Archive for the 'crazy' Category

Oscar Movie #1: Young Adult

The screeners are in kiddies, and there are several films to get through, and a wide variety at that. Wait. Since Transformers III: Dark Side of the Moon is included in this list and putting up a lot of things “For Your Consideration,” let me correct myself: there are several movies to get through.

The first is Young Adult with Charlize Theron and Patton Oswalt, written by Diablo Cody and directed by Jason Reitman.

I don’t have much to say about this one. Theron’s good. She’s usually good. And she seems better because she does that she’s-so-beautiful-yet-she-plays-such-ugly-people thing. I’m not hating on the woman, I think she’s fantastic, but her role wasn’t.

Cody is over-rated, Reitman has clearly seen a LOT of John Hughes movies in is time (who can blame him?) and I will just state for the record that I do not get Patrick Wilson. To me, the most remarkable thing about the guy is that he gets so much play and he’s so patently generic. Well, other than kind of reminding me of a lobotomized Chris Pratt, who is patently awesome on Parks and Recreation.

The most promising thing about the movie is Oswalt. I thought he was good- doing a lot with so little and making a real character out of it. I hope he gets more serious roles.

Overall: pretty uneventful. Sorry, kids.


so many questions, and ones to which i actually DON’T want answers.

Read in this week’s The Week:

A Tasmanian man has avoided jail after being caught with hard-core octopus pornography.

Rodney McLagan, 48, had a collection of some 31,000 images and video clips, most of which depicted humans engaging in sex acts with snakes, tigers, and octopi. The judge suspended his sentence, citing a psychologist’s finding that McLagan suffers from clinically low self-esteem and that “you are particularly self-conscious about your teeth.”

So many questions, none of which I really want answered:

What is the attraction?  Is the slimy, fleshy consistency of octopi (precisely why I can’t eat them) and ew, I’m already making this worse than it is.

The suckers?  (stop it, now).

The blurb mentions hard-core octopus porn.  Does that mean there is soft-core octopus porn?  Doesn’t the fact that you’re looking at invertebrate smut qualify you as hard-core, just, right there?

Is hard-core snake and tiger porn so mundane it barely merits mention?  Those seem inherently more newsworthy, if only because these animals can actually kill you?  Maybe they went with the octopus angle to catch the halo effect of shark week buzz?

and the obligatory (bad) teeth joke:

Does this mean that millions of Englishmen are hiding illustrated Jules Verne novels under their mattresses?




I cannot wait to see how many new hits this blog gets from people searching for “invertebrate smut.”


So juicy.

So juicy.

killing me softly

ok, maybe it’s not killing me, but it’s certainly sucking the life out of me. 

like any self-respecting comic-book-reading, RPG-playing junior high school nerd, i read stephen king’s the stand.  i didn’t just read it, i devoured it.  i was aware enough at the time to know it wasn’t the greatest novel ever written- i’d already hit up those other precocious tween classics- catcher in the rye and 1984.  But I probably thought it was the third greatest masterpiece. ever.

it was over twelve hundred pages.  it had super awesome illustrations that looked like the ones done by pushead for metallica, which we used to go down to west eighth street to get (it just took me ten minutes on google to find that guy’s name).  it was tragic, epic, it was about good vs. evil, dreams and reality.  it was about bureaucracy, hubris, hate, love… it was about the flu.

it kills off 99.4% of the population and the story is centers on the .6% who don’t die from the sickness or aren’t collateral damage.  they call it captain tripps in the story, created in a lab by the government.  it’s brutal and disgusting and unavoidable.

and i think i have it.

only, instead of it being lethal, it’s just super long-lasting.

everyone i know is sick or has been sick this winter.  so many of us can’t kick it.  my doc said it’s the worst year he remembers.  i’m currently on my fourth round of antibiotics- avalox.  they mess. me. up.  i made the mistake of going to the drug store after taking one the other day.  thank god my friend befri was with me because the drug hit my bloodstream a couple of minutes after i got there.  i’ve never taken ecstasy, but i imagine it’s something like i experienced in the toothpaste aisle of rite aid.  colors were shouting at me from every conceivable angle, everything was sparkly and moving.  i felt lightheaded and walked into a display.  all of this is OK with me, though, as long as it knocks out my sinus infection like it does my balance.

