Oy, mein papa...

In his response to a simple, sarcastic away message, my father offers further proof that overanalysis is an inherited trait:

(dad): Hi
Auto response from (me): at the mall. like, totally!
(dad): I hope that this means that you are feeling better today. What are you buying at the mall. I know that you do not like to shop much and therefore wonder what your excitement is about going to the mall except maybe that it means that you are feeling better.

DAD, ALL IT MEANS IS THAT I NEEDED TO GET OUT OF THE FUCKING HOUSE FOR A COUPLE OF HOURS!

...

Thank you. Sorry about that.

NyQuil, NyQuil, NyQuil, we love you, you giant fucking Q!

I hate, hate, hate being sick.

This is clearly not a revelation of any sort, since I don't really know anyone who enjoys being sick. Well, maybe some vindicated hypochondriacs, but otherwise, nobody.

I apologize for my lack of posting and/or other forms of not being a total blob, but I promise I will post something original once I stop seeing these weird colors from the NyQuil. And now, from Denis Leary:

"I love NyQuil, man. Because NyQuil has never changed, man. It's never changed. All the other medicines are doing that inner-child thing. 'We know that there's a small child inside of you, so now we have grape and cherry and orange flavor...' Not NyQuil. They still have the original green death fucking flavor! You know why? Because it doesn't matter what it tastes like, it's so strong you go, 'Hey this stuff tastes like..' BANG! You're in the coma already..."

And I'd just like to add to that by BANG!zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

He might be a winner!

Ladies and gentlemen, one of the contenders for this year's Darwin Awards (which, if you don't know, go to the people who do the greatest service to the human species by eliminating themselves from it in the stupidest manner):

Man Falls To Death After Tripping On Pants

Unsolicited advice

People, when you're in a store, buying something off a gift registry, check to make sure nobody else bought it first. Even if you checked online the night before, someone may have gone ahead and bought it online overnight.

Fortunately, I'm the person who bought it online and panicked when I saw that more than one had been purchased rather than the person who failed to check.

I thanked the very nice Target customer assistance person who told me that I wasn't nuts, that there hadn't been any purchased when I went online the other night.

It's nice, on a day where I feel pretty damn stupid (see below), to know that I've at least managed to do one thing competently.

Injury Report

I swear to god, I injure myself in the dumbest possible ways. And I had two truly brilliant ones today:

1. Caution: Doorknob
I smacked my left forearm on a doorknob so hard that it left a really nasty bruise, leaving me unable to clench my fist for about six hours afterwards. I still can't pick up anything heavy.

2. Slippery When Antifreeze
I was walking back from the el through the parking lot of the bank, and I was talking to my friend Jon and not paying attention to the ground, and slipped on a big puddle of antifreeze. I felt (and likely looked) like the Coyote slipping on a cartoon banana left by the Road Runner. And I ripped off a toenail in the process, which hurt quite a bit, and got a hell of a lot of antifreeze all over my leg.

You know, when I was younger, they told me I had tested near-genius level on an I.Q. test. Not near enough, clearly.

Mulholland...wait, I'm lost...

I finally saw Mulholland Drive tonight. I did it for 2 reasons:

1. Must keep up on film snobbery to be able to make entirely pointless points at film school.
2. An extremely hot Italian girl recommended it to me, and I am powerless against both hot girls and Italians. The combination could get me to do pretty much anything.

Now, before I get to my conclusion, I must admit that the director, David Lynch, is well known for being a fucknut. A talented fucknut, but a fucknut nonetheless.

Lynch has built a cottage industry out of being inscrutable. Or however you spell it. Basically, he eats because nobody understands what the hell he's talking about, therefore it is dubbed sheer genius since it's quite a bit easier to dub someone else a genius than admit your own stupidity.

Me, I'm gonna admit it: I'm too dumb to understand this movie.

I know it's quite passe to say how unbelievably confusing this movie was, especially since it's been a few months since Salon published an explanation of a lot of the imagery in the movie (though in my defense, even they admit they have no idea what the blue box is).

I thought I understood it for about the first hour, but then things started getting really weird. I will be the first to admit that I tend to like straightforward plotting, so long as it's well constructed and scripted. If it's just "Hey, Halle, show us your tits!" then it tends to piss me off. This thing is so confusing, however, that even film critics need a road map to its plot.

I'll admit, I found the movie interesting, even though it was quite frustrating. I'm probably going to watch it again, and not just because of the hot Italian. I've gotta be able to come up with some good arguments to have with my fellow film snots about what this movie truly represents.

Well, besides hot lesbian sex.

Just another manic...

I was at work today and someone mentioned that PricewaterhouseCoopers, one of the more prestigious auditing firms in the country, was changing its name to Monday.

After a bit of research, I've discovered that it's only the consulting division, which is being spun off into a seperate company, that's changing its name. Still, I think the point I was going to make still stands:

That's a damn stupid name for a company.

According to the website:
Monday is a fresh start, a positive attitude, part of everyone's life. Monday is a real name, universally understood and easy to remember. Monday is confident. It stands out and it stands for something.

Yes, but what does it stand for? It's supposed to represent new beginnings, fresh starts, etc, yadda yadda. But does anyone actually associate Monday with these things?

I associate it with the lack of desire to get out of bed, massive amounts of coffee, general grumpiness on the part of everyone I meet (except annoying people like those in Office Space who claim "Somebody's got a case of the Mondays!" Shove it, dipshit...).

I associate Monday with a return to drudgery. With chaos in the face of order. With nothing good, basically.

Why these idiots have spent millions of dollars spinning off a consulting division and branding it as a day that everyone hates is further proof that consultants are useless.

Things that hit you

Why do I ask for an honest answer to questions that I really don't want to hear the honest answer to, I want to hear another answer?

And why, if I do hear the answer I want, am I totally convinced that it's not honest?