So, for once, I am slightly ahead of the curve on knowing about a band, in that, I've known about them for a month and their single is just now starting to get heavy rotation. You may have heard of them a year ago, but I am known for thinking a song is new when it was released 3 months ago. Not big on the radio, kids. And the ipod...she has mostly hits from the '60s- 2004. So, just let me be happy I don't feel like someone's parents trying to keep up with what the kids are listening to.
In any case, here is the video for "Fireflies" by Owl City. I have downloaded the whole Album "Ocean Eyes" and it's really good. They sound a bit like The Postal Service, but still a cool sound.
Fireflies!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
NaBloPoMo
National Blog Posting Month
Most of us here on justforscuz have in the past considered participating in National Novel Writer's Month (NaNoWriMo). In fact, we've started it and failed. In this event, the objective is to complete a novel in the month of November. I even bought a book on writing a novel in a month and gave it to Anita Rackow. Yet, none of us have produced a novel.
When discussing the creation of this blog, we agreed that blogs are easier to write than anything lengthier. I had downgraded from the lofty goal of being a novelist, passed through a phase of thinking I could complete short stories, to "Hey I can just write about nothing." And I want to be a writer?
I am taking sketch comedy writing classes at ImprovBoston and I have learned something valuable about writing. The more I do it, the easier it is. Not because I necessarily get any better, but because it decreases the fear of failure. There is a writing rule of 9 to 1. For every 9 terrible things we write, only one will be any good.
So I'm going to attempt to make 30 entries over the next 30 days. And maybe 3 of them will be worth a damn. Perhaps my cohorts will join me, or bail me out on days that I forget. Cohorts? What say you?
Oh and by the way, this entry counts.
PS I am really glad that it was daylight savings last night, because otherwise, it would almost be midnight and I'd be sweating on the keyboard trying to make sure it gets posted by midnight.
Most of us here on justforscuz have in the past considered participating in National Novel Writer's Month (NaNoWriMo). In fact, we've started it and failed. In this event, the objective is to complete a novel in the month of November. I even bought a book on writing a novel in a month and gave it to Anita Rackow. Yet, none of us have produced a novel.
When discussing the creation of this blog, we agreed that blogs are easier to write than anything lengthier. I had downgraded from the lofty goal of being a novelist, passed through a phase of thinking I could complete short stories, to "Hey I can just write about nothing." And I want to be a writer?
I am taking sketch comedy writing classes at ImprovBoston and I have learned something valuable about writing. The more I do it, the easier it is. Not because I necessarily get any better, but because it decreases the fear of failure. There is a writing rule of 9 to 1. For every 9 terrible things we write, only one will be any good.
So I'm going to attempt to make 30 entries over the next 30 days. And maybe 3 of them will be worth a damn. Perhaps my cohorts will join me, or bail me out on days that I forget. Cohorts? What say you?
Oh and by the way, this entry counts.
PS I am really glad that it was daylight savings last night, because otherwise, it would almost be midnight and I'd be sweating on the keyboard trying to make sure it gets posted by midnight.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Raise your hand if you like moving. Anyone? Anyone? No. No one.
I think we can all agree that no one likes moving day. No matter what you do, it is impossible for it to be a happy, positive experience. Especially in Boston. In Boston, September 1 is the worst day in the world in the history of the world especially if you own more than just a toothbrush and a carpet bag worth of clothes. Here are my stories:
Last year, I decided to beat the whole moving crazy nonsense by hiring movers. I booked them months in advance, got a good deal, and felt quite proud of myself for not procrastinating for once. Kudos to me, a hundred pats on the back, and kudos again. The morning of Sept 1, 2008 the bubble I lived in where moving is easy and fun popped.
First, my movers didn't show. I called, they said, "Whooops!" and sent 3 guys over. I am pissed, but calm. Although my seemingly "easy" move was starting out 2 hours delayed, I would not let my feathers ruffle over such a minor detail. Instead, I put my energy into re-cleaning the kitchen floor with a toothbrush (we were told it was not quite clean enough and I was making a point).
