Well, this one time at work...

I feel that I've had strange jobs my entire life. Some friends of mine would agree. Waiter at a retirement home. Line cook at a pizza place. Kitchen associate for the Baptist hospital.

My current job, thankfully, is no different. I received a call tonight from a stripper asking for food delivery.

"OK, ma'am. If I can just get your first name."
"Candy."
"All right, and your last name?"
"Oh, [audible giggles] I don't really have one."

Candy, as it turns out, wanted some chicken wings delivered to her place of work, Bare Assets. She sounded pretty disappointed when I told her it would take up to 45 minutes to deliver her food. Imagine that, some naked woman leaning on the bar counter asking for chicken wings over the phone.

I'm low on cash

but I have a car now, and not a moment too soon. I was beginning to consider other forms of transportation.

Entertaining, ankle-twisting, and eco-friendly. Moon Shoes!

Harrison Ford Has Still Got It

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull was pretty damn entertaining. I recommend checking your notions of physics and concepts of "reality" at the door. Otherwise, it was fun. I felt like a little kid again.

Ford was great. It felt good to see him still moving around and being an asshole. And Karen Allen, my God, I'm so glad she reappeared.

I think the media should quit asking if Harrison is too old to be doing these movies at 65, and look more at the people behind it. Perhaps George Lucas' brain has checked out some time ago? I felt like he was pushing it. As someone on RottenTomatoes said, the movie can lapse into "George Lucas tomfoolery" and that's exactly what it does.

Spielberg, on the other hand, pretty much used the movie to reconfirm how skillful he is. He doesn't hold a thing back and the Indiana Jones formula still works. In the first few moments, the camera moved in such a way that I couldn't help but feel the movie was in good (almost boasting) hands.

My Fake Interview with DAUGHTRY

MSN was doing a stupid little special on Daughtry, with a live performance. I couldn't help but do this...
___________________________
IN THE GOOD PEOPLE STUDIOS I got a chance to sit down with singer, celebrity, genius, Chris Daughtry of the band, Daughtry. He entered the extravagant studio with usual bald head, intricate facial hair, and denim suit before sitting down with me for a chat. Soon, Daughtry and his band, Daughtry, will be embarking on a world tour.

Me: Hello, Chris.
Chris Daughtry: Hi there.
Me: We have Fiji water if you want some. Can we get Daughtry some Fiji water?
CD: No, thanks. I think I'm fine for now.
Me: Sorry, we're usually quicker with our luxuries. FIJI WATER! SOMEONE! Dammit.
CD: . . .
Me: I ought to fire someone. OK, where were we? Yes, right. Daughtry. Your band is named "Daughtry."
CD: Yes it is.
Me: And you're the only one in the band with the last name of Daughtry?
CD: That's correct.
Me: And you're OK with that?
CD: . . .
Me: Moving along. Both my mother and sister own your first studio album.
CD: Well, that's great. I am--
Me: My mother and sister, Chris.
CD: Your point?
Me: Your first song on the album, also named "Daughtry," is called "It's Not Over." Tell me about it.
CD: Well it's a song that expresses how I felt--
Me: Right. I haven't heard it. I noticed that track 3 on the album is "Over You." Chris, is it or is it not over?
CD: . . .
Me: I'm going to assume it's over. Where was that Fiji water? It says here on my card that you did a song featuring Slash. What was it like to work with Slash?
CD: He is such a talented artist, the way he plays such high notes on his guitar and cannot even read music. He is just so raw.
Me: Sounds like it. Did you get to wear his top hat?
CD: No, actually he didn't allow me to.
Me: Yeah, I got that too. We're almost out of time, Chris Daughtry. But tell me, where do you think you'll be in 5 years? No, 5 months.
CD: We'll be finishing--
Me: It looks like track 10 on the album is titled "Gone."
CD: Yes, that is correct.
Me: OK, that's enough of an answer for me. Sorry about that Fiji water.

What a great fake interview. Next installment, I'll be interviewing a musician of equal acclaim, the dead skin leftover from Madonna's last spa treatment. Thank you, and good night.

Is it bad

if I give Scarlett Johansson's CD a listen because I want to hear the tracks where David Bowie is singing backup?

All I hear song after song is Berlin singing slowly and worse.

Cinematography (Or: Please, just ignore my blathering)

I'll be damned if I don't give a lot of credit to a movie if the camera work is extraordinary--the balance within the frame is perfect, there's some depth of meaning to the shots. There's a reason in everything. When the camera moves, it makes total sense in how it moves. Form matches content. The camera always shows Travis Bickle isolated within his taxicab. Shots depict his attitudes. Daniel Plainview is almost always spatially distanced from people and more weight is given to his true love, the oil. I could go on forever, it seems.

Most movies just want to make sure the audience can see everything these days. Some do more than that, and they leave me in awe. I hope I don't get sued for this...

"Road to Perdition"


"There Will Be Blood"


"Half Nelson"


"Taxi Driver"


"The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"

You know what this roof needs?

Every morning at 8:30, no matter what, glorious sunlight comes in through the skylight and parks right on my eyelids.

This morning I tried pretending I was sleeping on the beach, but it didn't work. Then I started wondering how skylights fare in public opinion, aesthetically: gross? pleasing? wonderfully concave?

