Hollywood Making A Predictable Romantic Comedy? Never!

Apart from the time spent reading “Preacher” yesterday, I also spent some time at the car dealership getting my emissions test performed, having them try to fix my gas gauge, and getting an oil change while I was at it.
They managed to accomplish two of the things I was hoping for, as the problem with my gas gauge is evidently going to take considerably more work to repair than I expected.
Something to do with a “fuel-sending assembly,” or something similar. “Fuel-sending” was in the name, at any rate.
However, they didn’t actually have a replacement on hand, so they’ve had to order one, and will call me to let me know when it comes in. At that time I will likely have to leave my car there overnight, as they will apparently need to remove the gas tank to replace the part.
Fortunately this should all be covered by the warranty.
If it isn’t, I’ll stick to what I’ve been doing, which is just making sure that I always have plenty of gas in the tank, which isn’t difficult, since I don’t really do all that much driving anyway. Topping off the tank once a week should pretty much always keep me covered.
A while back I was looking in the mirror and I realized that the current result of my efforts at becoming physically fit is that I look rather a lot like the “Before” picture you might see in some ad for a diet pill or exercise program.
Not the really fat “Jared before he started eating at Subway” kind of before, but the just slightly out of shape, amorphous lump sort of before.
It’s kind of sad, but that is, unfortunately, actual progress for me.
Basically, even though my waist is smaller than it used to be, I’ve put on a lot of mass. Shapeless, undefined mass.
The increases in muscle mass have managed to remain masked by the flab that’s decided to stick around, and by new flab that, despite my best efforts, has moved in. In a certain light you can see some lines of definition, but for the most part I’m just sort of shapelessly bulky in various places.
About the only areas where I can see real defined results are my forearms. They haven’t gotten too much bigger, but they have developed some definition.
Still, it’s apparent that I need to either redouble or refocus my efforts if I ever want to see any favorable results.
I did at least manage to force myself to work out during the week, so that’s something anyway.
And of course tomorrow I’ll be up early (way too early for it be “bright and early”) and chipping away in vain at the fat that refuses to break loose.
Next week my niece Jourdan, the one who’s been accepted into the Pre-Med program at Michigan Tech, and who has received a scholarship from the National Honor Society, will turn eighteen.
That just utterly blows my mind. I can so clearly remember when she was born, the first time I saw her smile, the first time I ever heard her speak, and now she’s going to be an adult.
I bought her a birthday card today, of the schmaltzy, sentimental variety, that essentially said the same thing, and talked about what a great person she has grown into (and which, thanks to the fact that I get increasingly sentimental as I get older, had me a little choked up as I read it in the store).
It’s true; she has grown from being a wonderful little girl to being a wonderful young woman.
In my mind, though, she’ll pretty much always be two years old, with her head resting on my leg as I read “I Love Spaghetti” to her...
Last Thursday, as mentioned in my entry, I went to see “Elektra.”
It was only okay, and was about as good as I expected it to be. Better than “Daredevil” was, I think, and “Hulk,” both of which have been the weakest of the recent crop of comic book movies.
Two things did stand out about the movie, though, in the form of the trailers that played before the movie started.
While I’ve seen it countless times on my computer, for the first time I got to see the “Sin City” trailer on the big screen, which was very cool.
I also saw the trailer for the upcoming “Fantastic Four” movie.
Visually, it looks very appealing, as the effects seem to be very well done.
But knowing what I do about the actual plot of it, and just looking at how poorly cast it was (I will say that Michael Chiklis is a good choice for the role of The Thing, though), the trailer didn’t do anything to get me to stop thinking that it’s going to be a total piece of garbage, much, much worse than the aforementioned “Daredevil” and “Hulk.”
I hate to be mean, at least when it comes to talking about a hot chick, but there’s actually a shot of the oh-so miscast Jessica Alba in the trailer in which she looks as though there isn’t a thought in her head. I mean, as she’s just standing there staring blankly with her mouth open you seriously expect her to say, “Duhhh….”
That being said, I’d still do her in a heartbeat…
While I didn’t see it in the theater, I have been noticing that the trailer for “Constantine” has been playing on TV a lot.
Despite how hot Rachel Weisz is, I have no intention of seeing that particular steaming pile of cinematic excrement (the jury's still out on whether or not I'll go to see FF). It would be too hard to explain the nature of John Constantine, the comic book character on whom the movie is based (though the actual comic book itself is called “Hellblazer”), but suffice to say that no matter how hard he “whoahs,” Keanu Reeves absolutely cannot play the part.
Period.
There’s just no way around it. He's going to suck ass, and I don’t have to see the movie to be able to say this with absolute certainty.
It’s not even just the fact that he’s not British, even though being British, and based out of London (in the movie, he’s American and based out of LA), is as vital to the character of John Constantine as being Kryptonian and based out of Metropolis is to Superman, it’s that the part is being played by Keanu “Am I An Actor Or A Cardboard Cut-Out?” Reeves.
It’s a shame, too, because John Constantine is a great character and he seriously should have been treated with more respect. I can’t really imagine the reasoning behind making someone so quintessentially British into an American, but I suppose someone thought that a movie about a British person wouldn’t sell tickets.
After all, we all know how poorly all those James Bond movies have done…
On the topic of steaming piles of cinematic excrement, I did see the trailer for the movie “The Wedding Date” in the theater.
This is a romantic comedy in which Debra Messing (The chick from “Will & Grace”) hires a male escort to pretend to be her boyfriend when she travels to London to go to her sister’s wedding.
Naturally this seems totally believable and sensible, since we all know that there’s no way that someone so repulsive as Debra Messing could ever attract a man without having to pay for his company.
Also, since I trip over them every time I set foot out the door, we all know that the world is just filled to overflowing with desperate single women.
As for the movie itself, I can’t help but wonder if maybe she’ll end up getting a little more than she bargained for when she hires this hunky escort. I mean, it’s not like we’ve ever seen this sort of story dealt with on movie theater screens before, so there’s no precedent for us to work from in figuring out what will happen. Is there even the slightest possibility that maybe, just maybe, they both might end up finding exactly what they’re looking for in each other, and that true love will bloom?
Nah, that’d never happen in a movie.
On that note, I think, we’ll bring another week to a close. I hope you all have better weekends than I’m likely to.