Finally, the movers show up and so I show them into the house. In my mind, I imagined movers to be silent and efficient busy bees. My movers were no such thing. First, the complaint was issued that they weren't told there'd be stairs. My response: I was told you'd be here at 8 (as I looked at my wrist indicating it was now 10:30am, um humm). Then, they started loading everything into the truck. It's going well until they decide to head out but had missed about half a dozen boxes of my clothes and shoes-- I shout after them and they come back in mumbling obscenities under their breaths. Awesome. They zip off to Beacon Hill while I get reamed out by my landlady and then cry.
Eventually I make it to the Hill to find they have already started unloading. Lovely. We are back on track... Or are we? All of a sudden a fight breaks out between my head mover and the Boston Transport police. Great. Apparently the street occupency permit that I had to get by visiting 3 different offices on 3 different floors with 3 different checks made out to 3 different departments wasn't valid on my street. Thanks, City of Boston, for the heads-up that my street doesn't allow permits of that nature. I do not flip a lid and instead gently encourage the movers to "Please move your truck around the corner like the lady says" and then I look at the Boston Transport official and say, "I know this isn't your fault, but it is kind of ridiculous." She agreed and wandered off to find other violators.
Meanwhile, my movers are bringing my things inside my new apartment. Did I mention it was a 4th floor walk up? Did I also mention I have hundreds of books as well as a heavy couch. F-bombs are being thrown about with abandon and by the time I make it up to my apartment I discover that my movers have quit. Over the phone. To their supervisor, who we can refer to as Bob. Shouting ensues and if you could have slammed a cell phone, my head mover would have done so. He looks at me and says, "Nothing personal, but this isn't what we signed on for."
The other two movers make it up the stairs, huffing and puffing, sweating and swearing. They say "You've got a lot of stuff" and "Normally we don't move boxes like this." I said "Boxes like what? Boxes filled with stuff? Huh?" and they explain:
"Can you lift this?" they ask me, pointing to one of my 50/50 boxes (half books, half pillows). I lift it off the ground but admitted it was quite heavy.
"If you can't lift it, we don't normally move it," they explained.
Me, perplexed. "So, you are saying if I " (pointing to myself-- an under 5 foot female) "can't lift this, you won't move it? Hmm"
"Okay, chica," they say. "We get your point. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: "If I had a boyfriend he'd be here moving so I wouldn't have to deal with all of you. So have you quit or are you working for me today?"
They decided they liked my sass (who doesn't) and agreed to continuing moving my things. After about an hour of watching my stuff being tossed around like it was salad they were done. I counted the broken plates in my head as I calculated their tip.
This year, things were a little different. Originally I didn't plan to move, but circumstances changed and since I couldn't commit to a new location I decide to put my things in storage and spend some quality time in suburbia with the familia. I call around and find a company called Door-to-Door. They are going to drop off a pod-like storage unit, I will have 3 days to fill it up, they will pick it up and put it somewhere. When I want it, they will deliver it to my new address. Sounds like a dream come true and as close as I can get to the creme-de-la-creme of moving fantasies: when someone else packs your stuff up, delivers it, and unpacks it, all while you vacation in the Virgin Islands. (One day, my friends, one day).
Snag 1: the day they are supposed to deliver the storage unit I double check the space (Door-to-Door arranged the street occupancy permits so it all works out fine) and it is clear. Fab-u-lous (said like the Orbit gum lady). 5 minutes before they actually arrive, however, someone pulls into the spot and then disappears. True story. I walk around my neighborhood asking everyone and anyone if they are the owner(s) of the car in my spot. Even a friendly neighborhood mailman helps me out for a while. A woman and her daughter eventually emerge from another apartment building. After a couple of blank stares and one dresser loaded into her vehicle she moves the car across the street.
Snag 2: I hire 2 movers (labor only) to help me with the big stuff. 15 minutes late and I am like WTF. I call my friend to say "What do I do?" and then one shows up. He was called by the guy I arranged the labor with and then was told that guy was sending another guy over. That is one too many anonymous guys in the equation. This kid-- Jeremy- thinks he can move some of the stuff on his own. I say, "That's great, because I don't want to help and I will pay you double." He ponders calling a friend, but apparently has none. (Okay that's harsh, he does indeed have friends but this is a Saturday at 6 pm and they are otherwise preoccupied). As we go outside to open and scope out the storage unit, Dimitri shows up. We are saved.
