I have no idea what kind of space Cheetos Hirayama Aya is chowing down on here, but whatever they are --
..Sign me up.
[Listening to: Dark New Day – "Bare Bones" ]
Flash! -- One of the day's most beloved celebrities, known to most as a devilishly handsome and talented writer of wildly unbelievable stories about tunnels under the English Channel has apparently been discovered wasting away his days away in a sea of corporate reports, boring meetings, and hours upon end of staring out the window at the increasing number of sunny Florida days as summer continues it's approach.And finally, in a story that should shock no one at this point -- sources say that the "mystery writer" featured from our first update above was recently seen stumbling around outside of a popular local bar, and as he attempted gamely to sit down in the seat of his vehicle, it became plainly clear that he'd forgotten to wear any underwear ..again.
Who is he?? This reporter will never tell -- but one thing's for sure, this mystery man has plenty to say. In fact, here's the latest stories he's revealed about the dandies and dolls we all love from the society pages:
New from the downtown desk -- where residents of one of riversides most exclusive apartment homes have started to notice that ever since that one new guy started hanging out with the couple downstairs that the entire stairway has started to reek with the aroma of (wink wink) cookies -- comes this update.
- Which starlet of the lab coat set has always been considered easy on the eyes, but as of late has been revealed to be sort of a stuck-up biznatch by anyone who tries to hold the door open for her? And if that wasn't enough, friends of the program are beginning to suspect that her habit of wearing what seems to be far too much brightly colored eye makeup might just a result of paying someone to permanently apply it. These facts have yet to be fully confirmed, but if they are true -- the only words this reporter can think to react with would be.. Eww.
- In other news, several paparazzos have noted the visible addition of a framed photo featuring a second floor romeo embracing an attractive, as yet unnamed femme. But what would the girl in the photo say if she knew just how bad the man's skills still appear to be when it comes to being being discreet while surfing dating sites at work, even as people who would rather not know about any of this continue to have to walk by his desk every day?
- Question! Short guy who's always walking around with that embarrassing white guy stride that seems to be only one step short of a flat-out sprint: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU TRYING TO GET TO, AND WOULDN'T IT MAKE MORE SENSE TO LEAVE A MINUTE OR TWO EARLIER ONCE IN A GODDAMN WHILE?
- Hey you -- college boy at the bar on Wednesday night. No one wants to hear your retarded jokes.
- Hey you, Duke University's men's basketball team. This is my NCAA bracket. See your name all over it? No!? How about I jam the damn thing down your throat just for tanking it in the early rounds again. Can you see it now, a-holes!?
Good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.
All of which should serve as important evidence that when it comes to the art of producing films about talking animals doing things that animals aren't supposed to normally be able to do -- there are few studiosNow before we get too deep into things here, let me sort qualify all this by saying I've never seen Air Bud. Neither have you, but it's not a problem -- because really, we've all seen this film in one form of another at some point during our lives.
out there who have gotten more mileage out of (or experience in how to create) this idea than Disney.
Anyone who has a child or has looked after someone else's kids in this day and age has probably had to deal with the circle of hell that is kids programming. Whether it's Barney, the Wiggles, Kidz Bop, or any of the rest -- kid-oriented media has never seemed more pervasive or annoying than it is now.One can only hope that once they reach space they will meet Jason from the equally un-killable Friday
the 13th franchise, who (last time I checked) was still up there killing half-naked co-eds with his machete.
As a result, it's a waste of time for me to sit here and pick apart the movie for being bad -- especially because it's pretty clear that it was never intended to be anything more than simply good enough.Snow Buddies is clearly one of these.
So on that front at least -- it was mission accomplished.Of course sitting next to the child was his father; the cynical movie snob, silently dying inside because there was no one else in the room old enough to understand just how utterly awful this over-saccharinated Call of the Wild ripoff truly was, leaving me with no opportunities at all to call it out for the complete piece of shit that it was.
So this morning I finally found a free moment to release the kraken on the utter hypocrisy that is the Disney Company (whose track record when it comes to racial issues is already less than spectacular) including of all things a streetwise character spouting off all sorts of supposedly hip-hop/gangsta phrases in a pre-teen voice that might as well have belonged to Honky McWhiterson -- prancing around with his jewel encrusted bling necklace like some sort of puppy-fied Al Jolson, and I decide to check out the movie's Wikipedia page to make sure I got the name of the voice actor right --And this was all before the Wigger dog showed up.
When I come across a little blurb detailing the fact that as part of the pre-production process, 30 under-aged golden retriever puppies were obtained and then imported to Vancouver, only to fall victim to an outbreak of a highly contagious parvovirus, which the dogs should have been vaccinated against, but apparently weren't. 15 puppies got sick, and three had to be euthanized. Then, after the enforced removal of the first set of puppies, Disney acquired a new set of 28 older puppies to continue filming with. These puppies ended up being exposed to the same virus, which increased the reported death toll to at least five.
