Existential Crisis: What Am I Doing Here?

I just discovered that I've had my own blog since 2008. It's called The 100-Meter Sashay. And I gave myself the name "Germaine Avatar" with the help of a seldom-used throwaway email address. All of this is just more evidence of my own awesomeness.

Except...

...I have no recollection of doing this.

None.

Still, it makes me wonder why I'm here. And not there.

Maybe just so I could share this picture of Camus. I mean, that's reason enough, right? Which is to say, who is Ryan Gosling? Never heard of 'im.

Forgotten President of the Day: Rutherford Birchard Hayes

However did we let such an astonishing name sink into the caliginous* depths of American history?

Rutherford Birchard Hayes. Say it with me... Rutherford. Birchard. Hayes. So poetic! So dignified! So arboreal!

Trivia

• Nickname: Dark-Horse President
• Legacy: With wife, Lucy, conducted the first Easter egg roll on the White House lawn
• Technology: Was president when Alexander Graham Bell installed the first telephone at the White House and the first to use a typewriter (be still, my heart) - ahem, so now we can put to rest some of those erroneously perpetuated derisions
• Wife: "Lemonade Lucy" - wouldn't serve alchohol in the W.H. - Uh oh. That's just not American. I mean, that's a real stumbling block, a P.R. problem if I ever heard of one.

In any case, Rutherford Birchard, on this day that has nothing to do with your birthday or the day you died or became president, on this day that has no relevance to you or your family or your presidency whatsoever, I tip my hat to you. Someday, I aspire to be known as "Dark-Horse Hammock Jockey Mumbler." I'm just biding my time...

Look at him! Hey girl, he looks like Ryan Gosling!

*-Did you really just use that word?
- Hells yeah, I did!

A Better Life: How it came to pass that I was assaulted with dimensional lumber...

Whenever I watch a movie like A Better Life or Sin Nombre, my mind inevitably hearkens back to the last time I visited the outlet mall or the expensive cheese section of my grocery store, and I am reminded of the obscene amount of money that I spend annually at both. These thoughts fill me with such a sense of self-loathing that in order to cope, (clearly) it is necessary for me to invoke the anesthetizing properties of the marathon online shopping binge. The sheer magnitude of charging involved in these episodes eventually forces my sister to bean me in the face with a two-by-four, separating me from the computer and sending me sprawling onto the floor, where, as I lie twitching, the narcotic consumerist voltage eventually dissipates from my central nervous system.

Follow along with me now because the next part gets a little circuitous…

When I put The Artist on hold at my library, it was still on order, meaning that they had not yet procured the actual DVDs, but they were in the process of doing so. It may have still been playing at one or two of the cheap theaters. Even still, after placing my hold, I discovered that I was #1286 in line. I expect I will be seeing The Artist possibly next February.

A month or two ago, I finally got around to going through the list of Academy Award nominees and reserving anything I hadn’t already seen. It turned out that Demiàn Bichir was nominated for Best Actor for A Better Life, neither of which I had ever heard of before. Everybody else in the world probably already knew this, just as they know he didn’t win the award. Jean Dujardin from The Artist did.

Anyway, so I put A Better Life on hold, and I was #58 in line. Now I think of all those people who are going to watch The Artist and who probably won’t see A Better Life. And it makes me sad because in my opinion A Better Life should be required viewing for anyone taking for granted the McDisney dream that a lot of us live every day. People like me. And I’m not saying that I’m a terrible person or anything. But, if you want to talk about 1%, it means a different thing when applied globally.

I don’t want to get all preachy. That’s no fun. Putting the politics away now.

A Better Life is really the story of a father’s love for his son. And it’s this element of the film that could make even the Grinch’s heart grow three sizes. And then the Grinch would start bawling uncontrollably, simultaneously hiccupping and sobbing about how he hasn’t spent enough time with his father since he moved away, rivulets of snot cascading from his nostrils into a handkerchief with the words, “I’m Toast” embroidered on the corner.

Then the Grinch would visit the J.Crew online factory website just, you know, to see…

Lyrics

Quote of the Day: Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?

Jane Hudson: Butcha are, Blanche! Ch'are in that chair!

Bette Davis, we love you! You have Bette Davis eyes!

Yes, but is it art?



Why? Because we like you.

Actually, I don't know why.

