I might go see the new Twilight movie next week.
I lied to all of you about never ever seeing that film.
It will never happen again, I promise you.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
On Bliss
A very subjective term, I choose to discuss the term "bliss" tonight.
To some, bliss could mean dismembering a body. And I'm not entirely sure why I led with that.
To others, it could mean making the perfect Chicken cordon bleu for dinner and a chocolate sauce to follow with dessert. Or maybe "after" dessert.
Still to others, it could be cuddling with a teddy bear (or two) and enjoying a warmed up brownie or blueberry muffin.
You'll notice that I make reference to food a couple times here, because to a lot of people, food can be the epitome of bliss.
To sports fans, the idea of kicking back and watching your favorite team while munching on some hot wings and a couple beers verges on the orgasmic.
To this guy, bliss can occur in several scenarios.
One, I can be lounging in bed, and one of my dogs will randomly come over and cuddle up with me. It's stupid, but I love it.
Second, the scenario above. On the NFL's opening Sunday this season, I enjoyed buffalo wings and several frosty beverages. And to be quite honest, it was one of the best days I've ever had.
Third, and probably the most "blissful" of the scenarios that I'll lay out here, involves another person. A two person blissfest if you will.
Here it is, I'll set the scene:
It's a weeknight (could be any time between Monday and Thursday night), you're on the couch/lounging surface with the person you love. It doesn't matter what's on TV.
Then all of a sudden, the perfect movie or comedy special or sporting event comes on. You look at your significant other, fully expecting them to exercise their veto power of what program you will be watching. Instead, they look back at you and say "I LOVE this movie/show/team!"
Your heart skips a beat, your mind races, and you just might get a little excited.
THAT, my friends, is bliss.
To some, bliss could mean dismembering a body. And I'm not entirely sure why I led with that.
To others, it could mean making the perfect Chicken cordon bleu for dinner and a chocolate sauce to follow with dessert. Or maybe "after" dessert.
Still to others, it could be cuddling with a teddy bear (or two) and enjoying a warmed up brownie or blueberry muffin.
You'll notice that I make reference to food a couple times here, because to a lot of people, food can be the epitome of bliss.
To sports fans, the idea of kicking back and watching your favorite team while munching on some hot wings and a couple beers verges on the orgasmic.
To this guy, bliss can occur in several scenarios.
One, I can be lounging in bed, and one of my dogs will randomly come over and cuddle up with me. It's stupid, but I love it.
Second, the scenario above. On the NFL's opening Sunday this season, I enjoyed buffalo wings and several frosty beverages. And to be quite honest, it was one of the best days I've ever had.
Third, and probably the most "blissful" of the scenarios that I'll lay out here, involves another person. A two person blissfest if you will.
Here it is, I'll set the scene:
It's a weeknight (could be any time between Monday and Thursday night), you're on the couch/lounging surface with the person you love. It doesn't matter what's on TV.
Then all of a sudden, the perfect movie or comedy special or sporting event comes on. You look at your significant other, fully expecting them to exercise their veto power of what program you will be watching. Instead, they look back at you and say "I LOVE this movie/show/team!"
Your heart skips a beat, your mind races, and you just might get a little excited.
THAT, my friends, is bliss.
Monday, November 16, 2009
On Professional Wrestling
As anyone that knows me can tell you, I am a huge professional wrestling fan. And before you begin lighting torches and chasing me out of town, I'll address a couple of things.
First off, I know that wrestling is "fake." It's fake in the same way that bullfighting is staged. There is a huge margin for error, for injury, and in some cases, for death.
I have seen first hand, the life changing toll that pro wrestling can have on a life.
I was in attendance at Nassau Coliseum when on October 5, 1999, in the middle of the ring, former NFL defensive end and then-WWF superstar Darren Drozdov was dropped on his head during a improperly-executed powerbomb attempt and paralyzed from the neck down.
Even more recently, Japanese wrestling legend Mitsuharu Misawa lost consciousness in the ring after being suplexed and was pronounced dead a short time later. The cause of death was attributed to a cervical spine injury.
Second, I know that it's silly. It's a male soap opera. But in this soap opera, no one's sleeping with their enemies wife. Nor are they plotting against each other. And they certainly are not wearing outlandish outfits made to catch the eye.
Oh wait, they do all of those things. Forget that argument.
But none of that has ever really mattered to me. Even since I was five years old and saw my first then-WWF program on Saturday afternoon, I was hooked. I couldn't even tell you the reason why.
I still can't.
There was even a time when I wanted to be a pro wrestler. I spent hours putting my body through hell trying to perform the moves that I saw on TV in my friends' basement. Hitting my head over and over on a tile floor might account for my insanity now.
My best friend and I even performed periodically as a tag team at the summer camp that we worked at.
So call me what you will. I like professional wrestling, and I'm not ashamed to say it.
What I am ashamed of however, is that I have NEVER owned a pair of stretchy, ball-crushing tights.
