On A Walk To Remember

You know, for a guy who is stereotypically portrayed as macho, jock-y, even as an asshole at some points, I do enjoy a good chick flick.

It's actually a well known fact. And I tend to surround myself with like minded friends. Most of them love the tearjerkers as well.

So it was with little trepidation that I put the film A Walk To Remember into my Netflix queue. However, it is worth noting that I did not do it unsolicited.

Girlfriend's favorite flick. Mandy Moore (who is number two on my list of celebrity crushes). Death.

This is the triad of Haastile joy.

So let's talk about this shall we. And I'll refrain from talking about Ms. Moore for as long as I possibly can.

There's a few problems I had with this movie:

First off, who the hell cast tranny look-alike Daryl Hannah as Shane West's mom? Obviously someone owed her a major favor. She was certainly a scene stealer, but for the wrong reasons. Instead of recognizing her brilliant acting, I instead scrolled her scenes frame by frame searching in vain for her Adam's apple, or signs of a wang.

Second, even in dowdy clothing and bad hair, Mandy Moore is not ugly. Don't try to make her ugly. It's like taking The Last Supper and putting Pop Tarts on the table. Criminal.

Third, well...I got nothing. This movie ruled.

Here's some things that I loved.

First, the line "I might kiss you."

Instead of following this cliched line with "I might let you," the filmmakers instead decided to go with "I might be bad at it."

Stopped me dead in my tracks. What a great answer!

Second, it was obvious that something was up with Mandy Moore from the start of the film. However, they waited a good while into the movie to tell you what it was. I liked the suspense.

Third, sure, the idea of Shane West and Mandy getting married at such a young age is kind of stupid. But it's romantic and heartfelt. That always gets me.

I'm a big softy.

Fourth, prominent Mandy Moore singing. Something about her voice captivates me. Same with Mel actually. Hmm, draw your own conclusions here.

On Guinea Pigs

I am mystified by the ability of my guinea pig to captivate the attention of anyone or anything that enters my room.

My mother fawns over him. My dad says hello to him. My sister tries to steal him.

The dogs sit here for hours and stare at his cage, even though it's four feet in the air and they can't see him.

Sure, he's adorable, but hes not that adorable. His shrill squeaks awaken me every morning at sunrise, just so he can have baby carrots.

He shrieks even louder at night when it's time for him to eat his dinner, normally spinach.

Plainly put, my guinea pig, Hemingway, is a diva.

But he's adorable and furry, so I'll let all of his faults go.

It's kind of the same story with my grandfather.




-Oh, and I'll be watching the film A Walk To Remember later tonight, so expect a full report on that in tomorrow's blog. Because after all, I am a Mandy Moore fanatic.

Without all of the creepy hang-ups of course.

On Experimentation

There's three words that I dread hearing come out of my father's mouth.

"Here, try this."

The first time I remember hearing those words, I was five years old, and he had a fork full of potato salad in his hand. I have hated potato salad ever since then.

Generally, when he says these words, he was normally created some kind of strange taste sensation that he loves, but might cause other peoples' skin to crawl.

The only concoction that I remember loving was iced tea and orange juice. And he didn't even come up with that, my grandmother did.

Anyway, the reason that I bring it up today is that I waled in the house, and without even a hello, I heard "Here, try this,"

Once I heard the phrase repeated, I walked back in to the kitchen to find my father extending a glass of red wine my way.

I'm a wine snob, everyone knows this.

Long story short, I didn't enjoy the scarlet liquid that I imbibed.

However, it got me thinking about the idea of taking chances and experimentation as a whole.

Sexually, experimentation can be quite a pleasurable experience. That one I can attest to.

Romantically, taking chances can be incredible. They can also ruin your life.

Emotionally, taking chances is the same as romance. It's all hit or miss.

But you never know unless you try. And I'm going to try more from now on.

On Fatherhood

No, I'm not trying to announce anything.

I am not going to be a father. Not yet at least.

However, the thought of fatherhood is a subject that I am always willing to discuss. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love kids, and that unlike a lot of guys, am very eager to one day become a father.

But I often wonder what kind of father I would be.

Would I be like my maternal grandfather; stern, distant, and the disciplinarian of the family.

Or maybe like my paternal grandfather; stern, wise and always willing to listen to anything that another family member has to say.

Or will I be the kind of father that my own dad is; stern, sometimes wacky, and as loyal as a pitbull.

Something tells me that I'll be stern. Any doubts there?

I look upon my three years as a camp counselor to shed some light on the answer to this question.

For eight weeks, those 10-20 kids are my life. From the hours of 8 to 5, keeping them safe and happy is my primary concern. I have a high tolerance for bullshit, but at the same time can be either firm or kind when the situation arises. The bad kids hated me and the good kids loved me.