Tip of the Day

It looks really odd and borderline creepy if you have a framed picture of your spouse/significant other on your desk and it's only them and nothing else in the picture. Double whammy if it's a professional photo. Think of John Candy's picture of Marie that he carried with him on his shower curtain ring sales trips in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Granted, she was dead (spoiler?) but still....is it that tough to find a photo of both of you, or at least throw in the family pet? You see him/her every night, do you need to gawk at their mug all day at work? Worse yet, do you have the photo up just to make him/her feel good when they drop in for a surprise visit to the office?
A couple weeks ago, I witnessed a man taking a picture of his wife at Washington Park in Portland, and I stepped in to offer to take a picture of both him just so he could avoid this very calamity of which I speak. I was quite proud of myself.

Brilliant Idea: #12

[(Popsicle stick + Gob o' peanut butter) + Dipped in (Skittles + M & Ms)] Deep-fried =
a little dessert I like to call The Pyrrhic Victory

Mirror Mirror: Don't Look.

Don't.

Just...don't.

Instead, read this delightfully apropos Mad Libs* story that my sister and I worked on during our road trip to the Oregon coast:

Snow White

One of the most popular fairy boogers of all time is Snow White and the Seven Hemorrhoids. Snow White is a princess whose brutal beauty threatens her stepmother, the queen, and her two step-cowboys, who are very rectal. Snow White is forced to flee from the speed limit sign in which she lives and hide in the nearby dandelion. Once there, she is discovered by fiduciary animals who guide her to the gubernatorial cottage of the seven dwarfs. The dwarfs come home from digging in their mine and discover Snow White asleep in their pancakes. The dwarfs take care of her until a prince, who has traveled the four corners of the pantyhose in search of Snow Chartreuse, arrives and gives her a magical bastard on her tonsils, which miraculously brings her back to life. Snow White and the prince live arbitrarily ever after.

Have you heard?
Bjork is suing the pants off this production company right now.
Isn't that exciting?
I love your hat by the way. Would you like to see my soft palate?

 *Seriously. We only did one Mad Libs on the drive and this was it! The freakish similarity between our story and Mirror Mirror caused my tonsils to instantly break out in hemorrhoids.

It's a Sign!

...that Freddy Krueger lives in this unassuming Seattle neighborhood.

(See how I brought it back to movies? That was pretty awesome.)

Brilliant Idea: #343

Ice cream fondue.

Brilliant Idea: #342

Melted butter = sauce for ice cream. Everything is so right about this.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas: My Favorite Childhood Movie

On July 23, 2012, TBLWiT will turn 30 years old!!!

My sister and I watched this all the time when we were kids. It has everything you need:

• Dolly Parton, singing
• Burt Reynolds, singing and swearing and sheriffing
• Dom DeLuise, singing and dancing and stuffing his underwear
• Charles Durning, singing and dancing and politicking and Durninging

Why did our parents let us watch this? This is not appropriate subject matter for a 7-year-old. Who cares?! This movie taught me that Texas is a scary place populated by small-minded, soulless yokels* and that even though conservative hayseeds may run you out of town, Burt Reynolds will be there to sweep you off your feet and drive you to the big city where he will make an honest woman of you.

So...it's just like real life.

*I don't really mean that about Texans. Plenty of wonderful people are from the Lone Star State. For example...

Quote of the Day: My Dinner With Andre

"The cookie is in no position to know that."

Indeed.

...except when it is perfectly poised to know exactly that.

Breaking Bad: Wish #32

I want a cameo by Sir Sean Connery.

I want him to stare defiantly into the eyes of whatever villain he, Walt, and Jesse are in the midst of confronting.

I want him to demand, with Scottish brogue in full attack mode, "Let us cook, dammit!!!"

And I want it...

...now.

Seeking a Friend for the End of the World: Why I Love the Focus Films Production Company

Any movie that prominently features the record cover of Death of a Ladies Man by Leonard Cohen (the swooniest of the swoon-worthies) is okay in my book. Throw in some Herb Alpert tunes and I'm sold. I admit it; I can be won over by a soundtrack. But I didn't need to be for this one.

When Keira Knightley's character finally talks to her family on the phone, I burst into tears in the middle of the theater. I was one of three people in the audience and I don't think anyone saw me so I think my reputation as a curmudgeon is still intact. All that aside, one does not typically cry at comedies.

