free movies, we love you!

I'm baffled by people who don't think Steve Carell is funny. I mean, I get people who don't like, say, Will Ferrell. Or Adam Sandler, even. Maybe.

Regardless.

His voice for Gru in Despicable Me was nothing short of genius. Personally, I like kids' movies more than most things these days, so there you go. Another flimsy post propped up with photos. Of cartoon characters, no less. Woe is me.

And one more. Because these yellow dudes are just about the best thing in almost any movie.

I want a minion!

Thanks to Google's creative headers, I pretty much know the anniversary of everything.


So - Happy birthday, Frida Kahlo. Your paintings scare the hell out of me, and I saw your blue house in Mexico and I loved it.

Man, I hate when I’m holding a cup of coffee and I sneeze. Coffee all over.

I pulled into my driveway last night around 12-ish, and there was a troupe of flannel-clad teenagers carousing in my lawn. Once they noticed me it must have dawned on them that they were in the wrong yard, so they clumsily felt their way next-door. It seemed innocent enough, except for one girl (who, from their yelling, I gathered was called “Jamie”) This poor Jamie girl was absolutely blackout drunk, the kind of drunk you never want to be, especially at age 14.

I pretended to get stuff out of my trunk so that I could figure out if this girl was laughing hysterically or sobbing uncontrollably (strange how those two things can sound the same) Definitely sobbing. Moaning, actually. For a bit I thought she was on some kind of nasty drug trip, but her vehement declarations that she would “NEVER drink again” cleared that up.

The prospect of offering a glass of water or a ride home or a bucket to puke in crossed my mind. Mainly because her friends weren’t helping her out at all. But then, I sort of hate teenagers. I went up to bed, but not to sleep because I could hear EVERYTHING these kids were saying from my open window.

Jamie: “I just wanna go home! I just wanna go home! I just wanna go home!!!” (I’m almost certain Jamie is my next-door neighbor, so I’m baffled as to why she didn’t just march inside and go to bed.)

Other girls: “Jamie, shut the fuck up!”

Jamie: “I’ve hooked up with all of you, except you! I’ve hooked up with all of you, except you!"

Other girls: “Jamie, shut up or your mom is going to come outside!” (How did she not?!)

Jamie: “I can’t help it. Someone tell me where I’m going! Get away from me!”

Scuzzy teenage boys: “Not to change the subject…but who do you think has the best chest here? You girls wanna show us?”

Jamie: “He kissed me, but he only wanted you. He kissed me, but he only wanted you!” (piss-drunk teenagers tend to repeat themselves ad-infinitum)

I should have been at least a little peeved, but they were amusing enough. More than enough.

I'd say this 4th of July weekend was a major success.

because he speaks to me...

who knows if the moon's

who knows if the moon's
a balloon,coming out of a keen city
in the sky--filled with pretty people?
(and if you and i should

get into it,if they
should take me and take you into their balloon,
why then
we'd go up higher with all the pretty people

than houses and steeples and clouds:
go sailing
away and away sailing into a keen
city which nobody's ever visited,where

always
it's
Spring)and everyone's
in love and flowers pick themselves

- E. E. Cummings

I’ve kept a journal since I was nine years old. And from my fairly sizable stack of composition notebooks, my favorites have got to be the ones that cover my traveling experiences. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but they are a riot. Probably because I was so drunk on the marvelous stuff all around me. So every single sentence, every syllable had to exude the same degree of passion that I felt.

But it wasn’t all intoxication and excitement. Some of it was downright silliness. I came across the following, amidst colorful descriptions of sunrises and the black sand beaches of Santorini:

“Emily and I concocted a wild story about an Egyptian-bound cruise ship from Canada with maple syrup dripping off the sides, which was attacked by whales with knife-like tongues. It became shipwrecked; Sara lassoed the whales to bring us to safety. We made it to an island of flowing rum & coke and ice cream plants. And Nutella grew from the trees, but we didn’t have any crackers! We met the natives, who were half-whale, half-human. And then we found an underground passageway to the lost city of Atlantis where we found Mike Meravali chatting it up with the underwater creatures. Then we took our rocketship to the moon.”

Wha?

A thought: I think it’s really sad when I go back and read old journals, and there are phrases & quotes that were obviously inside jokes at one time, but I can’t for the life of me remember what the hell they mean.

Bacchus Wine Bar Summer Film Series:

Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Animal House

Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The Big Chill

Wednesday, September 08, 2010
Legends of the Fall

Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Jaws

Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The Devil Wears Prada

Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tommy Boy

Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Office Space

Wednesday, August 04, 2010
The Hangover

Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Dark Knight

Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Do The Right Thing

Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Big Lebowski

Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Anchor Man

Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Little Miss Sunshine

Wednesday, June 23, 2010
As Good As it Gets

Wednesday, June 16, 2010
American Beauty

Wednesday, June 09, 2010
The Color of Money

Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Enter the Dragon

Correct me if I'm wrong, but I truly cannot think of a better high than stumbling upon something that inspires writing. Scratch that - there's loads of things that are a better high (i.e. first kisses, Sam Beam's murmurs, fat paychecks, cuddling with puppies)

But oh sweet Jesus, artistic inspiration is like lightning from heaven! Especially when it's run dry for a while.

mmmm hmmmm.

In other news, I shaved Paul's gorgeous head of hair into a mohawk. He looks ridiculous, but he sort of deserves it for having such unforgivably gorgeous hair.

I'm a loser and I don't have Netflix, so I've been on a bit of a RedBox kick. I finally watched Crazy Heart, and it was superb. If I was male, I would want Maggie Gyllenhaal so bad. As it is, her brother will do just fine for me.

Speaking of ambiguous gender roles, I'm getting into Virgina Woolf - in my own way (which amounts to reading 1-2 of her books and then declaring myself an avid fan). Anyway, she's mad and killed herself so I'm bound to worship her.