My Addled Brain

I’m not a “New Year’s Resolution” kind of guy. I don’t wake up on Jan 1, all happy and shiny like a freshly polished baby, ready to conquer all my evils and make a newer, better me. Aside from the fact that NYE recovery normally takes 2-3 days for the toxins to completely purge from my system, the concept itself seems disengenuous to me. Like we need to set an arbitrary date to make a life altering change. If you really wanted to make the change, you’d do it - the when wouldn’t matter so much as it was right now.

I dunno, I suppose people need these arbitrary milestones to motivate them. Maybe this works for some of you. I just know that I’m less apt to follow through with a change if it’s less than genuine, and I can’t think of anything less genuine than choosing a far flung future date to begin making the right choices.

It is with this in mind that I totally assure you that my joining a gym early this month was a complete and total coincidence. It’s something that was mulled over and talked about for months - but, without the motivation, the gym might as well be nothing more than a concept, or swirling mists, aether; an abstract to the concrete reality of my ever-expanding waist. I know my family’s health history: heart trouble, high cholesterol - basically giving me every reason to not continue living the way I have. So, a gym was selected to whip my fat arse into shape. As a special bonus, a personal trainer was hired. While it would be lovely if an intimate knowledge of exercising could be downloaded directly into my brain - “Whoa, I know Exercise Ball Abdominal Crunches!” - until we are enslaved by our robot masters, hiring an expert is the best alternative our primitive technology allows.

It’s been almost four weeks. This morning, I ironed my pants (they still refuse to iron themselves, the lazy bastards), and it wasn’t until almost walking out the door that I realized these were pants I haven’t been able to wear in over six months. And that’s when I decided to put them on, instead of going out in my boxer briefs like normal. You people should be thankful, all the things I do for you.

Underworld: Evolution

The “Rocky V” of
vampire action movies.
Wait, I mean “Ishtar”.

Despite Kate Beckinsale’s best attempts to keep my eyes on the screen (leather body suits seem to do that for some reason), this movie failed to truly hold my attention. And why is it that vampires always have great looking chicks in impossible outfits, while I have yet to see a female werewolf?

Also - I’m certain I’ve covered this before, but a memo to parents: If you don’t have a sitter for your three year old, I suggest you either plan for a family night out, or stay at home, instead of TAKING YOUR SMALL CHILD TO A HORROR ACTION MOVIE. I’m not a parent, but even I can make this call. It’s easy. Young children should not be at the rated R movie. Period. I don’t care that you really want to see this movie. I don’t care that you thought the last one was great. I don’t care that you aren’t smart enough to use the babysitting area provided in the LOBBY OF THE THEATER to keep them occupied while you watch what you want to watch. DON’T BRING YOUR KID, WHO CANNOT HANDLE THE MOVIE AT HIS/HER AGE. If you do, you have failed the parenting test, and should be beaten by parents who did the responsible thing with their children. You’re probably the same ones who defend the actions of your child against their teachers or other adults, instead of disciplining them when they do wrong. YOU MAKE THE WORLD A WORSE PLACE FOR ALL OF US, INCLUDING YOUR CHILDREN.

I need more coffee.

She’s ba-aaaaaaaaaaaack!. And about damn time too, Rachel*.

Too good not to share: L brings us the best blonde joke ever.

King Kong:

The definitive
monster film. Touches all of
my geeky bits well.

Block off that three hours for the movie, it’s well worth it. Best part - Kong goes American History X on a T-Rex. No, really.

Hey, Buccaneers fans! Were you one of the many fine, upstanding individuals who didn’t receive their tickets in the mail?

Or maybe you were like me - one of the fortunate few to run into a couple of new seats that had just popped up at Ticketmaster last Friday. Happy to attend a Bucs home playoff game. Ready, as those in the know often say, for some football.

Either way, chances are you were just like me - one of the thousands to mass in front of the woefully inadequate will call windows, with no obvious line queues, trying desperately just to get your tickets before kickoff? Didja wait three hours like me? Didja miss most of the first half of the game, like me? Didja want to slap those tools in their festive ‘Skins gear, adorned in their festive war paint, screaming “Suck that, Tampa fans!” - fine upstanding fans who actually made me rethink my position on Philly fans being the most obnoxious in the NFL? Well, now you know you weren’t alone (as if the hordes trying to pick up tickets weren’t clue enough).

TM already caught some flak for their extra ticket snafu, but the clusterfuck at will call has firmly cemented my opinion that they, along with the unprepared management at the stadium, can kiss my not-entirely-shapely arse. Unless I have tickets placed in my hand before I reach the stadium, I’m never going to attend a game at the CITS again.

Oh yeah, some officials need to be hung for their play calling. That catch was good. How, exactly, was he in the process of falling? He had posession, took two steps, THEN fell to his knee. Only after that did his body hit the ground and the ball come loose. What a joke.

Oh well. Anyone want to buy a couple of battle flags? Only $100 each! I have to recoup my investment, you know.

This was long overdue: Out Of Focus has returned! Currently, there’s only one picture in there, mind you…but it’s well worth the visit. Let the oooohing and aaaahing commence!

…what this means.

Getting it right does not mean you can have one, however.

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe:

I once sold out my
family for a cold six pack
of Milwaukee’s Best.

Hope everyone had a very Merry/Happy/Pleasant/Equitable/Carnage-free/non-soluble whatever-the-hell-you-do-or-do-not-celebrate over the last week or so. It’s been an interesting couple of weeks on this end of the world. Lots of driving to see family members, lots of gifts to give and receive (with still more to receive, apparently. I have a new slogan for FedEx Ground: We put the Delayed in Delayed Gratification.), but despite all this, things went well. New Year’s weekend went fairly well. We recieved a couple of out of town visitors (including this one), and proceeded to watch movies and trade infectious diseases with one another.

Oh, come on people. We had colds.

This issue of diseases prevented our visitors from accompanying Teh One and myself to the BNL NYE extravaganza. (Which may or may not have been to their detriment - it was a great show, but it’s hard to attend a rock concert with a fever of 100. So I’m told.)

There’s more to tell - a LOT more, actually. But I’m not about to jinx anything by talking about something that may or may not actually happen here. (Like that’s ever happened before. Oh, wait…)