I understand. The chain reaction surrounding my dead internet connection sent me into a fits of gut-wrenching sobs and tears on the couch a few weeks ago.
No. Really. It did.
Who knew that a G5 comes packaged with an external Airport antenna that you apparently really need when you suddenly move your computer and it’s no longer right next to the base station?
I haven’t seen Brokeback Mountain. I don’t plan to see it.
It’s no seceret that I don’t particularly care for movies or books with characters who largely do nothing but run around being homosexual. It just doesn’t strike me as a particularly interesting plot.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m all for homosexual characters in movies. I just prefer that they be homosexual characters who actually do something, preferably something interesting, or at least have some interesting characteristics. The mere presence of homosexuality does not make for a sufficiently compelling character or plot — nor human being, for that matter. Unless the movie in question is a porn flick, there has to be something more going on than sexual orientation.
OK, you say. The scenery in Brokeback is “breathtaking” and the characters are cowboys (or sheepherders or whatever) so that means they’re doing something interesting, right? Well, no. I can’t imagine anything much more boring than watching two people roaming about the wilderness of Wyoming (or Montana or wherever), no matter what they’re doing.
I’ve never had cowboy fantasies, and I don’t “do” nature. In fact, I avoid the great American widerness like the plague. I’m only impressed by man-made environments, mainly because natural ones happened completely by chance, with no artistry nor effort involved. If I were offered the choice on a game show, I’d take the free night in Albuquerque over the free week at the Grand Canyon every time. And I don’t even like Albuquerque that much.
I’d much rather see a movie about homosexual accountants and urban planners — both of which I find far sexier and more interesting than cowboys — but even then, I’d only shell out my eight bucks if I knew they were going to do something remarkable or go someplace I cared about.
It’s a personal bias, granted, but that’s my whole point. The fact that this particular movie is about two homosexuals does not negate the fact that it’s about two homosexuals in a situation that I find unspeakably boring. The faggotry is just no pull for me, and no amount of propaganda about how goddamned “groundbreaking” the film is will change that. And I’m really annoyed by any suggestion that I “need” to see it.
I submit for your approval Transamerica. I imagine it’s not the greatest movie ever made either, although I sense it’s a touch more “groundbreaking” than Brokeback will ever be. I’m almost 100% certain, however, it would be much more to my taste than Brokeback because ultimately it’s a road movie with an urban setting and a sense of humor. In other words, a movie where something that interests and amuses me might actually happen.
That “something interesting” is why I go to see movies: not for some notion of “showing my support for the community” or whatever. What community would I be supporting by seeing Brokeback, anyway? The community of closeted cowboys in Montana?
Blecch. If you want a good latter-day cowboy movie, check out Hud. It has a great plot, Patricia Neal, and one of the best denim-clad asses I’ve ever seen in a pre-1970s movie…
Just a thought: people who demonstrate a consistent inability to compose a coherent and properly-punctuated English sentence of their own really shouldn’t embarrass themselves by creating vaguely racist message board posts about the educational shortcomings of others. Enough said…
I’ve written before about my intense annoyance with people who can’t quite figure out how to use apostrophes and quotation marks. In fact, I’ve often thought about sending violators on my message boards a link to this site with a plea that they read and study it before embarrassing themselves further.
Here’s a related annoyance: people who add a possessive to a business name when there isn’t supposed to be one. I noticed this years ago when I kept hearing people refer to a local queer bar in Charlotte as “Scorpio’s” when the name, in fact, was “Scorpio”. People apparently assumed (erroneously) that it was founded by some guy named George M. Scorpio or something. I also noticed that people said things like “I’m going down to Kmart’s”, which no doubt was named for famed retailing genius Abraham J. Kmart.
I assumed it was just another southern oddity — like “license” being treated as a plural word because it ends in an “s” sound — until I moved to California and heard people talking about shopping at something called “Lucky’s”. There was never a supermarket chain called “Lucky’s” in California, although there was one called “Lucky”. Even today, newspaper columnists — who should know better, at least in theory — make the same mistake.
It’s OK to do this with stores that really DO use the possessive in their names and advertising, like Kinko’s (actually named after a guy whose nickname was “Kinko”) and Macy’s. I can even forgive it in cases of companies that used the possessive in their names in the PAST, like J.C. Penney, which was still installing “Penney’s” signage as late as the early 1970s, and Belk, which caused a little bit of controversy in North Carolina when it lost its “s” in the late 1960s. Lucky and Kmart, though, don’t fit into either of these categories.
Saying “Lucky’s” or “Costco’s” or “Kmart’s” sounds just plain silly…
After more than six months, the strangest things still make me almost giddily happy to have departed The City of Doom for good. Like, for example, the beef tips and fried squash at Gus’ Sir Beef or the fact that I can go to the grocery store pretty much any time of day, find what I need, and buy it without spending a half hour in line and another half hour trying to park when I get home…
Today’s thing that makes me excited, oddly enough, is that I’m going to the auto glass place to get a repair done on Mark‘s car. I spent a lot of time at the auto glass place in San Francisco, but it’s different this time. I’m getting a naturally-occurring crack in the windshield fixed rather than a broken window…
Yes, I’m going to the auto glass place. And it excites me because I’m not doing it as a result of the actions of some differently-socialized substance abuser with no options in life slimy crack-addled piece of shit, but as a regular bit of routine maintenance. Plus, it’ll probably cost less here too…
I’m not sure what’s more disturbing: (1) the fact that my hometown is becoming famous for its contributions to the field of reality television or (2) the fact that some people seem to be so damned proud of fact that my hometown is becoming famous for its contributions to the field of reality television…
So apparently Clay Aiken had unprotected boysex in a Quality Inn (per the National Enquirer and via Stumble):
The paper says “Paulus passed a polygraph exam” and “provided copies of instant message conversations he claims he had with bachelor Aiken over a two-week period.” He also says he “has towels he says were used by Aiken from the sexual encounter which he claims contains the singer’s DNA.”
Hmmm. I’ll bet the Quality Inn folks would like to talk to Mr. Paulus about the whereabouts of those towels. I don’t think you’re really supposed to take them out of the room with you when you leave…
“See this hat? I bought it at the cutest little store in Charleston. Check out my cool refrigerator magnets and postcards from Savannah. And don’t forget my spooge-encrusted towels and DNA samples from the Quality Inn in North Carolina.”
I miss the old days when people collected normal things like matchbooks and ashtrays…
It’s nice to go the doctor and get relatively good news once in a while. Mine thought I might have developed asthma, and I still may have, albeit in a rather minor and easily manageable way. Asthma is a sporadic thing, and its symptoms come and go. But the good news was that I passed a lung function test. With flying colors, even. The doctor said my lung function and chest x-ray are pretty much normal, as if I’d never smoked a cigarette in my life. Thus, I should be spared that emphysema I’d been worried about…
I will close by taking this opportunity to say that if you quit smoking, your life will suck for quite a while. After that, though, you will be very happy that you did it. That is as close to a nag as I care to get, thanks…
Now if I could just lose, oh, fifty pounds or so…
I could’ve pulled a better name for a network out of the WC…