If I had to yell at them everyday, chances are that kid kid wasn't a fan of mine.

But my patience with these children was uncompromised. Much like my own father, once my tolerance for something is reached, I'm not going to hold back. However, until that point, I'm as gentle as a lamb. And anyone who worked with me this past summer, with my group of sixteen psychopathic kids, will attest to that.

But back to the real question at hand.

I watched the film Big Fish last night, and I have to admit that I was enthralled by the stories that the father weaved for his son. I think that I would be good at that kind of stuff. I'm creative. I'm fun.

I want to be the kind of father that never says no when his child asks him to go outside and play. I'll always push them higher on the swings, or throw a ball around for hours.

I want to be the kind of father that their child can come to with any little problem, but that child also has been taught what problems need parental interference and which do not.

I want my daughter(s) to be daddy's little girl. I want my son(s) to look at me as their hero.

I want my father to visit years from now, and in a moment of downtime, be able to say to me, in all sincerity, "Bryan, you are a wonderful father."

The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music

I've felt like crap today, and strangely, it's gotten my creative juices flowing like crazy. None of that will be reflected in this post, but I'm just letting y'all know.

Just a few things that I'm thinking about:

- I really like the song Sin for a Sin by Miranda Lambert..

- Instant mashed potatoes (or "faux-tatoes" as my father calls them) are not bad, as long as they have gravy on them.

- I want to get more tattoos.

- Being nauseous blows.

- Guinea pigs can be just as big a pain in the ass as a 90-pound dog.

- I might have beaten my Taco Bell addiction. But my addiction to muffins still looms large.

- I would be completely at home as a farmer. But that's not an aspiration.

- I really want deep dish pizza.

On Fantasy Football

As a young sportswriter last year, I wrote an article for the Binghamton University newspaper about the maddening qualities of fantasy football.

Few things in life have the potential to cause my inevitable mental breakdown than fantasy sports. Football is normally the biggest mindfuck of the whole lot.

I spent (and yes, I really did count the minutes) 49 minutes today switching my fantasy roster spots back and forth. Ultimately, the choice between starting Minnesota's Percy Harvin or Arizona's Anquan Boldin, both of whom are very questionable, came down to several factors.

First, the things I should be basing this decision on:

1. Harvin plays an extremely tough Steelers defense, and his sore shoulder may not hold up.

2. Boldin is playing a good defense (NY Giants), and is nursing an injury (high ankle sprain) that normally keeps players out for weeks.

3. Boldin is tough as nails, and always plays hurt. Harvin does too, but plays fewer downs.

Then of course, there's the crazy reasons that I took into consideration. And these of course, are the reasons that I truly base my decisions upon.

1. The Cardinals have cuter uniforms, which went in favor of Boldin.

2. www.flip-coin.com, which also told me to start Boldin.

3. ESPN's Adam Schefter first updated his Twitter account with Harvin's status for today, but seven minutes later updated Boldin's, so there was no help there.

Ultimately, I went with Boldin, which I am praying does not eventually come back and bite me in the ass. But it will, because the colossal bitch that is fantasy football just loves to mess with my emotions.

And yes, I am well aware that I sound like a mental patient.

I Have Ninety-Six Fewer Problems Than Jay-Z

Three things that I hate today:

1. Not being able to breath.

-I have no idea when or how I got sick, but it blows.

2. Being awakened far too early by inane text messages.

-my friends should know that texting me before 10 a.m. on a weekend could be a hazard to their health (in the form of me reaching through the phone and strangling them).

3. Mish-moshes of leftover food.

-throwing leftover chicken, steak and pasta in a casserole dish and covering it in mozzarella cheese does not constitute a fresh dinner.

However, it was delicious.

On Paparazzi

While driving home from the gym this afternoon, the song "Paparazzi" came on the radio. As I drove the length of the Meadowbrook Parkway, I listened intently to the lyrics of the song, and was legitimately creeped out by the song.

After a quick text to make sure that I wasn't the only person that found the song absolutely spine-chilling, I was instructed to view the video before actually deciding if I should file a restraining order against Lady Gaga, so that I never have to see her or her insane outfits in person.

So I watched the video.

After rocking slowly in the corner and repeating "I'm okay, I'm okay" for several minutes, I collected myself and here's my thoughts.

Very creepy video indeed.

Putting aside all of Lady Gaga's Halloween costumes she calls a wardrobe, all the murder and violence, and even the fact that she rocked on crutches (I'm not sure why though, spinal injuries aren't funny....well, I'm sure that they could be), my biggest issue with the video was this:

The guy in it. The one who is supposed to be her boyfriend.

