"El Rey de los Chingones", by Chingon (Robert Rodriguez's mucho-macho soundtrack band).
King of Badasses, indeed.
If this doesn't make you wanna ride into the sunset, then there's something seriously wrong with you.
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just another online spittoon
30 December 2008
the new Greatest Song Ever
"El Rey de los Chingones", by Chingon (Robert Rodriguez's mucho-macho soundtrack band).
King of Badasses, indeed.
If this doesn't make you wanna ride into the sunset, then there's something seriously wrong with you.
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B
28 December 2008
Doldrumitis
I gots it.
That mood or state of mind where you metaphysically just sit in a puddle of tepid gutter water and make half-hearted splashing slaps as you blow a long lazy raspberry,
Ppppppppfffffftttttttt...
I have stuff I could be working on -- should be working on -- but right now I am just flat-lining on the old give-a-shit meter.
I'm sufficiently self-aware to understand the seasonal nature of this problem -- I always tend to get the blahs around Christmas time (nothing new there) -- but increasingly there's the issue of the movie biz mostly rolling up the sidewalks from Thanksgiving until Groundhog's Day, the threat of another damned strike, and the inevitable trough between wavepeaks of furious self-motivation and momentum.
On the bright side, I know this dark phase will end, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it will end sooner and more abruptly than some might suspect, as there is... well, "a lurking potentiality" out there which is so absurd that it defies specific mention at this stage. Let's just say "sometimes, a miracle is exactly what the doctor ordered."
So, 'til then, we stay the course, dig deep, and muster what final reserves of strength we have available. Help is possibly on the way. And if not, then to hell with it anyway.
Hopelessness remains our best hope.
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That mood or state of mind where you metaphysically just sit in a puddle of tepid gutter water and make half-hearted splashing slaps as you blow a long lazy raspberry,
Ppppppppfffffftttttttt...
I have stuff I could be working on -- should be working on -- but right now I am just flat-lining on the old give-a-shit meter.
I'm sufficiently self-aware to understand the seasonal nature of this problem -- I always tend to get the blahs around Christmas time (nothing new there) -- but increasingly there's the issue of the movie biz mostly rolling up the sidewalks from Thanksgiving until Groundhog's Day, the threat of another damned strike, and the inevitable trough between wavepeaks of furious self-motivation and momentum.
On the bright side, I know this dark phase will end, and I have a sneaking suspicion that it will end sooner and more abruptly than some might suspect, as there is... well, "a lurking potentiality" out there which is so absurd that it defies specific mention at this stage. Let's just say "sometimes, a miracle is exactly what the doctor ordered."
So, 'til then, we stay the course, dig deep, and muster what final reserves of strength we have available. Help is possibly on the way. And if not, then to hell with it anyway.
Hopelessness remains our best hope.
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B
23 December 2008
FEED me, Seymour!
Still one of my all-time favorite Christmas movie moments:
Merry Christmas, you weasels.
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B
Merry Christmas, you weasels.
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B
19 December 2008
a new post
I'm Indian leg-wrestling The Blahs right now. Don't much feel like writing or doing anything, and that's not a useful or productive state in which to be on the last day of quiet before the kids begin a few weeks of Christmas vacation (oh, EXCUSE ME-- "Winter Break," as we'd not want to offend anyone... ).
I have two open scripts on my monitor desktop, and every time I go to work on either, I become acutely aware of the sound of the clock ticking, which would not be that curious except that we don't OWN any ticking clocks, which makes me wonder if perhaps my self-conscious is again childishly mocking me.
The weasely bastard.
It's not helping one bit that as I wander around the Intra-Webs all I see is dumbth and stoopidity in full flower, as the morons are ouy in force and intelligent comment and genuinely amusing observation seems on vacation somewhere for the seventeenth consecutive month online (which equates to something like 11.2 years in non-web/non-dog years).
Like Auda Abu-Tai, I feel anxious -- I must find something of honor..."
I'm wondering if perhaps a round of vomitous inebriation might not help.
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puddle of fun B
I have two open scripts on my monitor desktop, and every time I go to work on either, I become acutely aware of the sound of the clock ticking, which would not be that curious except that we don't OWN any ticking clocks, which makes me wonder if perhaps my self-conscious is again childishly mocking me.
The weasely bastard.
