They tell me depression runs in the family...That doesn't help me much

There's just something I need to get off my chest.
If someone is depressed and feels that life fucking sucks the last thing that person needs to hear is about people that have it worse. I think you know I'm speaking from experience.
Don't tell me about the girl that used to live in the neighborhood with the drug habit. It's not going to have the desired effect. I know I should feel bad for her and in my logical mind I do. But my selfish, distorted miserable view of the world I'm jealous. I wish I could drown out the way I feel. And drug addicts get forgiven. They get to move on.
Don't tell me about that guy you went to church with that died of cancer. Or the horrible way some loved one died. Don't tell me how strong you've been and that G-d never gives us more than we can handle. And for the love of all that is don't tell me I could be a homeless or unemployed or living in a war torn country.
Does no one understand that saying those things doesn't help? It doesn't put things into perspective. It just reminds me of what a worthless cunt I am. I know that. I don't need a reminder. It's pretty much the only thing I think about all day long.
That's why I am the way I am. Because I'm a terrible person. Thanks for really driving that point home.

Recently, I've been editing this so that I don't seem too crazy. So that meant that every part of my life is edited to protect everyone.
Fuck that.
I'm done. I'm not pretending anymore.
I'm miserable and I'm sick of my life and the way it's going. I don't want to come to this job. I hate this job. But it's the only good thing I've got going for me. I can pay my bills. That's better than this time last year. So, I'll keep showing up until I can't take it anymore. Then, who cares? I don't.
Hell, I don't want to get out of bed in the morning-how am I supposed to want to come here and pretend to want to be around people? And I don't want to talk about it or to anyone. I don't want connections. I want to be left alone.
Leave me the hell alone.
I'm a fucking loser. I hate myself. I'm not going to do anything stupid-don't call out the hounds. I'm not stupid. I don't want to die or even hurt. I hurt enough, thanks. I'm in constant pain. The kidding myself part of the game is over. Done. That's it. I'm a worthless sack of shit and I'm getting exactly what I deserve.
Don't expect me to be happy about it and don't try to make me feel better. I don't want to feel better. I feel exactly how I should.

You drive us wild, we'll drive you crazy

My weekend. Oh, it was such fun. Woo, the fun knows no bounds. Look-I'm almost in a coma describing it.
I love Ellen's suit. She's adorable. Girl next door crush.
Helen Mirren gets sexier each time she appears onscreen. Is there a sane person on the planet that isn't hot for her right now? Can't imagine that there is. Total GMILF right there. She should read stage directions more often. Wow. I need an audio recording of that.
Oh, I'm only talking about the women. None of my movie star boyfriends seem to be there. Not Hugh Grant. Where's he? He was so charming at the Golden Globes. Not as charming as Hugh Laurie--but really, to be one of the top charming British Hughs whose projects I'll watch uncritically whilst lusting after-that's an achievement. Actually, there's only two. But they're both fan-TAST-ic. Hugh Grant gets the longer crush. But Hugh Laurie gets more intensity.
Johnny Depp doesn't seem to be there either. What's that about? Is he sick and unable to ooze sex by simply being? That would bring great sadness to my soul. I watched "The Libertine" today. If he ever manages to be hotter than at the start of that movie then the movie will actually have to come with a warning.

The guy I've been talking with flat out asked me if I'm gay today. I told him I'm not. He probably should've worded that question different if he'd wanted a completely honest answer, though. I basically dislike both genders equally. But from my usual distance-I'm extremely open-minded sexually. (No one that reads this is surprised by that, right?)
I'm really looking forward to the chance to describe my hobby for reading gay porn fanfiction. Because I'm just that unpleasant. And, it would seem, incapable of dishonesty in the traditional 'getting to know you' manner. That's painful.

I love awards ceremonies. Pomp and circumstance amuse me to no end. The kind of thing I doubt people suspect from me. Kind of like my AI addiction and fondness for Judge Judy. It just doesn't jibe with the way people seem to perceive me.

Hmmm-Ellen looks even better in that white suit. Classy.