Snag 3: The two guys do a great job getting all of the big stuff in there, but now I am left with an apartment full of trash/little stuff and a feeling of overwhelming panic. I call my friend Sara and go over there, eat Chinese food, and forget about it for the rest of the night. The next day, my parents show up. I think I have things under control and we start to load up their car with my essential stuff that I cannot live without aka seventeen hundred million bags of clothes, spare books (I do need some books on hand) and other things that are so amazing I can't even remember them. The truth quickly becomes realized: I have too much stuff.
Snag 4: Did I mention I live(d) in a 4th floor walk up? Seven or so hours later, I have walked up and down those stairs so many times I am practically crawling the final flight. I took quite a few 10 minute "lay on the floor and try to recuperate" breaks when no one was looking. My legs are so sore today I feel like Ozzy Osbourne walks.
---
Even though right now, I have half of my life in a storage unit (a ticking time bomb in the world of moving) and the other half of my life in garbage bags in my parents' spare room (another ticking time bomb waiting to explode into my childhood bedroom any second now), I breathe a sigh of relief that the September 1 moving experience is over for this year. Also, I have learned a few things from my Beacon Hill moves: (1) Don't live on the fourth floor (2) Don't live on the fourth floor (3) Don't live on the fourth floor. End Scene.
Last year, I decided to beat the whole moving crazy nonsense by hiring movers. I booked them months in advance, got a good deal, and felt quite proud of myself for not procrastinating for once. Kudos to me, a hundred pats on the back, and kudos again. The morning of Sept 1, 2008 the bubble I lived in where moving is easy and fun popped.
First, my movers didn't show. I called, they said, "Whooops!" and sent 3 guys over. I am pissed, but calm. Although my seemingly "easy" move was starting out 2 hours delayed, I would not let my feathers ruffle over such a minor detail. Instead, I put my energy into re-cleaning the kitchen floor with a toothbrush (we were told it was not quite clean enough and I was making a point).
Finally, the movers show up and so I show them into the house. In my mind, I imagined movers to be silent and efficient busy bees. My movers were no such thing. First, the complaint was issued that they weren't told there'd be stairs. My response: I was told you'd be here at 8 (as I looked at my wrist indicating it was now 10:30am, um humm). Then, they started loading everything into the truck. It's going well until they decide to head out but had missed about half a dozen boxes of my clothes and shoes-- I shout after them and they come back in mumbling obscenities under their breaths. Awesome. They zip off to Beacon Hill while I get reamed out by my landlady and then cry.
Eventually I make it to the Hill to find they have already started unloading. Lovely. We are back on track... Or are we? All of a sudden a fight breaks out between my head mover and the Boston Transport police. Great. Apparently the street occupency permit that I had to get by visiting 3 different offices on 3 different floors with 3 different checks made out to 3 different departments wasn't valid on my street. Thanks, City of Boston, for the heads-up that my street doesn't allow permits of that nature. I do not flip a lid and instead gently encourage the movers to "Please move your truck around the corner like the lady says" and then I look at the Boston Transport official and say, "I know this isn't your fault, but it is kind of ridiculous." She agreed and wandered off to find other violators.
Meanwhile, my movers are bringing my things inside my new apartment. Did I mention it was a 4th floor walk up? Did I also mention I have hundreds of books as well as a heavy couch. F-bombs are being thrown about with abandon and by the time I make it up to my apartment I discover that my movers have quit. Over the phone. To their supervisor, who we can refer to as Bob. Shouting ensues and if you could have slammed a cell phone, my head mover would have done so. He looks at me and says, "Nothing personal, but this isn't what we signed on for."
The other two movers make it up the stairs, huffing and puffing, sweating and swearing. They say "You've got a lot of stuff" and "Normally we don't move boxes like this." I said "Boxes like what? Boxes filled with stuff? Huh?" and they explain:
"Can you lift this?" they ask me, pointing to one of my 50/50 boxes (half books, half pillows). I lift it off the ground but admitted it was quite heavy.