i’ve been down since new year’s day- forty three days and counting.  i’ve missed almost three work weeks of my new job over this time.  it started as the flu, then a sinus infection, then labyrinthitis, back to a sinus infection.  it’s my fourth round of anti-biotics.  i have a day or two left.  i’m taking pseudofed every four hours and bought something called a sinus rinse (yes, it’s gross).  if this doesn’t do it, i don’t know what will. 

so what’s the point?  i don’t know.  i haven’t had one in over a month. 

for any of you keeping score…

batshit has left!! gone, hallelujah, kyrie, ojala and all the rest.

she stole the curtains from the living room, my plant hanger, slashed the couch and trashed the bedroom.  that’s the initial inventory, anyway.  hopefull, that’s all. 

i start interviewing possibilities tomorrow.  well the first one came today and is very promising.  a full slate tomorrow.

either way, i’ll be spackling/ sanding/ painting soon.

end tally: i’m out over $300.  but, you really cant buy piece of mind.  imagine!  not having to lock my bedroom door when i go to the bathroom. 


back into the frying pan

so, friends, batshit has her departure date.  this coming saturday, she will be moving out.  where she’s going i know not, and frankly don’t give a hot damn. 

i will be around both for the safety and integrity of my apartment, to collect the keys and also because my new bed is being delivered that day (woo hoo!).  i will not be helping.  normally i would offer, and even now feel compelled because i’m a sucker and an asshole, but i’m not aggravating my shoulder for someone  who would likely not piss in my mouth if were dying of thirst.  i still have the cactus needles in my hands to back up that supposition.

so, i’ve been asking around and around, and assume my friends have been doing the same, but to no avail.  it’s a weird time of year, and no one seems to know anyone.  which leads me, at long last, to my point:

last night, i posted my apartment on craig’s list.

i know!  i didn’t want to, but i guess i have to.  it seems to be a modern necessary evil when social networks fail.  i can’t blame it all on an anonymous internet server, though.  i guess my interviewing process wasn’t rigorous enough.  i’m not sure how i’m going to change that this time.  besides getting and actually checking references, i mean.

but then, when you think about it, anyone can get someone to vouch for them.  a friend or sibling posing as a former roommate- how would i know the difference?  the whole thing involves a healthy dose of trust in a perfect stranger and the risks inherent in that cannot be avoided.

unless, of course, anyone out there has a polygraph or some sodium pentathol i can borrow?


top this, passive-aggressives!

so it seems that batshit was packing just to get me.  she has compiled a massive stack of boxes and plastic bags in my dining room, but shows no signs of going anywhere.  i’m beginning to think they’re empty.  you may be saying to yourself “methinks isosceles is a bit paranoid.”  i probably would have said the same thing a few months ago. 

but, it seems, this is how they roll in the sixth circle of hell.

batshit chronicles, part: oh, too many to count.

all joking aside.  i can’t sleep.  i’m actually grinding through the fiberglass nightguard i paid $500 bucks for to keep me from grinding my teeth.

my entire body hurts.  when i lay down at night, my neck is so stiff it feels like i’m wearing a brace.

no packing last night.  though, she is moving my things around, juuuuuuuust a little bit. 

maybe i should check and see if she’s taken my copy of gaslight.

step right up! place your bets, folks!

cslewis suggested we start a poll about batshit’s departure date.  $5 in, winner takes all. 

in the interest of equity, here’s what we know.  she’s started to pack.  several large boxes in the living room.  has emptied out the library, dining room, some stuff in her room, bathroom.  it doesn’t appear anything has moved from the kitchen.

tie breaker question: how will batshit leave?  in the middle of the night?  with a note? an email?  a check for outstanding bills (sorry.  kidding) nothing?  keys on the table? 

backup: what item of mine will she steal- you know she’s going to take something.

the sweet, sweet sound of packing tape


(don’t even think about humoring the small part of me that wonders if it’s all a ploy to make me nuts by having stacks of boxes every where).

in honor of my new favorite sound, please enjoy the lovely bret and jemaine doing as i shall from now on: equating tape and love.

the batshit chronicles, parts III & IV

oh, internet, where were we?

