I feel as though I should mention that while I’ve been as amused as the next person by the whole Snakes on a Plane phenomenon, I have no intention of actually seeing the movie, as I already have enough nightmares involving snakes as it is.
There’s no need to add anything more to the already-teeming, squirmy mass that lives inside my imagination like the world’s largest ball of twine…only with snakes.
Some jackass just started up his ancient muscle car outside and made sure to spend the maximum amount of time possible idling in the parking lot and revving the engine so that we could all be treated to the loud, throaty rattle of its pre- modern emissions standards exhaust system and be impressed by what having such a loud car must logically indicate about his virility and not think about how small his penis must be, the end result of which is that my bedroom now smells like someone drove a snowmobile through it.
*Sigh* People are wonderful.
I was just reminded of that this morning as I found myself, for reasons that I could not determine, strolling through the Super Target, dodging running, screaming children and fat people who believe that the middle of the aisle with their carts turned sideways is the best place to just stand for hours on end.
As I said, I have no idea why I went there.
All I know is that I got up this morning, sat around for a bit, made myself some scrambled eggs for breakfast, sat around some more trying to tune out what sounded like, based on the rhythmic squeaking, the lady upstairs starting her morning with a “bang,” called my mother, then took a shower, dressed, and headed to Super Target, all the while wondering “Why the hell am I subjecting myself to Super Target on a Sunday morning?”I never figured it out, though I did end up buying $25 worth of food while I was there.
Among the items I bought were a variety of frozen juice mixes, as it occurred to me that I never have any sort of juice on hand and I do occasionally get tired of drinking just water, so stocking up on some seemed like a good idea.
Sometime in Tucson I bought some plastic pitchers that have, throughout the years, served a variety of functions.
Because I have gotten a lot of use out of them, it seemed unlikely that I would have tossed them when I made the move from Ashburn to Leesburg, as I did with so many other things I didn’t feel like hauling with me, but it seems that I must have, as they are nowhere to be found, which means that I now have juice on hand, but nothing to put it in.
And I can guarantee you that I’m not going out into the world again to day for the purposes of changing that. I’ve had enough screaming babies for one day, thanks.
Last night I ended up proving that I’m not a giant pile of lame, but am, in fact, a party animal, as I stayed up until 2 am…watching a show on The History Channel about books that the early Christians banned from inclusion in the Bible.
Okay, so maybe I am a giant pile of lame.
One of the trailers I saw before World Trade Center started was for some romantic comedy/drama that featured an actress who made me think, “Hmm, she looks kind of like a slightly older version of that cute Rachel Bilson chick from that piece of crap OC show.” Oddly enough, a few scenes later, there was Ms. Bilson herself.
The first actress is named Jacinda Barrett, and the movie in question is called The Last Kiss.
The gist of the story, based on the trailer, seems to be that a young, successful guy is about to settle down with a smart, funny, beautiful girl (Barrett), but then meets a smart, funny, beautiful, slightly-younger girl (Bilson) and now has to choose between them.
Presumably we’re supposed to relate to his predicament in some fashion and feel bad for him.
I’m going to feel bad for a guy who has to make a choice between two hot chicks.
Yeah, that’s going to happen.
Ostensibly there’s some greater point to the movie, something about how what we want might only be what we think we want, or think we’re supposed to want, and something or other about the rapid pace of modern life making our mid-life crises arrive early.
Even so, I’m not going to feel bad for a guy who has to choose between two hot chicks.
Nor will I be seeing the movie, as movies about guys who have a surfeit of romantic options are about as appealing to me as movies about mutha-fuckin’ snakes on mutha-fuckin’ planes…
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