"If you can't lift it, we don't normally move it," they explained.
Me, perplexed. "So, you are saying if I " (pointing to myself-- an under 5 foot female) "can't lift this, you won't move it? Hmm"
"Okay, chica," they say. "We get your point. Do you have a boyfriend?"
Me: "If I had a boyfriend he'd be here moving so I wouldn't have to deal with all of you. So have you quit or are you working for me today?"
They decided they liked my sass (who doesn't) and agreed to continuing moving my things. After about an hour of watching my stuff being tossed around like it was salad they were done. I counted the broken plates in my head as I calculated their tip.
This year, things were a little different. Originally I didn't plan to move, but circumstances changed and since I couldn't commit to a new location I decide to put my things in storage and spend some quality time in suburbia with the familia. I call around and find a company called Door-to-Door. They are going to drop off a pod-like storage unit, I will have 3 days to fill it up, they will pick it up and put it somewhere. When I want it, they will deliver it to my new address. Sounds like a dream come true and as close as I can get to the creme-de-la-creme of moving fantasies: when someone else packs your stuff up, delivers it, and unpacks it, all while you vacation in the Virgin Islands. (One day, my friends, one day).
Snag 1: the day they are supposed to deliver the storage unit I double check the space (Door-to-Door arranged the street occupancy permits so it all works out fine) and it is clear. Fab-u-lous (said like the Orbit gum lady). 5 minutes before they actually arrive, however, someone pulls into the spot and then disappears. True story. I walk around my neighborhood asking everyone and anyone if they are the owner(s) of the car in my spot. Even a friendly neighborhood mailman helps me out for a while. A woman and her daughter eventually emerge from another apartment building. After a couple of blank stares and one dresser loaded into her vehicle she moves the car across the street.
Snag 2: I hire 2 movers (labor only) to help me with the big stuff. 15 minutes late and I am like WTF. I call my friend to say "What do I do?" and then one shows up. He was called by the guy I arranged the labor with and then was told that guy was sending another guy over. That is one too many anonymous guys in the equation. This kid-- Jeremy- thinks he can move some of the stuff on his own. I say, "That's great, because I don't want to help and I will pay you double." He ponders calling a friend, but apparently has none. (Okay that's harsh, he does indeed have friends but this is a Saturday at 6 pm and they are otherwise preoccupied). As we go outside to open and scope out the storage unit, Dimitri shows up. We are saved.
Snag 3: The two guys do a great job getting all of the big stuff in there, but now I am left with an apartment full of trash/little stuff and a feeling of overwhelming panic. I call my friend Sara and go over there, eat Chinese food, and forget about it for the rest of the night. The next day, my parents show up. I think I have things under control and we start to load up their car with my essential stuff that I cannot live without aka seventeen hundred million bags of clothes, spare books (I do need some books on hand) and other things that are so amazing I can't even remember them. The truth quickly becomes realized: I have too much stuff.
Snag 4: Did I mention I live(d) in a 4th floor walk up? Seven or so hours later, I have walked up and down those stairs so many times I am practically crawling the final flight. I took quite a few 10 minute "lay on the floor and try to recuperate" breaks when no one was looking. My legs are so sore today I feel like Ozzy Osbourne walks.
---
Even though right now, I have half of my life in a storage unit (a ticking time bomb in the world of moving) and the other half of my life in garbage bags in my parents' spare room (another ticking time bomb waiting to explode into my childhood bedroom any second now), I breathe a sigh of relief that the September 1 moving experience is over for this year. Also, I have learned a few things from my Beacon Hill moves: (1) Don't live on the fourth floor (2) Don't live on the fourth floor (3) Don't live on the fourth floor. End Scene.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
The things I carried
As I prepare to move in the next 24-48 hours, I wonder how I'm really going to pull it off. I say 24-48 hours because while my official move in date is September 1st, I may be able to move certain items into my building, but not my apartment, on the 31st, thanks to friends who will be moving into the same building.
The move is from Brighton to Allston, and only .4 miles so it should be fairly easy. Then again, the move is from BRIGHTON to ALLSTON on September 1st. I avoided this nightmare last year because I moved in around September 7th or so. An extra bonus challenge will be moving my full sized bed without the aid of a truck or movers.