Things I'd Like To Hear More Often:

- "Catch you on the flip side."
- "It's all in the reflexes."
- Anything involving the words "metaphysical" or "dialectic."
- "Playtime's over."
- "Don't be thick with me, Al."
- "That's a gravy train with biscuit wheels."
- Something Kurt Russel might say in a campy movie.
- "This is where the magic happens."
- "Bring the noise."

This morning at The Jones, I had a bowl of grits with a sunny-side-up egg on top. Served in a matching white bowl, it was the most visually unstimulating meal I've ever eaten.

It tasted great, and it only cost $2.50, but damn, I almost fell asleep before I dipped my spoon in.

Pictured at right, you may see a more entertaining version, with the pat of butter.




With a 20% tip, the meal came out to $3.00. Oh, the Florida high life.

Together there was friction

I misstepped last night, and felt a cold liquid hit my leg.

To explain, (and no, it was not piss. Piss is warm.) we shall go back a bit: I wore black dress shoes to a job interview several blocks away. I proceeded with the interview, then walked several blocks back home in black dress shoes.

We shall go back a bit further: I prepared for the job interview by ironing everything. I was even tempted to slick my hair back. I decided pedophilia was not my thing, and did not slick my hair back. Then I slid on boxers, dress socks, etc.

Even further now: A man named Asshole decided to invent dress socks in the late Reagan Era. Dress socks should not be comfortable, thought Asshole. They should be extremely thin and black and uncomfortable. And they should have golden toes!

-------
Walking home yesterday after the job interview at the call center, I developed a blister on the back of my heel because I was wearing dress socks, and dress shoes, and together there was friction. So I had a huge blister on the back of my heel.

Last night I walked towards the kitchen clumsily. My left foot grazed the back of my right heel and the blister burst open. The clear liquid flew everywhere and up my leg. I had cold blister juice up my calves.

I wiped the liquid off my printer, bookcase, and then showered immediately. I probably should have called poison control as well.

Happy Belated, George Lucas!

Thanks for giving me an interesting childhood.

Also, thanks for making me a very disenchanted young adult.

If I don't get a job soon

I'll be forced to sell vomit-worthy paintings.

"Admiral Puke"

Act now and you can have your own gross painting for cheap! Please mail all payments to Up Chuck, Inc. Thank you.

The best part of walking everywhere lately is being yelled at by people driving by.

Tonight brought the classic and innovative:
3. "Hey!"
2. "Faggot!"
1. "Get happy, Asshole!"

Attack of the JITTERBUG!

In line at the Verizon customer service desk, the old man behind me had a problem. His phone died. He didn't know what "charging the phone" meant.

Then he said, "I think I'll get me a Jitterbug."
I could not stop laughing internally for a few minutes.

Here's the Jitterbug, in case you haven't heard about these phones marketed for the elderly for their "ease of use." On the right is the Jitterbug, Coma Edition.

Note: Picture is not to scale. Jitterbugs are about the size of your hand.
Also, if you're only given three calling options, why is a towing company one of them?

Tuesday

Radiohead, your concert still seems to have me possessed. I feel great. Thanks for the show.

Also, whoever your stage designer is, keep them around. He or she is a genius.

Quasi-Moto

As of last night, I now have a Motorola Half-Phone.

What kind of phone is that? you may ask. Or perhaps you're thinking, Is this the newest, best phone out there that maybe I should get if I want to stay on the cutting edge of technology because I'm quite technocratic and want to be the best?

None of the above. Actually, the earpiece for my cell phone died. I cannot hear a goddamn thing on the phone. A person calls me (the usual number of callers per diem), and I am completely helpless. Now that I think about it, a tin-can-and-string scenario is now more effective at communication than I am.

I drew this schematic for the visual learners. It only took a few hours--->

With my amazing phone, I end up yelling: "Beth! Hello? Can you hear me?! Damn this phone..."

Or, like today, when an unknown number is ringing: "Hello, I don't know who you are, but I can't hear you. Phone's broken. Can't hear a damn thing. Text me if you can. OK. Sorry. Bye."

Lately, I've felt like half a person. Who knows, maybe I'll lose my wallet tomorrow. Jinx.

Long Time No Fish

Newberry is a town west of Gainesville, inhabited by five people. Three of those people work at Larry's Body Shop, where my mangled car was towed.

The three employees are:
1. Butch. He runs the counter. He probably has a wife, and a large dog, and a Ford, and his name is probably not, in fact, "Butch."

2. Andy. He manages the keys that hang on wall hooks behind the counter. It seems Butch could do this job, but Andy is more astute. He wears glasses. Andy makes sure that all cars towed into the lot have their keys placed on the hooks. Andy is more astute than Butch.

3. Rick. Rick does everything else.

And by "everything else," I mean this:
I walk out behind the shop into this brown, shit mud that swells around my ankles. Of course, I'm in sandals, and I'm starting to really fear this brown, shit mush.

Rain starts pouring and there, in the far corner, my mangled car lies dead. The insurance adjuster had told me over the phone to get everything out of the car, including the license plate. Here is the license plate, but I don't have a screwdriver. I see Rick behind the shop.

In overalls, and shirtless, Rick is gutting a fish on a piece of cardboard, in the rain, behind Larry's Body Shop. Blood is up to his wrist. Shit is up to my ankles.

I ask, "Could I borrow a screwdriver? I have to get--"
"Busy."
"Oh, well I just need a Philip's head--"
"Ask inside," Rick says, now removing the bass' head.

He continues slicing away at the fish. It will probably be dinner. Maybe he is the one with the wife and the Ford. Rick is 20% of Newberry.