Otherwise my weekend was uneventful. Didn't spend much time at Grimey's because too many people were there and I only crowd for very special people. Besides I was throwing off the age curve.
The storm depressed Little Dog to no end. He sang a mournful song throughout the whole weather event. During the AI auditions we played a game called "Coupland auditions for American Idol" went like this:
Coupland: (think high pitch Cartman--like Towlie) *waving his paws in the air, like he just don't care* Let's get it on! Let's get it on!
Paula: Oh honey...You seem very sweet...
Randy: Dawg...Wow, dawg...That's...what were you thinkin' Dawg?
Simon: Simply awful.
Coupland: Should I try another song? 'All along the watchtower..."
Simon: No. Stop. Just stop. You're terrible.
Coupland: *tries to flip Simon off, has no fingers* *storms off all indignant and shit*
It's a real fun game. Later, we're going to play "Coupland's Oscar speech." We're both looking forward to May and playing "Coupland wins American Idol." I have no life.

Returning to my total lack of life now. I've got about 4 Girl Scout cookies from the box I bought from the little demons today that I need to argue with myself about whether or not to eat tonight. I don't have any willpower either.

ETA: Mmmmm George Clooney...yummy. At least one of my movie star eye candy favorites is there. (Like Helen Mirren, is there a person on the planet that doesn't want to ride him like a pony at the carnival?)
Jennifer Hudson was sweet. I'm glad she won. Hope she makes another decent movie in her career.

Rock 'n' roll music was the only thing I ever gave a damn about

And she doesn't know what's comin' but she sure knows what she's leavin' behind
And she left a little letter sayin' she's gonna make a stop in Nevada
Goodbye...goodbye



Dudes, last night I had the distinct and totally groovy pleasure of seeing Billy Joel in concert at the GEC. I don't know what to say about the show. It was awesome. I love Billy Joel. I do. Even when he does something mediocre-to me-it's awesome. An Innocent Man is a lousy album that you probably own-but it has "Keeping the Faith" on it. That is truly amazing song. I really, really love that song. Like it's kind of embarassing how much. It makes up for the kind of "eh" of most of the album and the huge "are you on drugs, Billy? Cuz that song sucks donkey balls" of "Uptown Girl." (I do take some pleasure from "Uptown Girl" because of that episode of the Simposons where Homer is playing 'Freak Out' music and that's his song choice. That makes me laugh like a damn fool.) The first cassette I ever got was "Songs in the Attic" a totally random collection of even now not that well known songs from his first few albums. I have no idea what my parents were thinking. An 8 year old kid should not hear that kind of music. It's all about sex and drugs and debauchery. I love that cassette. It has soundtracked some of the most life parts of my life. Billy Joel just sort of accidentally wrote the soundtrack to so many important things. Not because I'm living a derivative life--I'm not saying I'm not, but I'm not saying I am eithe-but because I'm a suburban intellectual with too much education (book or life take your pick) and not enough money. Except for the times when there's enough money (or too much) and it goes to drugs or alcohol or cough medicine (Oh Jesus Christ! Cough medicine? Jesus Christ! as Mr. Slave and Mik like to say) to get through a few days.
ANYHOO-I am so happy I got to see Billy Joel last night. He played a pretty predictable set. For me, anyway. I wanted to hear "Vienna" or James because I'm a super fan girl that has everything he's ever done. and wants to hear everything. The highlight for me was "Rootbeer Rag" because I am a sucker for a man that can play piano. Fingers dancing on keys--that-makes me--happy-in my pants. That's sex right there. Can't explain it-but I've had this irrational kind of crush on Billy Joel for a long time because of how his fingers look when he plays that piano. I know he's not that attractive. I don't care. Sing us a song, you're the piano man.
I know the dude is older than my dad. I know his music isn't cool by any stretch of the imagination. I don't care. I like the kind of music he writes. I like the kind of person I choose to believe he is. I am unbelievably happy just thinking about some of my favorite Billy Joel songs. Hell, the longest fic I ever wrote was inspired by one of his songs. I've loved him since I was a little kid and seeing him live was probably (like Mum said) "the last big, important name you have to see." He was. I've seen everyone and done everything but g-dammit, I got to see Billy Joel and he was amazing. You can think I'm a goofy thing if you want. I'm so happy I went. I can't even say.
SO-here's the story on that.
I didn't want a shitty seat. I was willing to pay the $$ is I had to-but I didn't want to if I could avoid it. Cuz I loves my money not being in someone else's hands. I'm cheap-is what I'm saying. So I spent the day on craigslist trying to get a decent ticket. Some bastard said I could get 2 tickets for $50. But then he was from hell and sold the tickets for $150-3x what he was asking. Dick. He told me he wouldn't take anymore calls about the tickets. I was pissed. But I'm a hippie. And hippies know how to get tickets. I walked up to the GEC with my right index finger extended. A couple and I were wraggling for a $85 ticket. I was willing to pay $60.
"I'll sell you one for $40," said a random guy.
"You got it," I pulled 2 $20s from my wallet and traded for the ticket. I never do anything the way most people do. That's too easy. And I'm not most people. The seat wasn't great-but let's hear it for the cheap seats, I could see everything that was going on onstage and that was cool. Lucky I'm not afraid of heights.
So I got my seat way up there in the nosebleeds and was enjoying my anticipation and along comes this guy.
"You buy your seat from ...?"
"Yeh, you too, huh?"
"It was kind of impulsive. When I was a kid, I told my mom I wanted a rock'n'roll album and she bought me 'Glass Houses.' So, I thought I should see Billy Joel in concert.'
Glass Houses is one of my favorite albums of, like, ever. You may be right-I may be crazy. But it just may be a lunatic you're lookin' for.
I guess I was on a happy trip because I was talking to this guy and not being my usual closed off self. I even gave him my actual phone number when he asked for it after the show. That is so not like me. He called tonight. I took his call. We talked for an hour--I'm taking bets on what his negating flaw is. I can't be friends with someone with a negating flaw. My guess is Republicanism. I do live in the South after all. Everyone in this town is a Republican except me and Todd Snider. He doesn't watch House. That's a serious personality flaw. And I don't think he knows who Stephen Colbert is. Clearing-there's no good reason for us to be friends.
He so can't borrow my top. We aren't friends. He can't borrow my top. I know I'm not wearing it. It's no one's business what I'm saving it for. Go to the mall.