Option 1 is walking it down the street, hopefully with help.
Option 2 is strapping that mother to my Altima and hoping for the best.
Option 3:
Except Allston St. instead of a surf-stairway and random homeless people and college kids instead of guards in purple suits. The billowy, hooded nightgown is a must though.
Other than that, everything should pretty much fit in my car in 2 trips. That was the number of trips I had to take last September when moving. Still I wonder, where did I get all this crap? And even still, I left a lot of belongings, personal and otherwise, at my parents' house. I didn't have room for them to come to my apartment and I may still not have room.
There are things that I wish I had here and others I brought with me that I don't even need, but I can't throw them away. I don't look at my yearbooks, but I thought I would like to have them around. Plus, I can't keep everything at my parents' forever. I think as I move to my second apartment, I must make a trip back and enact judgment day upon my belongings. Everything will either be moving on with me, or going to the firey pits of the garbage world.
No that's too harsh and Christian. Perhaps there will be some reincarnation as my trash becomes another man's treasure through goodwill.
I realized today this would all be solved if I could just keep everything with me, but not actually have to store it anywhere. This would be possible if my life were a video game. I walked by a box of matches that had been left on the street, and of course as a 27 year old man seeing trash, I thought I should pick it up. I have also recently been picking up loose change on the street that normally I would pass by. I want to see how much I can earn in a year just by picking up loose change. But, I digress.
In video games, at least the role playing kind, you get to walk around and look for items that you will need later. Kill someone- take his gun. Find a grenade- keep it for later when you need to blast through a brick wall. Magic potion-what? Who cares- you know you'll need it at some point. And this is what I think when I see something like a box of matches, hanging out all by itelf, practically with a pulsating glow around it. "I'll need these later." Why else would they be there?
Why don't I pick them up? Because it's street trash. No, that's not why- that wouldn't stop me. The reason is, I don't have room for this crap. In the video game world, you pick things up and you just "have" them. Somehow you can carry a rifle, a key card, 10 smoke bombs, a first aid pack, and a grappling hook on your person. And you can just bust them out at any point, at the appropriate time.
If I could just "have" all my belongings, but not have to keep them, I would be all set. Because although you don't need them on a regular basis- I mean do I really NEED my Spice World sticker book, with an unfinished collection of stickers, because I stopped being able to find the Chupa Chups Spice Girls lollipops? Of course not, but how else would I be able to prove how painfully uncool I am but how much uncooler I used to be. I think people believe me but having that evidence really drives the point home. Unfortunately, I have to keep that in a trunk, next to the comic books I used to draw for 4 years, and my 3 volumes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Watcher's Guide.
All of my music now fits on my ipod-something that is smaller than my wallet. I kind of miss having the actual CDs, but it's good to free up the space. Most of the information found in the books I have can be found online anytime. Maybe those I can learn to live without.
I don't have any other place to put old drawings, movie ticket stubs, letters and cards from family and friends. But I'm not getting rid of them. And so these are the things I carry with me, even though I probably won't use them.
So scientists and eggheads, could you get on that teleportion shit anytime soon? The Power Rangers did it all the time, and that show has been around for years!
PS Looking forward to this in 2 days:
PIVOT!!
The move is from Brighton to Allston, and only .4 miles so it should be fairly easy. Then again, the move is from BRIGHTON to ALLSTON on September 1st. I avoided this nightmare last year because I moved in around September 7th or so. An extra bonus challenge will be moving my full sized bed without the aid of a truck or movers.
Option 1 is walking it down the street, hopefully with help.
Option 2 is strapping that mother to my Altima and hoping for the best.
Option 3:
Except Allston St. instead of a surf-stairway and random homeless people and college kids instead of guards in purple suits. The billowy, hooded nightgown is a must though.
Other than that, everything should pretty much fit in my car in 2 trips. That was the number of trips I had to take last September when moving. Still I wonder, where did I get all this crap? And even still, I left a lot of belongings, personal and otherwise, at my parents' house. I didn't have room for them to come to my apartment and I may still not have room.