That guy deserves a medal of honor or something for making out with that vicious girl-boy. He cupped her buttocks, kissed her, fondled her.

My toes are curling just thinking about it.

So let's hear it for Lady Gaga, and all her things that make you go "Blech."

Five Things

Here is Five Things I want to accomplish before I die. I short "bucket list," if you will.

1. Publish at least one novel.

2. Have a six-pack. And not the delicious type of the beer variety. I want the sexy, "girls want to run their fingers over them" abdominal type.

3. Own a horse. No real reason, I just want one.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I've never even been on a horse.

4. Run a 5K race. Which is a long way off, since I freaking hate running.

5. Get married and have three children. Boring and a little cliched, but it's really what I want.

Lies

Here's some truths about lies:

-People who tell you that they enjoy giving presents rather than receiving them are lying. Blatantly.

-If a girl tells you that she loves performing oral sex, but doesn't mind that you don't reciprocate, she lying. Badly.

- Diet Dr. Pepper tastes nothing like regular Dr. Pepper.

-There is no Santa or Easter Bunny. However, there is a Tooth Fairy. His name is Evan, and he lives in Queens.

-Receiving packages in the mail is infinitely better than sending one.

- No one would bring books with them if they had to be stranded on a desert island. What would they bring? I have no idea, but it sure as hell wouldn't be the complete works of Jules Verne.

And it's not just people in everyday life either. The movies lie to you all the time.

Examples:

-Big Daddy: Styx is not the greatest American rock band, nor did they catch a bad rep because most critics are cynical assholes. The fact of the matter is, they're Styx, and they suck.

- A Bronx Tale: the worst thing in life is not wasted talent. There's any number of things that are worse. Off the top of my head, I can think of the following:

1. Being locked in a room with a pair of angry badgers.
2. Slamming your balls in a car door (I'm sure it's possible).
3. Witnessing your grandparents having sex.

- Alvin and the Chipmunks: Much as I want to believe it, chipmunks can't talk.

Fact.

And furthermore, they cannot sing either.

Answering some questions

I've been overwhelmed by questions and ads today, so let me take some time to answer some of these queries:

1. Yes, I would like sloppy joes for dinner.

2. No, I do not want to learn German in 10 days.

3. Yes, I would like to try new Tropicana orange juice, now with more pulp.

4. Yes, I will bring your groceries inside Gratti, and no, I don't mind at all.

5. No, I do not have a light.

6. Yes, I do know where the broom and dustpan are.

7. No, I do not want to know how to procure Viagra for pennies on the dollar. And no, I don't need it.

8. Yes, I am in love.

9. No, I do not have swine flu. But if you'd like to read my rant about it, here's your opportunity.

10. Yes, I do say "honestly," "apparently," and "frealz" way too often.

On Hank

Charles Bukowski once wrote "there's nothing worse than too late."

And I agree with him on that. So here's a few things that I need to say, so that they're out there, and I can't ever have the excuse that by the time I could say them, it was too late.

1. For the first time in my life, I'm truly happy.

2. It is my dream of dreams to be a published writer. And not of sports articles or opinion pieces, because I've already accomplished that.

3. I've done a lot of bad things, but paid for them in their own ways.

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5. As long as I have love, nothing else matters.

6. I think that Justin Timberlake, U2, and the Twilight series are severely overrated.

Seems like a short list, and it is. But those six things are true and all-encompassing.

Finally....

Back in November of 2006, I bought myself a beautiful little 5-disc stereo system.

It got used for the three days following the date of purchase.

Since then, not once.

But ever since the wonderful people at Dell decided to wipe my computer clean of everything on it several weeks ago, including the thousands of songs that I had on my iTunes, I have been living in a very quiet world.

Until today that is.

I spruced up that stereo, found a great place in my room for it; one that allows for optimal listening conditions. The acoustics are even great.

If this sounds a little thorough for the placement of a music playing implement, it's not. When you love music as much as I do, you can never do enough to ensure that your tunes sound the best that they can.

The first CD I played?

Hag, The Best of Merle Haggard.

And why does the music of a 72-year old country musician take paramount over all the other songs, artists, or genres in the world?

Because I love outlaw country, plain and simple.

But that's a story for another day.

My true medium

As an English major, words are most certainly my thing.

I was asked tonight what words I hate. I then thought of words that I love as well. Here's the short list:

Words I dislike:

the "c word," penetration, hate, screw, intercourse.

Now lest you think I only am including dirty words, or ones that have that type of connotation, here's some others that are not filthy at all.

Sticky, binding, needle, shiver.

Now here's a few of my favorite words:

Swirl, advantageous, vexed, conundrum, creep.

And my all time favorite, and it has been for quite some time:

CRITTERS.

I dare you to say that out loud and not giggle. Or at least smile.