I'm a cockroach after the bomb-carrying on

Alright. Well-where to begin. Where to end. At the same place I suppose. Here, on my floor watching American Idol (go Blake!--at the moment). In an ideal world House would be on now. But I have two weeks before I get any more yummy House-osity. Maybe I'll finish that damn fic I'm working on. Me doubts.

Oh so I hate my job and I hate the people I work around. They're all idiots and liars. And one or the other is bad-but an idiot trying to craft a lie? That sort of thing is enough for me to change my opinion on the death penalty. All day all I want to do is throw a book at whatever dumbass I'm being forced to deal with at the moment tell them to get fucked with something hard and sandpaper-y and storm out of the building. My blood pressure shoots up and my chest hurts whenever I go to work. Fuckers that couldn't find their ass with both hands and a topographical map get full time jobs and I'm stuck in temp hell. 99.999% of the people I encounter on a daily basis have IQs lower than my shoe size. The only joy I get is when some damn fool calls with a question like the betch that wanted info on St. Patrick's Day and I went into full militant Irish socialist mode and began to rant about the mis-representation of the Irish by the American populace during that bastardized holiday. She didn't know what hit her.
"You do realize that the St. Patrick's Day you see in this country is nothing like the genuine holiday right? It's not even close. Shamrocks and leprachans have nothing to do with the Irish! Do you know anything about the history? Do you have any idea what the Celts have survived to be the vital and important cultural force they are today? Do you realize what it means to us when we're relegated to drunk, fighting, half-witted stereotypes? How do you like it when someone stereotypes your people?"
She wasn't bright enough to realize I was fucking with her. But I meant every word. The Irish aren't about fighting (okay, we fight, a lot) or drinking (yeah, we drink, a lot) or little red haired men in green derby caps (no, really, that's just ignorant) and don't fucking kiss me because I'm Irish (just don't fucking try to kiss me if you want to live). Boils m'blood it does. Shit like that ignorant claptrap.

I guess what I'm saying is: I wanna work somewhere without flourescent lights.

ANYHOO-I'd decided I hated life too much to experience joy so I wasn't going to go see Tommy tonight. But then I got a phone call before I left work. During which time I said possibly the most inappropriate thing I've ever said whilst sitting behind the front desk: "I was just going to go home and shoot some morphine..." OK-really. No excuse. My 'boss' was standing not three feet away. It rivaled fucking with the dumb betch about Irish history for only good moment of the day.

**AI Note-wait, go Chris! Also-Simon just called Ryan sweetheart. They're so hot together. I so want the link to that interweb sex video.**

Where the bloody hell was I? Oh yeah, driving across town to see Tommy Womack at Grimey's. I made record time-like, 10 minutes from 28th N to 8th S-I didn't do that good when I went to see Todd and took the expressway. It was bitchin'.