There are things that I wish I had here and others I brought with me that I don't even need, but I can't throw them away. I don't look at my yearbooks, but I thought I would like to have them around. Plus, I can't keep everything at my parents' forever. I think as I move to my second apartment, I must make a trip back and enact judgment day upon my belongings. Everything will either be moving on with me, or going to the firey pits of the garbage world.
No that's too harsh and Christian. Perhaps there will be some reincarnation as my trash becomes another man's treasure through goodwill.
I realized today this would all be solved if I could just keep everything with me, but not actually have to store it anywhere. This would be possible if my life were a video game. I walked by a box of matches that had been left on the street, and of course as a 27 year old man seeing trash, I thought I should pick it up. I have also recently been picking up loose change on the street that normally I would pass by. I want to see how much I can earn in a year just by picking up loose change. But, I digress.
In video games, at least the role playing kind, you get to walk around and look for items that you will need later. Kill someone- take his gun. Find a grenade- keep it for later when you need to blast through a brick wall. Magic potion-what? Who cares- you know you'll need it at some point. And this is what I think when I see something like a box of matches, hanging out all by itelf, practically with a pulsating glow around it. "I'll need these later." Why else would they be there?
Why don't I pick them up? Because it's street trash. No, that's not why- that wouldn't stop me. The reason is, I don't have room for this crap. In the video game world, you pick things up and you just "have" them. Somehow you can carry a rifle, a key card, 10 smoke bombs, a first aid pack, and a grappling hook on your person. And you can just bust them out at any point, at the appropriate time.
If I could just "have" all my belongings, but not have to keep them, I would be all set. Because although you don't need them on a regular basis- I mean do I really NEED my Spice World sticker book, with an unfinished collection of stickers, because I stopped being able to find the Chupa Chups Spice Girls lollipops? Of course not, but how else would I be able to prove how painfully uncool I am but how much uncooler I used to be. I think people believe me but having that evidence really drives the point home. Unfortunately, I have to keep that in a trunk, next to the comic books I used to draw for 4 years, and my 3 volumes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Watcher's Guide.
All of my music now fits on my ipod-something that is smaller than my wallet. I kind of miss having the actual CDs, but it's good to free up the space. Most of the information found in the books I have can be found online anytime. Maybe those I can learn to live without.
I don't have any other place to put old drawings, movie ticket stubs, letters and cards from family and friends. But I'm not getting rid of them. And so these are the things I carry with me, even though I probably won't use them.
So scientists and eggheads, could you get on that teleportion shit anytime soon? The Power Rangers did it all the time, and that show has been around for years!
PS Looking forward to this in 2 days:
PIVOT!!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
"i'm having some trouble with zombies..."
so said i last night to my roommate. i never thought it would come to this, but i am, indeed, having some trouble with zombies these days.
it all started when i spied it. the the book my dreams are made of. that's right- Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
i had to have it. i heart Pride and Prejudice! i heart zombies! the cover will freak people out in public! it all started out innocently enough. the bennet sisters are searching for husbands. their mother is meddling. mark darcy is proud. and then...zombies come in and eat people. they EAT people. somehow, i did not see this coming.
i guess i never gave much thought to zombies. i like to say things like, "i heart zombies" without really considering what makes them tick. it turns out, i don't really heart zombies at all. the truth is, they actually make me gag a little bit when i read about them cracking people's skulls with their teeth at the ball.
i'm not sure i can finish the book. maybe i'm too proud. maybe i'm too prejudiced. maybe i'm too...zombie?
it all started when i spied it. the the book my dreams are made of. that's right- Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.
i had to have it. i heart Pride and Prejudice! i heart zombies! the cover will freak people out in public! it all started out innocently enough. the bennet sisters are searching for husbands. their mother is meddling. mark darcy is proud. and then...zombies come in and eat people. they EAT people. somehow, i did not see this coming.
i guess i never gave much thought to zombies. i like to say things like, "i heart zombies" without really considering what makes them tick. it turns out, i don't really heart zombies at all. the truth is, they actually make me gag a little bit when i read about them cracking people's skulls with their teeth at the ball.
i'm not sure i can finish the book. maybe i'm too proud. maybe i'm too prejudiced. maybe i'm too...zombie?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Marathon morons
This past Monday, I watched most of the Boston Marathon from Washington Square in Brookline. I say most, because I didn't go to see the elite runners go by (I don't know anyone from Kenya) and occasionally I stepped away to grab a beer, which we were allowed to drink outside.