I mean who doesn't look sexy as hell in those?
First off, I know that wrestling is "fake." It's fake in the same way that bullfighting is staged. There is a huge margin for error, for injury, and in some cases, for death.
I have seen first hand, the life changing toll that pro wrestling can have on a life.
I was in attendance at Nassau Coliseum when on October 5, 1999, in the middle of the ring, former NFL defensive end and then-WWF superstar Darren Drozdov was dropped on his head during a improperly-executed powerbomb attempt and paralyzed from the neck down.
Even more recently, Japanese wrestling legend Mitsuharu Misawa lost consciousness in the ring after being suplexed and was pronounced dead a short time later. The cause of death was attributed to a cervical spine injury.
Second, I know that it's silly. It's a male soap opera. But in this soap opera, no one's sleeping with their enemies wife. Nor are they plotting against each other. And they certainly are not wearing outlandish outfits made to catch the eye.
Oh wait, they do all of those things. Forget that argument.
But none of that has ever really mattered to me. Even since I was five years old and saw my first then-WWF program on Saturday afternoon, I was hooked. I couldn't even tell you the reason why.
I still can't.
There was even a time when I wanted to be a pro wrestler. I spent hours putting my body through hell trying to perform the moves that I saw on TV in my friends' basement. Hitting my head over and over on a tile floor might account for my insanity now.
My best friend and I even performed periodically as a tag team at the summer camp that we worked at.
So call me what you will. I like professional wrestling, and I'm not ashamed to say it.
What I am ashamed of however, is that I have NEVER owned a pair of stretchy, ball-crushing tights.
I mean who doesn't look sexy as hell in those?
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
On Hiatus
I will be going on a Haastile Hiatus until Sunday. But I'll be back and better than ever come that day.
Bank on it.
Bank on it.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
On Blazing New Trails
Big things could be looming on the horizon.
The dawning of a new type of greatness is drawing near.
Cryptic, huh?
The dawning of a new type of greatness is drawing near.
Cryptic, huh?
Friday, November 6, 2009
On New Endeavors
Thinking about entering into an unholy partnership with Dr. Zombie.
Discovery Zone.
Dragon Zord.
Drunken Zebra.
Depressed Zookeeper.
What will it be? No idea.
Where will it be? Not a clue.
When will this take place? Who knows.
But it's on.
Discovery Zone.
Dragon Zord.
Drunken Zebra.
Depressed Zookeeper.
What will it be? No idea.
Where will it be? Not a clue.
When will this take place? Who knows.
But it's on.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
On Multivitamins
Have you ever wondered how there could possibly be so many components packed into a multivitamin?
There's so much going on in that little pill, it's like a foreign film.
And whether you're swallowing your pills like a grown-up, or chewing a Flintstones "multi" like a five year old, you sleep sound at night, knowing that you're getting some type of redeemable value out of it.
Also, if you're taking a Flintstones vitamin, you probably go to bed earlier than most third graders. In fact, I guarantee that.
Now, the multivitamin that I take is roughly the size of a small aircraft. I feel like I need to down four gallons of water just to cram this thing down my throat.
But on the plus side, I feel better when I take it, which is probably the point in the first place.
There's so much going on in that little pill, it's like a foreign film.
And whether you're swallowing your pills like a grown-up, or chewing a Flintstones "multi" like a five year old, you sleep sound at night, knowing that you're getting some type of redeemable value out of it.
Also, if you're taking a Flintstones vitamin, you probably go to bed earlier than most third graders. In fact, I guarantee that.
Now, the multivitamin that I take is roughly the size of a small aircraft. I feel like I need to down four gallons of water just to cram this thing down my throat.
But on the plus side, I feel better when I take it, which is probably the point in the first place.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
On Truth
Honesty is always the best policy.
It may shed doubt, but at least you can never be labeled a liar.
And it's funny how stupid little things can eat away at you, even when they don't matter in the slightest in the long run.
When something is so perfect, there can be no secrets. Relationships are a good example.
Lies can abound in a relationship; some are teeming with them. In my experience, the only real course of action is full disclosure. Only then can everything be 100% perfect.
I know that now.
It may shed doubt, but at least you can never be labeled a liar.
And it's funny how stupid little things can eat away at you, even when they don't matter in the slightest in the long run.
When something is so perfect, there can be no secrets. Relationships are a good example.
Lies can abound in a relationship; some are teeming with them. In my experience, the only real course of action is full disclosure. Only then can everything be 100% perfect.
I know that now.
On Tradition
Unlike most people my age, I genuinely enjoy visiting with my grandparents.
My maternal grandfather is funny just because he normally has no idea of what's going on, because he can't hear anything and he'll repeat questions or say something that has nothing to do with anything.
My paternal grandparents are just as entertaining.