Tommy was (as he always is) awesome. He played for quite some time-45 minutes maybe? Honestly, I was so much enjoying the show I dunno how long he played. Just do yourself a favor-if you know Tommy or you've never heard of him-go out and buy There I Said It. The dude that writes music for USA Today gave him props. But don't believe that guy-believe me-Tommy Womack's There I Said It is an album you need.

You also need Americanitis by Will Kimbrough (who, along with his baby girl, is the cutest thing on the planet at this present moment--they should be illegal, they're so adorable) and Todd Snider Peace, Love and Anarchy (B-Sides and Rarities). That last one isn't out yet. But you need it.
/I'm not just promoting the hometeam or anything. They really should be required listening for anyone that likes music that doesn't suck. I have spoken.

So, after Tommy had warmed up singing "Here Comes a Regular" and played a bunch of songs off his new album (all of which I'd heard either live or whilst sitting in his van) I bought the one 'Mats album I don't have (Don't You Know Who I Think I Was?) and the TW CD. Since I only rock intermittently I had to get my CD signed.
(A/N-y'know, I don't think I've ever recounted a conversation when someone that was nearby might read it. Forgive me if I quote wrong. I'm trying)

**AI Note. Go Phil! You're all bald and cute and shit! Oh-Ryan, my bevested sweetie pie-why are you mocking Britney? You're better than that!**

Conversating at Grimey's about a topic that has nothing to do with Simon and his manboobs.
*Pointing at my empty PBR* "That's the worst hangovers I ever had."
"Really/ My worst hangover was...Ketel One vodka."
"Vodka, really? I never got a hangover from vodka."
"Well, I was drining straight from the bottle-and I was about 20 lbs lighter than I am now. But I'd also drank, like, 6 Heinekens. Then I passed out on a tour bus."
"And you have no idea what happened after that."
"I woke up in a hotel in downtown Pittsburgh and I'm not 100% how I got there."
"You probably don't want to know. There's probably a whole bunch of memories you've repressed."
"I was thinking about going into therapy and trying to regain those memories."
"I hope it was Black 47."
"Nope." (it was them what live in these parts and my drinking companion looks a lot like Ethan Hawke. Only he's about ten years older. Just so you don't think I'm a complete lunatic. A cab was involved.)
*Guy I've never seen before* "No,you don't want to know. Just drink more. Drink a lot more." *I guess he was there...*
"You should definately never try to remember that night."
Should've Been rock stars are worried about my sanity. I so rock.

So it's moments like when I'm leaning against the "Preloved" section and glancing at a Wilco CD that I don't need to buy because Mik has it she played it when we were going somewhere last spring with the dog and cigarettes and bitterness and Cokes in between our legs in that awful station wagon with the cheapass CD player that skipped if you looked at it funny and remembering the summer of 14 Songs when I was 17 and my car had a tape deck and we drove around listening to that and the Reality Bites soundtrack me and my sister innocent world untouched hippies with $5 between us enough for gas and a stop at Taco Bell and still there was change left. It's when the music makes me forget for a minute that life isn't just a desk and a ringing phone and cheatinglies you don't fool me none of you. Life isn't just like that-it's a Daddy dancing with his daughter, guitar solo, in joke, free beer, rock song moment that doesn't mean that much except it's everything because it's what makes the stupid endless days seem less endless and more like a means to and end.

I mean, if I was ever going to buy a desk set... twice! I would probably buy this one, both times! In fact, its shape is rather aerodynamic isn't it?

I've almost recovered from the horror brought on by a possible House/Cam kiss intimated by the promos last night. It's taken a lot of therapy-and rationalizing by my fellow House/Wilson supporters-but I'm hanging on to the hope that it's a totally inoccuous scene. Like Fox used to tempt us with back in the X-Files days. "The episode that answers all!your!questions!" For non X-Philes--there was no such episode.
"I'm traumatized. There's this scene and Cam is all like, 'I want to play tonsil hockey with you.' And House is all 'Stop looking at me like that.' And I'm all 'House only has eyes for WILSON!!!1!"
"Oh. Kay then."
There is a spoiler floating around that would explain stuff if it's true-but I won't ruin it for anyone that might actually want Ham action. I only read the vaguest of spoilers-so I don't know details anyway.
Last night's episode made me very happy. That's the House I fell in love with. Best moment-the total RSL nerdgasm when House had more info about the tranny nurse and the 11 fingered doctor. G-d, I love that show.