"Preaching" to the Choir or Spongebob LeatherPants?

Most of my day yesterday, prior to the cooking class, was spent reading a comic book called “Preacher.”
Much of today was spent engaged in the same activity.
I have to say that it really is one sick, twisted, totally fucked-up comic.
That being said, I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.
Because I did enjoy it.
Thoroughly.
I didn’t always agree with or approve of everything in it, there were lots of elements that just didn’t work, and I could easily see how more sensitive people who don’t share my appreciation for the blackest of black humor, extremely over the top violence, and casual blasphemy would be offended (to the depths of their very souls at that) by its content, but even so, it was an entertaining read.
I don’t, however, actually recommend it to anyone, simply because it really, really is offensive.
At least it’s offensive if you take it too seriously, and taking things too seriously seems to be the very core of people who are easily offended.
Like that fucktard who’s complaining about goddamn Spongebob being gay.
I mean honestly, what the hell is wrong with people?
This is the kind of shit people worry about?
Somehow it’s perfectly acceptable that our government lies to us, resulting in the deaths of American soldiers (to say nothing of the disruption to the lives of those lucky enough to survive and the lives of their families and friends) and innocent Iraqi civilians, but if there is even the appearance of some sort of impropriety in a fucking cartoon, that’s a big deal?
Hey jackass, instead of worrying about how the gays are trying to "recruit" kids, why don’t you invest some of the obviously abundant time you have on your hands into making sure that some poor kids who don’t have the chance to even see Spongebob to be exposed to his deviant lifestyle actually get enough to eat?
How about crusading for proper health care for America’s disadvantaged?
No, I guess it’s okay that thousands of kids go hungry every day or die from preventable diseases just so long as they don’t watch a cartoon about a goddamn sponge that doesn’t even have any fucking genitals with which to be gay or straight.
What the hell is wrong with you, you miserable, worthless fuck?
I just don’t understand how anyone can get so fucked in the head that his priorities would be so goddamn far out of whack.
It makes it even more puzzling if you look at the bio of the fucktard in question. Maybe once upon a time he did do something worthwhile with his life, but it's obvious that his ability to be useful has dwindled down to nothing.
If you’ve got a wild hair up your ass that makes you want to be an activist, then be an activist for something worthwhile.
And it’s not like it’s hard to prioritize these things.
Starving, sickly kids vs. possible “gay agenda” in a cartoon…gee, that’s tricky, which issue is more important?
At the very least, you should take a long hard look at your issue and see whether or not it passes the “does this make me look like a total jackass” test.
These “watchdog” groups that sift through movies and television programming looking for instances of indecent or subversive materials are just about the most useless people on the face of the planet.
If I were an activist, I might start crusading against them, but I’m not, so instead I’ll just bitch about them here...
Sorry to go on that little rant, but as you can see this sort of bullshit really pisses me off.
I have no idea what I was originally going to write about. I know I was going to talk about “Preacher” a little, which I did, and I’m pretty sure there was something else, but whatever it was escapes me, so I guess I’ll just call it a night.

