Sweeney Todd sucks

Rios took me out. She bought me nachos with two helpings of cheese instead of cheese and chili. We got jalapenos in a cup. I saw a huge poster for the new Indiana Jones and "There Will Be Blood", which I want to see. High school kids hung on there girlfriends and screamed and made asses of themselves. I don't understand why you can't punch a kid under 18. What is the thought behind this? If anyone deserves it, it's the puke that turns to people in the movies and talks to them not because he's sociable, but because for some unfathomable reason he thinks it's funny and that it will be impressive to the girl he's with. Before the movie even started he became too much for the girl and she left. He followed.

Bit of a digression, there. Sorry.

Three drunk sorority girls sat behind us. They were annoying and loud, but I held Rios's hand and kept my temper. The movie started and here are my critiques:

1) Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is an awesome name for a movie.

2) Jesus fuck the music is boring. Every time these people started singing it was like waiting for the bus.

3) Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are fantastic actors. Not so much singers.

4) The gore is fucking fantastic, but I think the best throat gore still goes to "No Country For Old Men." Somehow that one burst carotid artery at the beginning owns all the kills in "Sweeney Todd."

5) My biggest problem with the film is ghostly. Hard to explain, or to even understand myself.

Imagine a crazy old man who promises to show you something interesting and then shows you pictures of the interesting thing to get you interested then he tells you how the story ends and that's it. You're done. That's kind of how Tim Burton seems to be making movies. I think I mentioned it with Corpse Bride, but it's unique to both of these films: Feels like there's something missing. I don't know what. But they feel hollow to the point of echo and it makes my skull throb.

I believe I may hate this film. Which is a shame. It's well acted and beautiful looking but it just feels like there is nothing there. NOTHING. OH MY GOD I THINK IT MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM.

It honestly hurts my brain. Goodnight.

laundry

There is two dollars and some change curled in an empty box of Wal-Mart brand medicated chest rub. I am not sure why it's there. I want to take it, maybe for a coke, but it seems to be there for a reason.

I'm folding a giant pile of laundry.

The grass is gold and it's warm outside but I wish that winter would just hit us full on. It's too much of a tease.

Saw a golden retriever dragging its tiny French looking owner along today. I sat on my porch and watched it, half because it was funny and a quarter because it was a beautiful dog and another quarter because if it shit on my lawn the walker and I were going to have words.

Rios took me out last night to Taco Cabana. I had Sour Cream chicken enchiladas and a Dos Equis and Rios had a cherry Fanta and a quesadilla which she didn't finish so I did. It's got nothing on Taco Bell's quesadilla. What's up with that place being so delicious?

We have this picture in Kirklands, it's a map and it's got Latin words written around it and I'm passing the time trying to translate it with no help whatsoever. So far I've translated "illustratus" and the prefix "terra" and I'm trying desperately to remember "integro" which I know forms integrity or integral. Maybe it means "center"?

As you can see, I've got three words out of about ten or eleven. I'm on the fucking case. And I'm also really bored at work. The store is empty, closing. So what the fuck?

I think I'm going to see Sweeney Todd tonight. Looking forward to it.

The Many Cocks of the Kirk

Something I don't understand is when people get fucked and they say, "Is that all you've got?"

I mean sure at the end of it one might say to another, "Damn, did you see how much Tom fit in her vagina? Impressive." But it still leaves you with a broken box.

The home decor store in which I work isn't doing so hot. So they're closing the one we're in at the end of January. I say fuck this, but all my coworkers seem determined to keep working their asses off for a company that has it's cock shoved firmly and Shiva-like up our collective asses.

The last fifteen minutes I sort of sit there, and I get shit for it. WHY? What does it matter? We're being SHITCANNED. Come on.

I need a new job. Suggestions?

Kahlua beats me. Dig the eye.



Everyone at work asked, "Did Stacey give you a black eye?"

lesbian jack and the mardi gras pirates of orlando

The line, she said, um, excuse me, but the line goes around the corner.

I already know this. I can easily follow the queue and the jingles of the faux dreads of at least five faux-Jack Sparrows and countless pirates decked out in what appear to be thriftstore bedsheets and prom dresses (and lots and lots of Mardi Gras beads) all the way to the exit.

Instead of letting the line stretch out the door, a theater attendant, dressed in a baby blue suit and (I think) real dreads scoops it across the exit doors and up the opposing wall. All the makings of a clusterfuck.

Stupid theater attendants nearly lost our place in line. They informed me that I was in the wrong line, and to go to the, uh...other...line. So I looked and found that there was no line, and the same brown hoodied-straw-blonde-bitch reminds me that, sir, um, the line is back around the corner, okay?

We take our seats. In front of us is a lesbian dressed as Jack Sparrow, and thus the most authentic of the bunch. The only difference between her and the genuine article is about 200 pounds of gigantic fat ass.

Now, I could go on about the film. How it is actually very good. The sets, costumes, art direction, and acting are all good. How the special effects are not over done and how I liked the twisting plot. How Johnny Depp comes out of his sophomore slump and how Keith Richards has maybe one of the best scenes in movie history.

But all that is far less interesting than the women in front of us.

Besides Lesbo Sparrow, her three companions have arrived in previously mentioned thriftstore garments. Brought along for the ride are toy swords and pistols.