American Idol doesn't have a clear favorite yet. I guess I like Jack Osbourne dude. He's funny. I think they're letting Sundance slide too much, tho. The lesbian chick got cut I think. Too bad. I liked her lesbosity. I missed it-what happened to former Take That background singer dude?
Speaking of Take That-Robbie Williams checked himself into rehab/hospital for depression and prescription pill addiction. Since I love me some Robbie I'm rooting for him to come out of this and ready to produce a double live album. I might have to treat myself to RudeBox as a show of support for his recovery.

Oh-what? You want to hear about me? Nothing to say here. I spent two hours the phone with Mum. We were mostly watching TV being stupid. She's snowed in, I think the weather is making her go goofy. I am rapidly developing an uncontrollable hate for my job. I'm looking for other options-
"I just see you working at a prep school. Inspiring those really driven, smart kids."
"Like Dead Poet's Society?"
"Or maybe you could do some kind of comedy thing, you're funny as hell and smart. You could keep people's attention and teach at the same time."
"Oh, you mean like Dead Poet's Society."
I have a limited capacity for cultural references.
"So Starwood Ampitheater closed. Parrotheads across Nashville are all, like, what?"
"...."
"Cuz they're stoned. It was a joke."
"...Ha. Funny."
"Clearly."
But still, the job is not inspirational. It's depressing. I'd be out of work now if things had gone as planned. I suppose lucky for me they didn't. I guess. Money is good. Even if it drains the soul.
It's just boring, and pointless and no future-y. Mum is convinced that I'm not in the running because I'm not black.
"Are you saying that there's a No Irish Need Apply sign in the window? Or, is it because I'm a wop?"
"I think it's probably both."
I reckon she's right. If I was an uneducated white girl I might be what they wanted. But more than likely they want a black handicapped lesbian with 2 out of wedlock kids. (Mum laughed at that joke-she's going to hell for that. But she was already going to hell for laughing at the ethnic jokes. Bad Mummy.)
One more day this week. Then I've got 4 days off. I'm going to Atlanta. Daddy promised me steak. Probably also pie and candy. The hotel serves breakfast and dinner-and he's near shopping and gets a per diem. My daddy loves me. It all adds up.
So-I'm just hanging out at work. Filling in my role as a warm body. It's getting kind of difficult to act like nothing's wrong.

Put that, put that, put that before all That isn't fortunate at all

A brief break from the ultra-nerdtasticness of my Saturday obsession with radio. An odd obsession, agreed. I was just trying to remember what it was Dad told me about radio waves bouncing around the ionosphere during the night. It was vaguely relevant to a fic I'm working on. But, mostly I was trying to remember the story. He used to listen to the radio late at night, and pick up everything from conspiracy nuts swearing they were watching UFOs fly across the sky (pre-Art Bell Coast to Coast AM days) to radio stations he could swear were broadcasting from Europe. One night I drove home from Kentucky to Tennessee listening to Cleveland radio. It was my birthday, the night was foggy and cold.What a surprise to pick up a familiar voice from youthful late night drives home back in Northern Ohio so far from the source. I never picked upt the station again. I didn't want to get this caught up in information gathering. I was just trying to remember the science of the thing.
I'm so lame.
I'm also pissed because when I went to buy ticket to Richard Thompson it was sold out. It wasn't sold out this afternoon! G-dammit! Sons of bitches! Shit!
This song cracked me up:
There is Life Outside Your Apartment. Not sure if I believe it, but it made me laugh.

“An original idea. That can't be too hard. The library must be full of them.”