The Pie Was the ONLY Thing That Was Hot In That Kitchen

Once again my knack for being wherever hot chicks aren’t manifested itself.
The babe quotient of my cooking class was sadly lacking, even though I was one of only two males in the class.
Of the students, only one was even somewhat attractive. Honestly, she is actually kind of cute, though not quite as cute as she initially appeared, mostly just because upon initial inspection (based largely on how she was dressed), she appeared to be in her early to mid-twenties, but once I got closer I could see some definite lines in her face, indicating that she was more likely in her early thirties.
That isn’t actually a problem, since I'm also in my early thirties, but overall she just isn’t that cute, though I did note that she wasn’t wearing a ring.
Still…meh.
The teacher herself would be cute…if she were cute.
Yes, I know, that seems like an obvious statement, but what I mean is that she’s sort of petite and vaguely pear-shaped in a not unpleasant way, so if she had a cute face, she would definitely be my type.
Unfortunately, that is not the case.
Kathleen speculated that she’s a lesbian, based largely on the fact that she made a reference to a female “roommate.”
However, she does teach for a living, and this is Northern Virginia, so it’s not unreasonable to think that she would have a roommate strictly for the purposes of being able to pay the rent.
Also, at various points she made frequent references to the fact that she's single, though given that it was an overwhelmingly female class, maybe that's more points in favor of Kathleen's theory.
As for the rest of the women, there was Kathleen, who obviously doesn’t count, and several women who were quite a bit older than I am, which led me to wonder how it is that in their multiple decades on the earth they had never managed to pick up any sort of cooking skills…
The class itself was okay, and seems like it may be somewhat informative, so that’s a plus at least.
The teacher said that she had several things in mind for the remaining nine weeks, but she was also looking for suggestions as to any particular items we would like her to cover.
Most of the people seemed interested in baking more than cooking, which is fine, but Kathleen and I were both looking for more of a focus on making meals, not desserts.
We actually started off the class by baking an apple pie.
It ended up being something of a team project, with Kathleen and I teamed up with this other woman, who was nice enough, but who seemed utterly clueless about how to do anything in the kitchen (again, despite the fact that she’s been around quite a bit longer than either Kathleen or I have).
It turned out pretty well, and I was surprised at just how easy it was to make the pie crust.
So hopefully I will manage to pick up a few useful pointers.
The title of Liz Phair’s first album, the one which contains the songs I mentioned yesterday, is “Exile in Guyville.”
Given that she’s the only girl (And yes, I feel that I can call her a girl, since I am older than she is. There has to be some benefit to being the oldest, after all.) working with four guys, that particular title always makes me think of Kathleen (though now in the cooking class I can experience being in the minority).
Fortunately, for her and for us, Kathleen is a pretty good sport, and is not easily offended, so while it’s not entirely a locker room environment at work, none of us guys (particularly not Brian, since he’s her husband) is sweating the company sexual harassment policy too much.
Besides, she can dish it out as well as take it anyway.
In any case, the point is that I found tonight that the relaxed atmosphere at work has sort of skewed my sense of reality (and propriety), and I realized that I had to actually rein myself in.
For example, we were using one of those apple slicing dealies to save time on cutting the apples for the pie. It was kind of a struggle to use it on the apples, though, as they were, as Kathleen pointed out, “too big.”
…
I have a standing, stated policy at work of never missing an opportunity to say “That’s what she said,” but just as the words were forming during the class in response to Kathleen's comment, I had to restrain myself.
I did surreptitiously point out to Kathleen that I was letting an opportunity slide, which she was actually aware of anyway.
I have to say that it was difficult.
In any case, I need to get up early in the morning, so I think I’ll wrap things up for right now.