It's not helping one bit that as I wander around the Intra-Webs all I see is dumbth and stoopidity in full flower, as the morons are ouy in force and intelligent comment and genuinely amusing observation seems on vacation somewhere for the seventeenth consecutive month online (which equates to something like 11.2 years in non-web/non-dog years).
Like Auda Abu-Tai, I feel anxious -- I must find something of honor..."
I'm wondering if perhaps a round of vomitous inebriation might not help.
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puddle of fun B
08 December 2008
a sound worth hearing
Right at the 3:23 mark, I break into a stupid grin every single time.
At least, I have all twelve times today.
[And for anyone who just doesn't get it, this is a rare fully restored Soviet YAK-3 fighter from WW2, as once upon a time flown by... well, "a girl I know."]
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At least, I have all twelve times today.
[And for anyone who just doesn't get it, this is a rare fully restored Soviet YAK-3 fighter from WW2, as once upon a time flown by... well, "a girl I know."]
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B
04 December 2008
Holy crap! It's DECEMBER?
I'll happily confess to not minding the calendar as much as I might out, but still, this happens to me every year: a new year rolls around, and plans are made, and expectations set, and then a bunch of stuff happens, and I look up and bingo it's Pearl Harbor Day and I'm wondering "What the hell happened to April? Did we have April this year? WHO THE HELL CANCELLED APRIL AND WHY WASN'T I NOTIFIED!?!".
Criminy. 2008 is damned near in the rearview and I'm still trying to get used to not writing "2007" in the date area of what checks I still write.
It's a funny thing, the way life feels these days. Chalk it up to some sort of Zeno's Paradox of Middle Age, but it feels as if every day -- every week, every month, every year -- is sliding by with ever-increasing rapidity, while at the same time progress seems to be slowing down. Everything takes longer to happen, except disasters and fuck-ups, of course, which always play out at 45rpm in a 33rpm world (that's an old-school shout-out to all you wrinkled bitter farts who remember those sepia-toned times when music was not downloaded and pterodactyls still ruled the skies).
Before I even finish this post, we'll be well into 2009 and wrestling with taxes ("We had income last year? For real? When!?!") and dealing with Spring Break plans and then baseball season and then end of school craziness and then of course summertime is always a sea of craziness, what with kids home for months and plans and camps and swimming and grassfires and satellites raining down and god only knows what other sweet hell gets served up this time around and then my god school is starting and we have to get ready for that and then football and dance and scouts and campouts and AFF09 and Halloween my god we need to find pumpkins and have them carved within the next 85 minutes and this turkey seems drier than last year's and didn't we get your cousin a wine rack LAST year for Christmas and holy crap it's 2010? Really?
What happened to 2009?
I need a nap, except I fear the Van WInkle Effect and waking to find flying cars and domed cities and 14,000 unread emails waiting for my attention.
Oy.
I need a nap. And a beer. And a donut. And a hug. And a lottery win.
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B
Criminy. 2008 is damned near in the rearview and I'm still trying to get used to not writing "2007" in the date area of what checks I still write.
It's a funny thing, the way life feels these days. Chalk it up to some sort of Zeno's Paradox of Middle Age, but it feels as if every day -- every week, every month, every year -- is sliding by with ever-increasing rapidity, while at the same time progress seems to be slowing down. Everything takes longer to happen, except disasters and fuck-ups, of course, which always play out at 45rpm in a 33rpm world (that's an old-school shout-out to all you wrinkled bitter farts who remember those sepia-toned times when music was not downloaded and pterodactyls still ruled the skies).
Before I even finish this post, we'll be well into 2009 and wrestling with taxes ("We had income last year? For real? When!?!") and dealing with Spring Break plans and then baseball season and then end of school craziness and then of course summertime is always a sea of craziness, what with kids home for months and plans and camps and swimming and grassfires and satellites raining down and god only knows what other sweet hell gets served up this time around and then my god school is starting and we have to get ready for that and then football and dance and scouts and campouts and AFF09 and Halloween my god we need to find pumpkins and have them carved within the next 85 minutes and this turkey seems drier than last year's and didn't we get your cousin a wine rack LAST year for Christmas and holy crap it's 2010? Really?
What happened to 2009?
I need a nap, except I fear the Van WInkle Effect and waking to find flying cars and domed cities and 14,000 unread emails waiting for my attention.
Oy.
I need a nap. And a beer. And a donut. And a hug. And a lottery win.
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B
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