for dinner and settled in for a marathon of Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations on the Travel Channel.

2007 is up and running, and I'm starting it off on the right foot, for once. I'm so looking forward to what the next year will bring.

And a happy new year to you, too, dumbfuck.

My phone rings. I don't recognize the number on the caller ID, but I answer it anyway.

ME: Hello?

GUY ON OTHER END: Who the hell is this?

ME: Who the hell is this?

GUY ON OTHER END: I just got a text message from this number calling me a dumbfuck.

ME: Well, it wasn't me. I haven't sent a text message in about a week, man.

GUY ON OTHER END: This was the number that was on the message.

ME: And I'm telling you I haven't sent anyone a message, let alone someone I don't even know calling them a dumbfuck.

GUY ON OTHER END: Hmm...That's weird. Maybe I should call Sprint about this.

ME: You go right ahead, there.

CLICK!

ME: Dumbfuck.

Monday Night Caption Contest

Sorry about the lack of a new caption pic last week, guys. I was too tired after driving back from Little Rock. I hope this pic makes up for it. Post your captions in the comment section below.

Here are mine for the week:

1. "Hey! Bob! Are you alright? The poor bastard must've collapsed under the sheer weight of his own facial hair."

2. The Oak Rige Boys huddle up for their next play.

The winner of the last caption contest was Anonymous (a.k.a. KELLY TUTTLE!!!) with the caption: Wheeeeew! That was fun! I'm sure gonna miss the log ride at Bell's!"

Honorable mention to CleverName for the longest caption in the history of the contest, with his transcription of all of the lyrics to Twist and Shout.