The Carnival Sideshow That is My Mind

Whatever else could be said about me (such as that I’m a “whiny, pathetic buttwad,” for example), I think that most people would agree that I am, at the very least, a bit odd.
The most obvious aspects of my personality to betray signs of oddness are, of course, my behavior and the things that I say, but of course the oddness goes much deeper than that.
Among the odd behaviors I exhibit, which is especially apparent here, is a tendency to be rather self-absorbed. As such, and since I’m not self-absorbed to the extent that I’m completely oblivious to the world around me and how other people behave, I can’t help but notice just how odd I really am below the surface as I find myself lost in frightened wonder amid the swirling carnival sideshow of my thoughts.
Sometimes I can understand, at least a little, how my mind works, or why it works in a certain way, but there are other times in which I’m completely baffled.
As a case in point, when I listen to the song “Brompton Oratory” (I apologize for the pop-up ad, but I can’t find another site that has the correct lyrics) by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, which is a wonderful song, by the way, I find my mind traveling back in time to late November of 1984.
Not to any specific memories of that month, but just a general impression of that post-Thanksgiving period, of a cold dry wind and a winter that was already well underway as the British pop stars of Band Aid wondered whether or not the people of Ethiopia knew that it was Christmas time on the Canadian music video program “Video Hits,” which we picked up, fuzzily, on Channel Two, as broadcast by our neighbor to the north.
(For the record, if I recall correctly, Ethiopia has a predominantly Christian population, so it seems likely that they would be aware of the fact that it was Christmas time, though as it is primarily a form of Orthodox Christianity that’s practiced, it’s likely that December 25 means very little to them, since I don't think that's when Christmas is celebrated in Orthodox Christianity.)
As to why this particular song, which makes no reference to anything even remotely similar, nor sounds especially like any songs from that period, should elicit this response is utterly beyond me, and, I’m forced to admit, is more than slightly odd.
In any case, on the topic of a winter that is well underway, winter, or what passes for it in these parts, came to Northern Virginia over the weekend.
It was, naturally, greeted by raw panic, food-hoarding, and frequent car accidents.
The total accumulation of “as much as five inches,” amazingly, didn’t seem to cause any deaths in the area, though. I say “amazingly,” as a simple dip in temperature often seems to be enough to kill people around here.
Because I grew up in the Mid-West near the shores of the lake-effect snow-inducing Lake Superior, I’m accustomed to nature’s fury being considerably more furious than it is here, and as such am more than a little puzzled by the sheer idiocy of the average Northern Virginians response to what, to me, is nothing more than a light dusting.
Don’t get me wrong; there is legitimate cause for concern when it snows here, but not because of the snow itself. The idiocy is so widespread and deeply-ingrained that when you take to the road when it snows (or even when it rains), you’re in a great deal of dange from other drivers.
When driving conditions turn less than ideal, most drivers in NoVA tend to fall into one of two categories: Frightened Children or Total Maniacs.
The Frightened Children are dangerous because their fearful over-cautious approach to driving actually manifests itself as a form of recklessness. They’re so intent on making it to their destinations alive that they don’t care who else they take out in the process.
They are also inclined to panic at the slightest sideways motion of their vehicles, and their panic only makes the situation worse as they mindlessly slam on the brakes and jerk the wheel in the opposite direction of the skid.
It's not much fun to be on the road behind Frightened Children.
The Total Maniacs, on the other hand, exercise no caution whatsoever, thinking that they can drive through a snowstorm without making any concessions to the conditions.
Often these people have some sort of SUV and feel that this makes them invincible.
The rolled-over Hummer that Brian spotted on the side of the road when he was on his way to work during the worst of the storm stands, or rather, lies, as a testament to the fact that if you don’t know what you’re doing your vehicle isn’t going to know either, no matter how much you spent on it in your vain attempt to prove that you’re better than everyone else.
The biggest question I have for both kinds of drivers is “Where are you going anyway?”
Just as most people around here aren’t accustomed to winters that last run from October to May in which five inches of snow falls in the time it takes you to sprint across the cold floor from your bed to the shower as I am, they also don’t work as “essential” personnel in a 24x7 operation.
So given that most places will announce their closure and most events will be cancelled as soon as anyone even hints that it might snow, where is there to go? When you don’t have to drive in bad weather, why do it, particularly if you fall into the Frightened Child category?
On the topic of preemptive closures, though, that’s another thing that (no pun intended) really frosts me. I can’t help but get pissed when I hear about school closures the night before when it hasn’t even started snowing yet, and I think back on all of the white-knuckled bus rides to school I went through as a kid and teenager during which I genuinely feared for my life.
Compared to those scary mornings, the absolute worst weather I’ve seen out here doesn’t even raise the slightest glimmer of fear in me.
That is until I think about how everyone else is going to react to it, at any rate.
In any case, basically any time it snows I launch into this same rant, and I’ve been accused of being unfair.