What the hell, Mickey?So let me get this straight -- your production company is making a movie starring dogs, which just happens to be the sixth in a series of movies about these exact same dogs, all funded by a multi-national corporation that's made a huge hunk of it's vast fortunes from movies about talking dogs -- and you expect me to believe that you somehow forgot to hire a vet?!
I mean don't get me wrong here -- I'm no huge fan of PETA or any other overzealous publicity-hungry animal rights advocacy group out there, but how is this not an utter outrage? How did the production even pretend to continue filming after all of this shit went down?Honestly, where did you get these dogs from -- the mall?
But if all this talk of tragedy, exploitation, and death wasn't enough to completely derail the mood I had going when I started putting this rant together -- now I'm stuck having to consider the fact that after so much drama and all the brothers and sisters he lost along the way:Moreover, how the hell are you willing to entrust these same
people to take yet another truckload of puppies into Space??
Damn, B-Dawg might just be an OG after all.
The problem is, right now I'm not really doing any of these at all.I don't know -- I could easily over think it all and try to identify some sort of psychological reason behind it all, especially because if you look back through my history of blogging and online journaling, it's a pattern that repeats itself at least once or twice a year. Sometimes I just don't have the desire to write here. Sometimes I just sit in front of the keyboard and there's nothing in my head at all.
It's different from disinterest. It's not like times when you have other things to do. I'm talking about the times when you really want to say something -- but cant figure out the way to get started, can't find the patience to just sit down and explain it on the page, can't be satisfied in any shape or form with any word you type.Writer's block.
I know that sounds overly dramatic, but that's what it's like sometimes. It's like those days in a long relationship where you start to quietly wonder if the other person is using your desires against you, that they're only in it for the place to live, the money to spend, or whatever else sometimes seems like it's more important in their lives than you.Which sometimes makes you wonder if it ever really loved you at all.
It's one of the worst things a relationship can encounter -- those times whereSo in effect, this is sort of me telling writing that we've been together long enough, you'd think I wouldn't have to tell you to put down the toilet seat when you're done using it. And would it kill you to replace the toilet paper roll once in a while?
nothing is really wrong, but you still quietly worry that things aren't good enough.
So perhaps what I'm going through now (in a manner of speaking) are those really sucky couple of days afterwards where you're all like "Hey, honey? I just wanted to say that your outfit looks really nice. I'm gonna take out the trash now, k?"And then writing is like, "I can't believe you're hitting me with all this shit right now while we're supposed to
be enjoying this oh-so-romantic meal together at Applebee's. Honestly, could you have picked a better time?"And then we drive home in silence and don't talk for a while.
But you know how that goes -- she ain't having it.Eventually things will cool off, or we'll have some really fantastic angry make-up sex -- but until that happens, we're left with all of this uncomfortable silence.
Because no matter what you write, how much people like it, or how much feedback you get -- sometimes it just feels like words. It just feels like all you're doing every day is waking up, getting the kids ready for school, going to work, calling each other about this and that during the day, picking up the kids, nuking something for dinner, helping with homework, watching a little TV, brushing your teeth, watching Letterman while she reads, clicking the lights off, and then retreating to your side of the bed to try and sleep while you wonder what the hell happened.And perhaps that's part of the problem.
The key is how you deal with it. The ways you keep your perspective. The ways you spice things up instead of letting them get old and then resenting them without realizing that it's probably just as much your fault as anyone else's.It's a bad place to be -- but it does happen sometimes.
And we've all read books by authors we love that made us want to hate them.One of my absolute favorite writers is Haruki Murakami, whose historical accounts of the nerve gas attacks on the Tokyo subways should be utterly fascinating -- but in truth are kinda dull. I felt similar disdain for many of the Spin magazine articles written by Chuck Palahniuk, the children's books written by Neil Gaiman, or those oh-so-snobby wine reviews that helped Jay McInerney get off the schnide between novels. But I've grown to understand them a bit more over the years, especially when I found myself unable to get past the point of putting the blank page into the typewriter, and sliding my chair up to a good spot in front of the table.
Because this was the weekend that I found what might be the single most racially offensive thing that the Walt Disney Company has ever attempted to foist upon the youth of the world:B-Dawg.
A golden retriever puppy. With bling. Repeatedly uttering the phrase "Crackalakin."Seriously -- you know that moment, that point after months of complaining to your friends that your significant other seems to have totally forgotten about anything in the world that doesn't have to do with gardening -- where you're more or less robotically holding the door open for her so she can bring in the groceries and as she walks by you catch a hint of the fragrance in her hair, and then realize as she walks by that she's wearing that one pair of jeans (you know the ones) that make her ass look fantastic, the ones she wore that one time.. on the beach.
Hey kids, go play outside for a while.Mom and dad have some groceries to put away.