ah, yes.  i woke up on wednesday, eyes nearly swollen shut from crying (NOT like me) and headed to work.  after consulting a couple of attorneys, i wrote an email to batshit informing her of her thirty days notice (i needed to put it in writing, thought it best to do from a safe distance and cc:ing signore ar, 0f course).  it felt good.  i spent the rest of the day dreading getting a response and not getting a response.

i left work without one, and without getting as much done as i wanted.  i’m exhausted and distracted and i am not my normal ass-kicking self.  i’m trying to shake it off, but internet, you know i’m good at many things, but not that. 

i picked up my laundry after alighting from the subway and trundled home with my granny cart full of clothes.  as i reached my home, i saw batshit and her sister, with papers in hand assailing signore ar with a lot of idle threats, aspersions cast at my character and general nonsense.  they were telling him they went to a lawyer and that it was going to be a long and ugly road to get batshit out.  she brought up her “signed, legal document” many times.  i think it’s safe to say that batshit has had little experience with documents, mistaking the ones with typing and ink on them them for a legal version of achilles’ shield. 

i’d recreate the conversation, but it’s long, and irritating.  let’s just say it was like a mash-up of an episode of cops and the conversation at the mad hatter’s tea party.  salient points:

  • signore ar is having none of this- he repeatedly stood behind me noting that i’ve lived here nine years without a single problem, two months after batshit moves in, hell is breaking loose, hence batshit might be the issue,
  • batshit’s sister is as crazy, if not more, than she is,
  • batshit called me “that.”  as in “i’m scaaahed a huh.  look at the size of me and look at the size of ‘that’ (pointing past signore ar at me)”
  • batshit can really turn on the waterworks when they suit her; she should get out of fashion and get into acting.
  • i’m a horrible person, apparently, because i “attacked” batshit when she walked in on sunday.  attacked= asked for help,
  • batshit is capable of brushes with reality.  she had a moment of clarity when she realized that i was trying to offer help to her the night before and had she not freaked out, she’d have had help finding a place, and have had moving men, for free.  trust me, it was a brief moment, but it was there nonetheless,
  • for the sake of signore ar’s sanity, i agreed to two months for batshit to get the flock out. 

january 15th is allegedly d-day.  pray for me, kids.  because i do not trust this bitch as far as i can throw her.  and rumor has it that this “that” could really get some yardage if she tried.

she and her sister came up, dried off the crocodile tears, and left.  i thought they were leaving for the night and settled into the living room to watch some tv and try and relax.  the locksmith came over, added locks to my bedroom and closet doors, and i assured worried friends that i was safe for the night because bs had left.  ha ha.  spoke too soon, as usual.  she came back later, noticed i’d changed my locks and was mumbling and cursing to herself.  it was only the next day that i noticed she’d already done the same for her doors. 


in the morning, she played another plastic bag sonata and left before i’d admit i was up and get out of bed.  i knew i wouldn’t be home after work to ask her for my bills back, so i left a nice, short, polite note asking for her to leave them for me so i could pay them.  with her check, of course.

i got home late and tipsy and saw the bills on the table.  no check, of course, no explanation, just the bills.  i called all the utilities and added extra security/ changed account numbers/ and removed the cable box and wireless router from the living room.  i mean, fuck.  if she’s not going to pay for this shit, she’s not going to get it for free. 

when i woke up in the morning, i said “thanks for the bills.  i noticed there was no check.”

batshit: i don’t get paid till the end of the month (bullshit.  today’s the 15th).  i can’t pay till then. 

me: then tell me that.  i can wait if you tell me.

bs: well, theah’s nothing out theah, so i don’t know what i’d be paying faw.

me: um, the LAST month?  the one in which you used ample electricity, cable (DVRing the hills, say yes to the dress, tmz, pageant place, godknowswhatelse) and the internet; i’d switched providers because she’d asked.

then, i prudently walked away before any escalation was possible.

ready for the punchline:  i got home today and there was a check on the table for forty four dollars.  the memo on the check reads: october electricity.  the best part?  her share was actually forty four dollars and fifty seven cents.  i mean, seriously?  does shorting me fifty seven fucking pennies really give her any amount of satisfaction? 



“I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”


Upon common theatres, indeed, the applause of the audience is of more importance to the actors than their own approbation. But upon the stage of life, while conscience claps, let the world hiss! On the contrary if conscience disapproves, the loudest applauses of the world are of little value - john adams
May 2018
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from the man who taught me everything:

“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”