“After all,” I’ve been told, “we’re just not used to this kind of weather.”
Of course, this is my third winter out here, and I’ve heard that same refrain every year.
Guess what? We’ve had “this kind of weather” during each winter that I’ve seen. You think maybe you might start noticing a pattern and start learning to adapt to it? After all, there’s at least the slightest outside chance that it might snow again next winter.
The people who argue “we’re not used to it” also frequently cite the fact that winters "didn’t used to be this bad." It’s a spurious argument, since, again, I’ve observed the weather that sends them into such a tizzy three winters in a row. Maybe it didn’t used to be this “bad,” but it is now. Deal with it.
The biggest problem, though, is that this overall inability to adapt to harsh weather conditions that really aren’t all that harsh extends beyond the ordinary populace to the people responsible for the administration of services vital to helping the ordinary populace deal with the not-so-harsh weather conditions.
Specifically, I’m talking about the morons driving the plows and salt and sand trucks who sit on the side of the road eating donuts waiting for it all to be over before they finally decide to take a crack at clearing the roads.
The overall wimpiness of winter weather in this area isn’t really reflected on the roads, as they usually look like a disaster area after a light dusting. You’d think we lived on the tundra, simply because no one among the people who are paid to know how to remove snow seems to have the first fucking clue as to what needs to be done.
Again, it’s not like this sort of weather is a completely rare occurrence, so there’s no reason why these people can’t become seasoned road-clearing veterans, and it is rare enough that cost shouldn’t really be an issue either, especially considering, as I mentioned last week, the state and local government have plenty of tax dollars to spend.
But, as I complain about the inability of natives and transplants from areas outside of the Snow Belt to adapt to something that happens fairly regularly, I suppose I should learn to adapt to their inability to adapt.
In other words, I should quit my bitching, since it’s obvious that nothing is ever going to change.
Tomorrow I begin my ten-week expedition into the world of culinary arts. Or rather, I think that I do, as I haven’t gotten any confirmation about my registration being accepted (and my check still hasn’t been cashed).
Assuming that I am enrolled in the class, I hope that it proves to be useful and interesting.
I don’t really have any hopes on the meeting someone front, though. Even if there are some cute, single women there, I’ll still be exactly as charming, interesting, and attractive as I always am, so unless they’re cute, single women who are also incredibly desperate, I don’t see that improving my odds any.
Still, since hope does spring eternal in the human breast, I did go out to get my hair cut in a misguided attempt to improve my looks ever so slightly in anticipation of miraculously stumbling onto a nest of that most mythical of creatures tomorrow night: the hot, desperate single chick.
Besides, I was getting a little too shaggy, and I had to venture out into the world anyway, so I figured I might as well get it done.
While I was aware of the fact that she existed prior to her relatively recent commercially successful album, I’d never actually listened to Liz Phair prior to hearing her popular hits on the radio. Despite my aversion to most Top 40 music, I did find her sound appealing and decided to check her out. Since that time I’ve gotten all of her albums and enjoy her music a great deal.
I especially enjoy her older, less polished work, often described as “low-fidelity.” That’s a rather nebulous description, but it is apt, and can easily be understood when the music is actually heard.
One of the things I did know about her prior to hearing her music, thanks to Playboy, who loved her, by the way, for obvious reasons, was that she was a little on the “saucy” side, with a very frank and uninhibited approach to the topic of sexuality in her songs, and I can say now that I’ve gotten to know her work, it’s definitely true. That young lady has a potty mouth!
She also has a great voice along with some great songs, with lyrics that I think most people can relate to.
In particular, in her song “Fuck and Run” (I told you: potty mouth) she talks about her desire to find love and a serious relationship, a topic with which I’m especially familiar.
Where she and I differ, though, is that in the song she talks about how despite this desire she keeps making the same mistakes over and over again, falling into a continual pattern of waking up to remorse-filled "mornings after" on the heels of temporary “relationships” that aren't going to lead anywhere, a problem that I am decidedly not familiar with, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective.
Still, despite this major difference in personal experiences, there is a line that resonates with me:

I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend another year alone

Later, she repeats the line with an important change that increases its overall resonance:

I can feel it in my bones, I'm gonna spend my whole life alone

That’s something that I can feel right in my marrow.
The song that I find myself listening to most often, though, is called “Divorce Song.” It’s not so much the lyrics alone that I enjoy (though the line about the license is a really good one), but the overall sound of it.
The song is particularly demonstrative of the “low-fidelity” sound, particularly with its just so slightly discordant opening strains that sound very much like, for those of you old enough to remember, a 78 being played at a 45’s speed, or to put it in (only slightly) more contemporary terms, a tape being played in a Walkman with dying batteries.
In any case, that’s it for today’s entry. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll report on my first night in class.