I haven't watched the Marathon live in a few years, since my older brother ran it. This time around, my little brother was running, and a friend of mine. I was tracking both of them via text alerts, and relaying the information to family and friends. I had everyone looking out for my brother, so we could cheer him on as he neared the finish line. I was excited and proud of all of these people in something for which the word "race" doesn't do justice. On top of that, I am running the Providence Marathon in less than two weeks. I was excited, and nervous watching.
And annoyed. There was an epidemic of people trying to cross the road during the event. The Boston Marathon is not exactly a surprise to anyone who lives in Boston, and it shouldn't even be a foreign idea to those outside the city, considering it is one of the "Big 5" marathons. I myself did have to cross the road at a point during the race, just once, to get to friends and beer. I am pretty quick and agile (I had better be if I'm supposed to run a marathon in 10 days). Even so, I waited until there was a lull in the race and the police officers on duty at the crosswalks.
The three runners up for top offender were: the Asian tourists with a heavy camera who scurried slowly across, holding hands; the two people who crashed into each other in the middle of the road; finally, the woman running across the street with a child in her arms.
The biggest idiot of the day, however, was the woman who tried to cross the street in the middle of a pack of runners, while pushing...a baby stroller. The police officer on that corner chewed her out and rightfully so.
What the ef is wrong with people?
There is a marathon going on. Thousands of people are running 26 miles. In a row! They are doing something that most people couldn't dream of doing. It takes physical fitness, stamina, mental strength, training, dedication, and perseverance that few people have. Show some respect and wait! Where are you and your baby going that is so damn important you can't wait a few minutes to let these people complete one of the most significant things they may ever do, without some idiot pushing a stroller through to throw off their time.
Beyond respect, show some common sense. People running the marathon- not slow. 50 Speedy Gonzales's are coming your way when you cross that street. If you don't get out of their way, the impact will be significant. What if while walking across the street, you caused injury to a runner? Also, worst parent ever! "Oh, I think I'll just take my baby across the street and-" oh your baby just got run over! Your baby's probably dead. These people have been running for 23 miles at this point. It has taken them over 2 and a half hours. Many of them have not stopped, and they're not going to do that easily.
As the stroller pusher, you have shown that you are a complete moron, waste of space, and probably shouldn't have kids. Under your supervision, given the care and decision making skills you've shown, they won't last long in this world anyways, especially considering what a daredevil you decide they will be on their behalf, playing chicken with a wall of elite runners.
I was glad to see that people booed the idiots for crossing the road whenever they felt like it. I am a fan of booing when people deserve it. The thing that sucks is that people running the marathon had to hear something so negative when all they should be hearing are cheers and well wishes and admiration.
Maybe instead of booing there should have been angry, but quiet, mob justice.
"Thank you, logic boy. Did I mention this is a rant? Sense really has no place in it."-BtVS
I haven't watched the Marathon live in a few years, since my older brother ran it. This time around, my little brother was running, and a friend of mine. I was tracking both of them via text alerts, and relaying the information to family and friends. I had everyone looking out for my brother, so we could cheer him on as he neared the finish line. I was excited and proud of all of these people in something for which the word "race" doesn't do justice. On top of that, I am running the Providence Marathon in less than two weeks. I was excited, and nervous watching.
And annoyed. There was an epidemic of people trying to cross the road during the event. The Boston Marathon is not exactly a surprise to anyone who lives in Boston, and it shouldn't even be a foreign idea to those outside the city, considering it is one of the "Big 5" marathons. I myself did have to cross the road at a point during the race, just once, to get to friends and beer. I am pretty quick and agile (I had better be if I'm supposed to run a marathon in 10 days). Even so, I waited until there was a lull in the race and the police officers on duty at the crosswalks.