My grandmother, who us grandchildren call Gratti (the story there is that my cousin Cara couldn't pronounce "Grandma Marion," and it evolved from there), a woman who was referred to in her high school yearbook as "faultlessly feminine," is a perfect lady. She is always dressed well, and her hair is always neatly pulled back. She takes great care to cook, clean and manage the household. She also spoils her grandchildren.
She also curses like a sailor, especially in traffic.
Simply put, she's the greatest grandmother a kid could hope for.
My paternal grandfather, PaErn (His name is Ernest, figure out the contraction) is equally as awesome. The man knows everything about everything, and is the man to go to if there's a question about any family matter.
For years, he was the master of woodworking, until cataracts and Parkinson's Disease put a halt to that.
Now he hangs out and watches morning talk shows and Jeopardy. And in no way is that sad or depressing. He loves it.
My sister and I visited them earlier this evening with the intent of delivering a birthday card to my grandmother, who turned 81 today.
Nearly an hour later, I looked at the clock and realized how much time I had spent just getting lost in stories. That happens regularly.
It's this type of thing that most people lament not encountering in their lifetime, time with their loved ones.
I'm lucky, in that I've had a lot of time to get to know my grandparents. So I will never have that regret.
My maternal grandfather is funny just because he normally has no idea of what's going on, because he can't hear anything and he'll repeat questions or say something that has nothing to do with anything.
My paternal grandparents are just as entertaining.
My grandmother, who us grandchildren call Gratti (the story there is that my cousin Cara couldn't pronounce "Grandma Marion," and it evolved from there), a woman who was referred to in her high school yearbook as "faultlessly feminine," is a perfect lady. She is always dressed well, and her hair is always neatly pulled back. She takes great care to cook, clean and manage the household. She also spoils her grandchildren.
She also curses like a sailor, especially in traffic.
Simply put, she's the greatest grandmother a kid could hope for.
My paternal grandfather, PaErn (His name is Ernest, figure out the contraction) is equally as awesome. The man knows everything about everything, and is the man to go to if there's a question about any family matter.
For years, he was the master of woodworking, until cataracts and Parkinson's Disease put a halt to that.
Now he hangs out and watches morning talk shows and Jeopardy. And in no way is that sad or depressing. He loves it.
My sister and I visited them earlier this evening with the intent of delivering a birthday card to my grandmother, who turned 81 today.
Nearly an hour later, I looked at the clock and realized how much time I had spent just getting lost in stories. That happens regularly.
It's this type of thing that most people lament not encountering in their lifetime, time with their loved ones.
I'm lucky, in that I've had a lot of time to get to know my grandparents. So I will never have that regret.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
On Literature and Film
The title of this blog almost sounds as if it would be an English or Cinema class on any college campus. But I assure you, it is not.
Instead, it is about me, and my love of both literature and film, one in particular.
Now my favorite movie is High Fidelity, which is based upon a novel of the same name by Nick Hornby.
My favorite book, American Skin, is supposedly being optioned as major motion picture. But I won't hold my breath on that one.
In my experience, and many people will agree, books are almost always better than the films based upon them.
One example of a film being better than the book is Forrest Gump. The original novel, written by Winston Groom, was filled with incredibly random things that the title character did, including becoming a professional wrestler. The film streamlined things, and has since been referred to as a cinematic masterpiece.
The book Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris was fantastic, I devoured it when it first came out.
The film was nothing short of horrible.
So it was with great trepidation that I took a chance and watched the film Of Mice and Men, based upon the John Steinbeck work of the same name.
I would probably put Of Mice and Men in my top three literary works, behind the aforementioned American Skin and To Kill A Mockingbird (also a wonderful film).
The relationship between George and Lennie is beautiful. The naivety of a simple Lennie, mixed with the caring, but gruff personality of George makes for a great backdrop. These characters love each other. The final pages of the book (which I won't ruin here) actually caused me to tear up upon reading them for the first time when I was in high school.
And I quite honestly was not disappointed by the film, much to my delight.
I did not view the original version of the film, the 1939 one that starred Burgess Meredith (Mickey in the Rocky movies) and Lon Chaney Jr. (the Wolfman himself) as George and Lennie respectively. But frankly, I would have loved to see Meredith bitching at Chaney in his gravelly voice. I think that that would have been hysterical.
Instead, I watched the 1992 version starring Gary "Lt. Dan in Forrest Gump" Sinise and John Malkovich as George and Lennie.
Automatically, I did not want to buy Malkovich as Lennie, who is supposed to be very physically intimidating, but meek. Malkovich isn't even close, as he is squirrelly and wholly terrifying looking.
Instead, I LOVED this movie. Malkovich was phenomenal as Lennie, and portrayed the role with near perfection. Due to clever camera work, they did make him seen overpowering and huge. And I am always willing to buy Sinise as curmudgeonly and clever, so that fit well.
Add in the guy who played Mr. Hand in Fast Times at Ridgemont High as Candy, and I'm completely sold.
Film has overtaken literature in this case. This one was perfect.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)