Some of the things that are going on in my life.
I'm feeling panicky again. My day started off with a complete feeling of happy. I suspect it was residual "House didn't make me cry last night" giddyness. The ep made me so happy I forgot to watch Doctor Who. That ain't right. Luckily, I have no plans this weekend, so I can watch it Saturday night. I certainly do know how to party.
By the end of the day, I was feeling trapped. Nothing serious, just-trapped.
I think I need to getaway. The planned kind sounds so boring, but I must have had my interesting bone removed sometime in the last couple of years. I'm the dullest dull that ever dulled.
The main cause of my panic is probably the way I hate everyone I work around. Not with, I like the lady I work with. She's one of the few people whose company I enjoy. I don't like the Big Boss. She's dumber than dirt. That doesn't mean she's not a decent person, but I don't have the patience for stupid. Especially not Powerful!Stupid. I hate that with the same intensity I hate those people that stand outside of abortion clinics shouting "Murderer!" at everyone that walks inside.
Stephen Fry is on Bones tonight. I <3 Stephen Fry. I want to go out for vodka and tonics, bum smokes off of him and discuss random clever things. All the while feeling not nearly clever enough to be communicating with Stephen Fry. He'd probably look at me the way I look at the people I work around. Luckily the likelihood that fantasy would ever happen is slim to NEVER!!11! I'm going to hang on to my dream that we could be chums.
The title of this entry is a Stephen Fry quote. Apropos, no?
The computers were down for awhile at work today. That made me so happy. The place was empty most of the day. It was quiet and lovely. No people. If someone showed up all it took was four words: "The computers are down" and I had my peace back. I even got to keep a running (and hi-LAR-ious!) commentary on the reactions people had when I told them to piss off. I was full of glee. Then, didn't the goddamn things come back on right when the fucking youth of the ghetto were getting out of school. Thanks g-d, for reminding me once again that you don't exist. As if my stint in purgatory with fast internet access isn't enough of a reminder.
There's this one guy. He's been mostly a dick to me since I pointed out that he was being rude and an asshole (no, I didn't use those EXACT words). He was talking on his cell phone in the library, and acting like he was the first (instead of the last by a long mile) person on the block to get a mobile. He didn't acknowledge me for close to two weeks. His record has been beaten by the little girl that shelves and has been having a "I'm not talking to you cuz yr mean and told on me" fit since I informed the proper authorities she wasn't doing her job. My heart was broken in 17 places, not having those two to talk to. Then Mr.Mobile came in yesterday and spent most of 8 hours (save the time he spent getting lunch from the mission) hacking up a lung, snotting on every magazine and newspaper in the building and making me gag from the stench that emanates from his never before washed coat. Any wonder I've been sick all winter? Not anymore. Assholes like that are de rigeur. Then he has the nerve to tell me he's "Praying for" me, when I told him it would be his fault if I got sick.
I need a break. Everyone needs a break, of course, I get it. But if I don't have one soon--I'm probably going to go apeshit insane.

I've seen the best minds of my generation, destroyed by madness...yadda yadda yadda

Today I'm feeling both claustro and agora-phobic. That's good fun.
I did manage to do a little house straightening today. Messy bed-messy head, you know.
It wore me out. But I kept going. It's important to push yourself until you collapse. Builds character. Or something.
The Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet is adorable!
Go brown puppy! You tell white pointy eared puppy who's boss!
What the hell kind of person watches Puppy Bowl?
People with no life to speak of.
Stoners, the housebound and other Eleanor Rigby types. Just a guess.
Coupland doesn't seem too into it.
Maybe he's a Bears fan.
We don't talk about sports.
Anybody seen those Kleenex commercials with people talking and crying? Those are uplifting.
Speaking of uplifting. Chelsea Walls is quite possibly the most depressing movie I've seen in ages. Not cathartic weeping depressing. Just---Oh.My.God.That's.So. Fucking.Sad. Adored the movie. I highly recommend it. Ethan Hawke is actually a pretty good director. I have more respect for him after watching his "small" "artsy" stuff than I ever did from his big budget movies. Kris Kristofferson's character is slightly interesting. He's playing someone that I would say is not a big stretch, artistically, for him. It isn't him, but I bet he knows plenty of people like his character. Uma Thurman is predictably enjoyable. I never used to like her either, but recently I've decided she's fairly pleasant sometimes. Like the anti-Meg Ryan. Who's great, don't get me wrong, but there's a perkiness about her that isn't always my cuppa. Uma Thurman doesn't come off as perky. Or maybe it's that whole indie thing. No one's perky in an indie movie. It's against the law. Robert Sean Leonard plays a Minnesotan song writer with an oddly hick-ish accent. Not southern, it sounds like the accent of someone that is trying to shake the elongated vowels and nasal tones of the Mid-West. It's not pretty. (And who here would ever think I'd say anything about RSL wasn't pretty?) I notice that his intonation changed during the phone call. More natural, I think. Course, that might've just been because he was supposed to be wasted.
The cast is huge and full of people that prompt the "HEY! It's THAT guy!" exclamation. A lot of the movie is like watching a beat poem. If you hate beat poetry (and let's face it--there's a lot more to hate than there is to love) then you'll probably hate this movie. The fact that the first thing anyone sees when walking into my apartment is a poster of Jack Kerouac with a quote from Allen Ginsburg scrawled across the bottom might indicate that I'm prejudiced. I'm a pretentious, beat generation loving, free form poetry spewing, heart on my sleeve, cynical, sad, angry, loner, dreamer. It makes sense I'd enjoy a movie about the same.
But don't expect to feel good when it's over.
And don't get too attached to Terry.