Before the show, Lesbo has her arms full of sodas and popcorn. Pirate food. And she's having trouble sitting and distributing the stuff to the harpies. Her fat ass kind of smacks the seat. Her friend says, in the same shrill voice that will laugh and whose feet will stomp at every one liner in the entire film (and there are. many.) "YOU NEED TO LAY OFF THE RUM, GIRL."

Then, this is where it gets interesting. The harpy to the right of her quotes...one of the previous films. She says, "WHY IS THE RUM ALWAYS GONE??"

Then, all four of them, all together, I shit you not, they all go, "OH...THAT'S WHY!"

I guess it makes sense if you remember the scene.

When the film began, one of the fatties with slightly thinning hair unsheathes her sword and points at the screen. In a salute, I guess. I should mention at this point that they did not seem to be retarded. Any of them.

I started to think: What kind of desperate bravery does it take to be such a devoted fan as to be ignorant of the embarrassment of your own crippling nerdiness? It doesn't exactly matter what you or I think of them, but that's the point. They seem almost to exist in a different world, one that would probably be better than the one I and I'm assuming you live in (who wouldn't want to live in a world of pirates and mythical beasts?), but for the million constant crushing sad moments of 'you know that this isn't real.'

I remember when I was a kid I went through a minute in which my heart sunk into some place that it never came back from, when I finally realized that my favorite childhood movie characters, like Indiana Jones and the Jedis, are fictions. That I will never meet, nor be one.

I think that these people are the ones that never had that minute, for better or worse. They have those little nagging moments all the time, sure, but never the profoundly crushing moment that I remember, and maybe you remember, or that maybe you never needed to have or simply haven't.

As a side note, I believe this also ties into role-playing, not necessarily the online games, but the live ones, where people act like vampires and pretend not to laugh at each other. There's a similar lack of shame there.

Anyway, they liked the movie.

I liked the movie. Stubs choked on her spit and sounded like she had the croup, I thought she would die and nearly panicked. She didn't and she liked it enough to want to see it again.

But it's three hours...

advice for pussies part 1: don't kill bugs

Yesterday Stubs and I were getting ready for the day in the restroom when a bug flew in. Stubs said, "Bug" and then took a bottle of Centrum and smashed the shit out of it. It was still alive, so I suggested turning on the water to drown it.

Now, I've been doing a lot of Buddhist related stuff recently. Reading that just as you are constantly experiencing the universe, the universe is experiencing you, that kind of thing. Anyway, the bug was still (admirably) alive, so I decided I'd save it's life.

Wrapped it in a paper towel. Threw it outside. It flew away.

Now, I think that everybody at one point in their lives does something like this. Some people do it every day. But the thing is, I think everyone expects to feel super noble for it. Like, "I have given this small creature life, I am like the Jesus of bugs."

But the fact is, I (and I'd venture most people) are only convincing themselves that's the way they feel. The truth is I felt about the same saving a bug as it does killing them. Take from that what you will, but I think it's a great argument against killing in general.

#

Went to Sea World again yesterday. It was the shit wrapped inside the bomb. We rode the Kraken many times.

I have not played poker in forever.

For. Ever.

There are no casinos here in sunny Florida. They have Disney, Universal, Sea World, Wet and Wild and a ton of old people, but no casinos.

I'm moving to OKC. Fire Lake will be my new home.

ghosts and j/10 off suit

Ruben has a ghost in his house. He has a kid. Ruben, not the ghost. I thought he was my age, but he's 23. He's cleaning up his kid's toys, plastic dinos and trucks and offering food. I decline. I'm trying to get "in the zone". I'm going to pay $15 to get my ass handed to me in a cash game. There are 5 really good players at this table, and then me.

I played well. Here's the best hand I played:

Blinds at 25/50. I have maybe 13 dollars left.

I am under the gun. I am holding J-10 off-suit. I raise a dollar. Fold all around to the big blind. This guy is super tight. He's folded probably the last 10-11 hands. His stack is pretty much just minus a few blinds, 14 dollars. He calls the extra dollar. The call leads me to feel like he maybe has a pocket pair, but he's too good to play those slowly. The pocket pair option eliminated, I'm thinking two overcards. K-Q or something with an A, maybe A-J, which would suck.

The flop comes out 7-5-J. Rainbow. I have paired my J. My hand is not likely to improve. I bet 3 dollars. He calls. The turn is a 6. I feel I still have the best hand. I bet 5 dollars, hoping he'll fold his overcards. He thinks for two seconds before moving all-in.

He did not hit a straight. I know for a fact now that he's playing a J. He probably thinks I'm playing overcards.

Now I just have to figure out whether or not to fold. He didn't have pocket Js, obviously. He called my raise before the flop, making me think J-Q, J-K, or, funny enough, A-J, like I thought before. Even if by some fluke he played J-5, J-6, or J-7, he'd already have two pair. There's a slight chance that he's playing J-9, but even that hand seems a bit sketchy for such a tight player. I'd need a ten and a ten only on the river to make two pair and make myself feel comfortable with the hand.

So I laid it down, and lost half my chips in the process. I got a bit too involved in that hand, but I thought saw an opportunity and made a move. I don't think he put me on Js, I think he thought I had overcards and was making a move like I had a straight. He is a good player, and made a good bet, and I laid it down.

He let me know after the hand that he had Js. I didn't ask what his kicker was. I didn't really need to know.

At least I didn't go broke on one pair.

Movie news:

Watched Miike's Dead or Alive 2 today. It's very strange. I like it when movies are not spoon-fed to me, and that's Miike all the way. He doesn't make his movies easy to watch.