The three runners up for top offender were: the Asian tourists with a heavy camera who scurried slowly across, holding hands; the two people who crashed into each other in the middle of the road; finally, the woman running across the street with a child in her arms.
The biggest idiot of the day, however, was the woman who tried to cross the street in the middle of a pack of runners, while pushing...a baby stroller. The police officer on that corner chewed her out and rightfully so.
What the ef is wrong with people?
There is a marathon going on. Thousands of people are running 26 miles. In a row! They are doing something that most people couldn't dream of doing. It takes physical fitness, stamina, mental strength, training, dedication, and perseverance that few people have. Show some respect and wait! Where are you and your baby going that is so damn important you can't wait a few minutes to let these people complete one of the most significant things they may ever do, without some idiot pushing a stroller through to throw off their time.
Beyond respect, show some common sense. People running the marathon- not slow. 50 Speedy Gonzales's are coming your way when you cross that street. If you don't get out of their way, the impact will be significant. What if while walking across the street, you caused injury to a runner? Also, worst parent ever! "Oh, I think I'll just take my baby across the street and-"
As the stroller pusher, you have shown that you are a complete moron, waste of space, and probably shouldn't have kids. Under your supervision, given the care and decision making skills you've shown, they won't last long in this world anyways, especially considering what a daredevil you decide they will be on their behalf, playing chicken with a wall of elite runners.
I was glad to see that people booed the idiots for crossing the road whenever they felt like it. I am a fan of booing when people deserve it. The thing that sucks is that people running the marathon had to hear something so negative when all they should be hearing are cheers and well wishes and admiration.
Maybe instead of booing there should have been angry, but quiet, mob justice.
"Thank you, logic boy. Did I mention this is a rant? Sense really has no place in it."-BtVS
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Adventureland
“It was the worst job they ever imagined... and the best time of their lives.”
The poster for Adventureland itself is misleading; in bold letters, it boasts that the movie is from the director of Superbad. I actually didn’t care for Superbad, but it would lead one to believe this is going to be a gross out, fast paced, joke every 10 seconds comedy, which it isn’t. Bill Hader, Kristen Wigg, and Ryan Reynolds all promise potential for big laughs. Hader is funny, especially in a scene where he chases a man with a baseball bat, and then goes back to his task as if nothing happened. His funny moments are too few and far between. Wigg, who is the best thing to happen to "Saturday Night Live" in years, is completely underutilized and barely speaks in her few minutes on screen. Hader and Wigg's characters belong in a better, screwball comedy. Reynolds plays a completely phony douche bag, with none of his Van Wilder Charm. We don’t laugh with him or at him.
The tagline featured on the movie poster doesn’t really suit the film. Working in this amusement park is not “the worst job.” I definitely felt worse for Christina Applegate at her summer job cleaning out the grease traps and mopping the floor in the clown burger joint in Dont' Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead. And as far as the best time of their lives…the rest of their lives must be pretty weak.
The movie is set in the late ‘80s, which has no effect on the story except for some of the fashion (which is pointless since teenagers now wear ‘80s inspired crap) and featuring some obvious and a few forgotten ‘80s songs. James Brennan (Jesse Eisenberg) had plans to travel to Europe and go to graduate school at Columbia. His father’s demotion forces him to forget those plans and instead get a job to save money to move to New York. Having no real work experience, the only thing he can find is working the games at the amusement park with the locals. Once there, he quickly falls for Em (Kristen Stewart), who is sleeping with the married maintenance man (Reynolds). Throw in the hot girl, the childhood friend who regularly punches James in the balls, the nerdy, atheist, Jewish sidekick, and the cast is complete. The story is predictable right up to the end: realization, confrontation, rumors, breakdowns, and happy ending.
There are about 20 minutes of a decent film here, with many long, uninspired scenes filling in the gaps. Jesse Eisenberg is good, but he is too similar to Michael Cera, that I spent the whole time wishing that his character were played by Cera. Kristen Stewart is much better here than in Twilight, in which her performance convinced me she couldn’t act. The film could have been a lot funnier. Without the laughs, the story isn’t compelling or unique enough to make a good movie.
Rating: 4/7
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