Meanwhile---
The parents are in Cali. They had an eventless flight and called upon their arrival at LAX. Mum said she was famous person spotting. I told her to look out for Hugh Laurie for me.
"If I see him I'll be sure to tell him my daughter is his biggest fan."
"Oh, I'm sure I'm not. Not even close. There's a lot of people that are far more obsessed than I am."
"What would you have me say?"
"Hi, Hugh. That would be a nice start. Just act like you know him. If you're lucky, he might be very polite and British and self-effacing. Then you can say you've chatted with Hugh Laurie. Then again he might run away in fear. But that would make a good story too."
"If I saw Hugh Laurie, I'd be respectful and leave him alone."
"Oh, you're no fun anymore."
"No, I'm not."

Did I have anything else to say? I don't think so. SuperBowl Sunday kinda blows. There's nothing on TV. There's nothing on TV.
Oh really, what are you watching, then?
Puppy Bowl III. Proving my previous statement.
Maybe I'll watch a movie or read a book or write a book. Or go to sleep. Or drink heavily and chase it with cold medicine. (No, I won't do that. That's bad-mmmkay?)
Guess it's time to make dinner.
Go sports team of your choice. Kick that other team's ass. Woo.

After all, I'm just a fan

First, an actual day update. I bought 5 movies today.
-Peter's Friends: Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, Emma Thompson, a really big house a really cool opening montage. No one is happy. Bad things happen to good people. Quite a bit of sex is had.
-Killer Journal of a Murder: Robert Sean Leonard is a prison guard, James Woods is a murderous bastard. I think they're in love
-Safe Passage: Susan Sarandon has a lot of kids, one of them is RSL who (I think) has some very tame sex with an older woman
-Bob and Rose: a gay man falls in love with a woman. It's British. There's probably some bi-sexual snogging. I read somewhere it's good. It was cheap.
-Chelsea Walls: Ethan Hawke directs a movie about brooding hipsters in NYC. Hipsters not in NYC watch and brood. There's a lot of talk. I don't think anyone gets laid.

I also called to find out the steps to getting a teaching degree. Because I want to go back to school like a con wants to go back to prison. It doesn't sound that hard, just a little more work, some more debt and creativity. Or, I could get a Ph.D. in American Culture Studies ("You could insist on being addressed as 'Dr.' when you're scooping those french fries."--"Piss off, Mum.") Or become a forensic anthropologist.


I'm in a meme mood. This is from one of those stupid "Which House character am I?" groups on LJ. There's nothing but this from here on. So, feel free to skip. Or fill it out with your own answers. If you don't watch House, substitute something else for those questions. Like Jem and the Holograms or Judge Judy or something.
Name: I've said it before. Either you know or you don't
Age: 30
Occupation: Over-educated temp

Likes: Coupland, soap operas and bad television in general, wasting time, beer, British Comedy, knowledge, debate, intelligence, watching TV while listening to my iPod, Mun and Dad, the sister and her Jew, the cousins and Aunties and Uncle, the Kentucky-ites, assorted Southerners of various stereotypes, sleep
Dislikes: most people, liars, stupidity, American sitcoms in general, the word proactive, CCRWRSWAMs (usually)

3 Favorite Movies: This is Spinal Tap, It's Wonderful Life (don't say a word), When Harry Met Sally (nip it--nip it!), Boondock Saints, artsy movies with a lot of talk and very little dialogue
3 Favorite Musicians and/or Musical Groups: Todd Snider, Black 47, Billy Joel (Beatles and Stones--like the Bible on a desert island, implied)
3 Favorite Books: The World According to Garp (John Irving), Welcome to the Monkey House (Kurt Vonnegut), Life After God (Douglas Coupland)
3 Favorite Foods: Cheese Enchiladas, Fish Tacos, various sandwiches (Italian grinder, meatball sub, reuben, Romanburger)
3 Favorite Television Shows: The Colbert Report, House, Doctor Who, Heroes, General Hospital (3 isn't enough)