I was angry when Young Adult wasn't a comedy. But I'm glad that End of the World wasn't. It was poignant. And heartfelt. And touching. And sweet. And strange. And uncomfortable. And I could relate to the characters' general consternation and confusion about how to act when confronted with the knowledge that they and the rest of humanity would be eradicated in three weeks' time.

What do you do? It's a common enough question - the whole "what if" scenario. And most people, I think, arrive at the same conclusion: they would spend their last moments with the people they love. It isn't really that funny, the contemplation of the frailty of ourselves and our loved ones. End of the World treats its main characters' mortality with a sort of awkward tenderness, which elicits what I can only describe as the quintessence of saudade.

For some reason, it reminded me of a speech in Kissing Jessica Stein in which Jessica explains to a fellow why the first date that they are on will be their last.

I wonder every day if I am making a difference and if I will ever express the greatness within me, or if I will remain forever paralyzed by muddled madness inside my head. I've wept on every birthday I've ever had because life is huge and fleeting and I hate certain people and certain shoes and I feel that life is terribly unfair and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary but also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable and I hate myself a lot of the time. The rest of the time I adore myself and I adore my life in this city and in this world we live in. This huge and wondrous, bewildering, brilliant, horrible world.

The whole quote is even better but I'm not here to review that film. It's just that in a way, Jessica is describing the same terrifying beauty of life depicted in End of the World.

So. Hmm. Looking for something funny to write here... I got bupkus. I should say at this point that the movie was not without its moments of levity though and they were good enough to soften some of the asteroid's blow.

I guess I'll leave you with this piece of advice, doled out by the character, Penny: "It's always better to sleep on the fire escape than have pity sex, I always say."

Truer words were never spoken.

If I Were To Digress...

(or...If I Were In a Better Mood, I Wouldn't Be So Tense)

I just made a grammar funny. If you got it, you would have sprayed milk through your nose.* If you didn't, I guess you're not one of those people who spends a lot of time thinking about your verb tenses and moods. (Yes, verbs have moods too. And feelings. Verbs have feelings.) Anyway, why should you? Care about it, I mean? Who gives a poo? Really?

Well, I do!

I care, dammit!

And apparently so do a lot of pop music songwriters. Because MOST OF THEM GET IT!!!!

Except for one. At least one. My arch nemesis of refrains. A chorus that scrapes against my tympanic membrane like sandpaper on metal. A song title that drives me batshit crazy whenever I hear it. Which, thank heavens, is seldom because this song is Dated with a capital D and that rhymes with P and that stands for Pool. Which Robert Preston will tell you means Trouble.

Before I divulge the name of this, now ridiculously over-foreshadowed, grammatical mishap, let's review a few songs that have correctly used the subjunctive verb mood, which fyi is used when expressing sundry states of unreality. (Like, for example, if Mike were to write another movie review -- Hello, Unreality. So nice to see you. Join me for coffee?)

1. From "Guys and Dolls," immortalized by Blossom Dearie (among others) - If I Were a Bell: Fon Do!
2. Frank Sinatra - I Wish I Were In Love Again: Fon Do!
3. Beyoncé - If I Were a Boy: Fon Do! 
4. Joan Osborne - (What if God Was (!!)) One of Us... 

Fon Do NOT!!

In "Fiddler on the Roof," Tevye asks God, "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan? If I were a wealthy man?" (Please note correct usage of, yeah, subjunctive mood.) What plan would it have spoiled, I wonder, if Joan Osborne were to have written a song about God, the holiest of holies, the most divine of divinities, G-O-D god, and used correct grammar?

I guess it just isn't for us to know.

Anyway, who cares? In between starting this post and now, I discovered that, thanks to Google, "plus one-ing" is now a verb. So, basically, I just don't believe in God anymore.

But I do love me that Fiddler on the Roof song. Who doesn't love it, right? If I were a rich man, yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum...all day long, I'd biddy biddy bum...if I were a wealthy man! Hey!

What if this were the boringest blog posting of all time? (Hello, Reality. So nice to see you again...)

*Hyperbole. It wasn't really that funny. Not. At. All. In fact, it was pretty lame. This is consistent with this post's theme of Unreality.

Yubby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dibby dum...