I bought a mop.Once again I'm feeling the itch to move into a better place, but finances aren't going to let that happen anytime soon, which means for the time being I'm still in mine. Don't get me wrong, I love this little apartment with all it's little quirks and faults because of what it means to me and the good times I've had there -- but I feel like I'm finally starting to outgrow it...Hilarity ensued.
It's not an easy process, (especially because I'm not really talking about my apartment at all) but the more I chip away at it, the better I figure it will get.Finally able to throw things away that I didn't need to be holding onto in the first place.
At the same time it's hard not to wish there was some way to call Chang up
and negotiate, maybe see if he'd be willing to help a brother out, you know?
Which is fine for everyone else, but I still have to live with the guy.So I got him drunk, and made him watch a lot of TV -- which I think helped me out in it's own odd way. The only down side was that weather-wise Saturday turned out to be really nice, which meant I blew away a gorgeous day of freedom over self-pity and a bag of pretzels. At the same time I think sometimes when things get on top of you and you lose your best perspective it's a good thing to find some way to refocus your direction. Lock down and get it out. Try to pick back up on the other side as best you can --
Still, when Sunday rolled around and I got a call from Matty seeing if I wanted to hit the Lemon Bar with him and the gang I gave serious consideration to bailing on them, thinking that even if I had woken up in a slightly better mood, spending time with my friends who never seem to have anything bad happen to them might put me right back in the emotional spot I started from on Friday.Because nothing good ever really comes out of moping.
At the same time, it was a gorgeous day..Fortunately for me, it turned out that being around people who didn't want to hear about any of my troubles but instead just wanted me to leave them at home and come have a good time with them was exactly what I needed.
Honestly, the IRS should take a few lessons from these guys.That way if you still end up broke and hurting the next day, there would at
least be a few embarrassing digital photos for us all to laugh about afterwards.
I'm in my boss' boss office, explaining to my boss' boss' boss the importance and impact of a set of engineering document changes that were given to me three days ago by my boss (who is conveniently absent today), who told me in no uncertain terms that that they have to be updated, trained on, and fully released by close of business today.
This is maybe even the second time I've even been in the same room with any of these executives, all of whom make about 10 times what I do and are more or less unaffected in any direct way by any of the changes I'm trying to get approved, yet are somehow still key signatures in the process.
Anyways, I finish my little spiel explaining to everyone in the room how despite the 11th hour nature of this approval process and some of the unexpected problems we've encountered along the way that these are still very important changes and unless we find a way to get the signature of one of their co-executives (who has been unavailable all day for unlisted reasons) this project will not go through.Only to have the other person in the room -- my boss' boss' boss' boss' boss turn to me and say:"Well, what do you think we should do?"
"Come on now, nothing could be as bad as you got it last time."But by the end of all the forms and calculations, it became clear that this time I was actually above water for once. But then came the real question:
"..That's what you told me last year."
In other words, because my finances were considerably less fucked up this year then they have been for a while, the IRS owes me a check. At the same time, I still owe the IRS like eight large. After referring to a few manuals and things, it was concluded that because I've already officially entered into an approved repayment plan with the IRS for last years debt, the check should come my way.Could I actually have it?
Although my tax "people" seemed pretty confident that the check would come to me, seeing this statement in black and white from the IRS has me terrified that it's all gonna go poof right before my eyes. Of course the sucky part is that the government pretty much has every right to take it from me, and modest as the amount of my expected return is -- adding it on to the balance would really help take a bite out of this debt that I owe.We have received your tax return and it is being processed. Unless we find
mistakes or you owe other taxes, you should receive your refund by [redacted].
But that doesn't mean I wouldn't really rather just have the cake.I called my tax lady back to see what she thought, and she's like "Honestly it could go either way -- it just depends on how they interpret things."
It's like I'm sitting at the table across from Teddy KGB.
Going into it in any detail would start to sound like the lyric sheet from some half-rate emo band, so I'm gonna pass on all that for now -- but I just wanted to let everyone who's contacted me wondering where I'm at and if I'm OK that I'm still around.I don't know -- this always seems to be a bad time of year for me.
Scattered reminders of the past. Demon distance. Sleepless nights.
In the meantime, here's something to keep you happy that's been getting some heavy rotation in my headphones lately. Great song from a great band, from a time where every heavy rock video inexplicably seemed to feature some shirtless old man wringing his hands in front of the camera. Seriously, you have to imagine that somewhere in Hollywood at a retirement community there's like five old guys sitting in wheelchairs talking about the good ol' days.I'm just ..dealing with some stuff, trying to stay on top.
"Oh, you mean the good ol' days like when you were a young man?"
"No, the good ol' days like the Summer of 1999 -- when I was working like 3 video shoots a week. I mean, one day I'd be the old guy in a cave for Metallica, then I was some sort of mad scientist for Alice in Chains, and then on Fridays I'd be wandering around some basement naked for Tool."
"Did you have to sodomize the marionette?"
"Are you kidding? I sodomized the hell out of that marionette.""..Good times."