Strengths: I have a nearly photographic and selectively phonographic memory, I'm charming, people seem to find me amusing, I learn things quickly, I'm not dead yet
Weaknesses: easily bored/distracted, not always the nicest of people, I have a zero tolerance for rude people, I'm not above choking a bitch if necessary, kind of moody, standoffish, cynical
Fears: debt, poverty, getting shot(lifelong, fear, no idea why), someone breaking into my house, harm coming to my family or dog in a way that I could have prevented but didn't, being unable to take care of myself
Hobbies: putzing about on the interwebs, slash, watching General Hospital, obsessing about House and Colbert, being lazy
The One Thing You Want To Do More Than Anything:
Get a decent job that allows me to break the paycheck to paycheck cycle, not spend all my days bored and without mental stimulation

House Related Questions

Who is your favorite character and why?: Wilson, he is nothing like the person he wants everyone to think he is
Do you have a favorite episode? Care to Share?: Detox, House vs. God or Son of a Coma Guy--all of them because of the amazing House/Wilson dynamic and the great acting and character development HL and RSL brought out in those eps. Also, Doris Egan rocks
Do you have a favorite quote and/or snark? "Being miserable doesn't make you better than anyone else, House. It just makes you miserable."
Do you have a favorite House accessory?: the bike
If you were sick, would you want House as a doctor?:"> Yes. If I'm sick enough to see a doctor, might as well be one that will almost kill me before making me all better.
Which character do you identify with most? This can include a patient.: House
Most importantly, what is your non-House favorite quote?: "Judge the judgemental and what am I?"-Todd Snider and "Whatever gets you through the night"-John Lennon

So--which House character am I? I'm thinking the masses will probably go with Cameron. And then I will crush the masses like the bugs they are.

We're goin' bowlin' so don't lose her in Solon

A totally unnecessary post. After all a person that sleeps all the time (although I'm fairly chipper when conscious) isn't that interesting. I'm thinking I might try to go to R-Gate and do some shopping tomorrow. But I just paid my rent and credit card bills. So, I don't have shopping money. Never mind. I'll probably just nap.
The most notable event of late would be the reminder of how delicious Romanburgers are. They're the signature sandwich at Mr. Hero, a sandwich shop back home. It's a buttered, grilled bun with two hamburger patties and grilled salami with melted cheese and onions and some special sauce (I think it's mostly mayo). The only proper way to eat a Romanburger is with waffle fries. I really, really want one. Right now. Dreams of sandwiches with proper understanding of what makes a good sandwich. (It's nothing available on the Subway menu and Italian subs do not feature bolgna. Dammit.) The Mum person needs to stop mentioning wonderful foodstuffs that I cannot replicate in my own kitchen or buy in this part of the country. It's not fair! I wanna Romanburger now! Sulky, pouty, sulk.
That's about the only coherent thought I've had all day. I'm knocking about an idea for a story, but I might abandon it. It kind of leans towards the self-insert if done poorly. And I'm not sure what that good. Dunno, I'll think about it.
We didn't get any snow.
Yawn.

ETA: Later. The conversation that was sort of about religion tonight...I'm thinking about it. Because what else is there to do when you're too tired to get off the couch? And yet, I'm still awake. I didn't mean to imply I'm an atheist. Agnostic, yeah. There's something going on that humans don't have control over-but I hesitate to call that something G-d. Might be, just as easily might not. I subsribe to the theory that I can't remember the name of right now that says it's easier to believe than to not believe. Sometime I'll look that up and write it down. But I don't believe that Christianity necessarily has it right. Or Buddhism or Judaism or any ONE religion. I don't know if there's a previous life or an afterlife. With that in mind I live like I've got one chance. THIS LIFE. Anything else in icing on the cake. Not to be cliche or flip, but I'm trying to type and watch Colbert at the same time. He ended racism tonight. It was touching. I cried a little.
So, yeah. I was thinking about that and thought I'd add those thoughts to the post. Bad stuff happens. It's not a test to see if I'm worthy of the Kingdom. It's a test to see if I'm strong enough to survive life. The pay off is getting up in the morning and the bad shit not being the first thought of the day. Victory isn't something we may or may not get when we die. When we die, we're dead. Heaven is a comforting idea we cling to so that life doesn't seem so pointless and ultimately futile. Heaven--heaven is a place--a place where nothing---nothing ever happens.