I've always been interested Hollywood, specifically the process of making movies. I know a little about the processes of editing them, doing special effects, scoring and cutting trailers, etc. I can generally tell you about any upcoming movie at least a year before it is released, and also whether or not it will be any good. (Granted, I can pretty much tell you whether any upcoming movie is any good right now without knowing anything about it. The answer is "No", because there hasn't been a mainstream release in a long time that was any good.) I can wax rhapsodic about awesome films that never were, due to producer's inability to agree to who gets how much of what money.
Hollywood "culture" on the other hand, is where I begin to feel lost. The politics of it all just seem so silly and stupid. Take for instance the grand Hollywood tradition of actors being presented with a star on the "Hollywood Wok of Fame", whatever that is. I assume that the tradition has something to do with the fact that the ceremony is usually held outside of Mann's Chinese Theater, upholding some ancient Chinese honor. As you know, cooks are practically worshipped in Asia (see Iron Chef; they're bigger than Jesus!), and embossing one's name onto such a revered cooking vessel as the wok is likely the highest of honors. This is of course pure speculation; I know very little about Chinese culture and am trying to apply logic to something inherently illogical. I mean Hollywood, not China; China knows a thing or two about logic.
My searching efforts have proved futile, so I ask this of you the reader: Is there one really huge wok with lots of little stars on it, or do they just have one normal sized wok with a single star on it at a time, which they presumably replace whenever an actor falls out of favor?
This morning I suddenly thought of something I haven't thought of in years. There was this cartoon I saw a few times as a child, depicting a planet that was flooded by a tidal wave of green slime that caused anyone who came into contact with it to suddenly age in a horrifying and dramatic fashion. I remember seeing a young child running with tears streaming down her face, only to be doused in the slime, causing her to turn into a very sad old woman. This disturbed me to no end.
Does anyone have any idea what this was? I'm thinking it might have been Space Ghost in his pre-talk show incarnation, but that's just a guess based on the fact that there was space travel involved.
You know how on The Jetsons, George was always rudely awakened by the machine that would yank him out of bed, stand him on a conveyor belt, and start sliding him across the room as robot arms dressed and groomed him?
Do you think that maybe after Elroy and Judy went up to bed, George and Jane would retire upstairs for sex, pausing while those same robot arms and conveyor belts seductively removed their clothing?
On a completely unrelated note, doing a google images search for 'jetsons' with SafeSearch off yields some pretty disturbing Jetsons pornography. I don't recommend doing this.
The other day Tim and I were having a discussion that involved suicide. I was trying to explain that while I don't think I would ever kill myself because of depression or life just generally not going the way I want it to, there are probably a few situations where I might consider doing it. All the situations are pretty similar, but I'll just outline the most likely of them.
I would commit suicide if I learned that I had recently been turned into a werewolf, gone on a killing spree and turned 20 or so young people into werewolves in the process. Knowing that every 28 days I would become a nearly unstoppable killing machine would probably be enough for me to take drastic measures, but knowing that the only way to uncurse the poor kids that I unwittingly turned into werewolves would seal the deal. Tim didn't accept this situation, saying I could always lock myself up , or go hunt down the werewolf that turned me. He pretty much said there's always a way you can change the situation without resorting to killing yourself, someone will always come along to save you at the last minute, etc.
"Fine," I said. "You glance at your expensive watch and see that tonight is a full moon, and that moonrise is 2 minutes away. You are in an area filled with people -- if you change here, lots of innocent people will die. You hurriedly dash into the nearest sturdy looking building you can find, and it ends up being a church. You run inside a door that you can see has a stout lock on and allow it to latch behind you. You notice a strange familiar smell as you feel the sweat collect around where your six-shooter is holstered at your hip. You flip on the light just as you start to feel your fingernails elongate, and much to your horror, you find that you've locked yourself in the nursery of the church... and it's filled with peacefully sleeping babies. Do you a) let the change happen and allow yourself to make a meal of 25 babies, or b) use one of the silver bullets in your six-shooter to kill yourself and save those innocent lives?"
"Now that's just silly," said Tim. "Here we are having a serious conversation about werewolves and you come up with this ridiculous scenario..."
Later in the day, Jake mentioned a show he had watched about that climber who had to cut off his own arm after a boulder fell on it. "It's either that or starve to death, which would you choose?" asked Jake.
"Well, I would definitely use one of my silver bullets in a situation like that," I replied.
1) I am trying to improve my writing, so if any of you writers out there see me breaking rules or misunderstanding how things are supposed to work, I'd really appreciate a heads up.
2) I'm becoming more and more worried that Vicks is going to take action against me and take my beloved domain name (nyquil.org) from me forcibly. Should I write a letter explaining my use of the name (no money is, or ever will be made. I don't present nyquil in a negative light. People can't possibly be confused by nyquil.org, etc) preemptively, in hope of them understanding? Or just sit tight and worry that they will take action in the future? Garridan suggests that I try bargaining with them if they contact me, like say give it up in exchange for a lifetime supply of NyQuil. He even cited a legal precident that I can use in my defense: the historic case of Finders v. Keepers. I guess that should really be Finders v. Losers, but the first one sounds way better.
Do you ever have the sensation of your bed shaking violently while either falling asleep or waking up?
This has happened to me off and on pretty much my entire life, in a variety of beds and a variety of houses. Sometimes it is just a little jiggle, other times it feels like the bed must be hopping up and down, usually only lasting no more than a second or two. I'm reasonably sure that the phenomenon I've been experiencing is a natural one having to do with your brain shutting off the motor controls for your body during sleep transitions rather than a paranormal one having to do with either a haunting or poltergeist* manifestation.
Once or twice I've experienced the transistion from sleep to wakefulness with alarming lucidity. One of the most memorable times was once I dreamed I was standing up, and actually seemed to feel the gravity shift a full 90 degrees as my body realized that I was actually lying on my back rather than standing up as I became fully awake. The other was when I was at the beach with Dan and dreamed that I woke up from a dream of him strangling me to him sitting on the edge of his bed in his underwear and then woke up for real and actually seemed to see him dissolve from a sitting position to a sleeping one. I generally don't dream in homoerotic imagery, so I'm pretty sure that's unrelated to my bed shaking problem, I just mentioned it because it was a neat experience -- the transition from sleep to awake I mean, not being dream-strangled or dream-ogling Dan's tighty-whitey clad body.
Anyway, am I the only one experiencing this?
As a child I often wished for poltergeist activity, since that would be an indication that I had yet-unhoned powers of telekinesis (Mind bullets! The power.... to move you) but sadly, I don't believe that's whats happening.
Yesterday I was wondering just how many condoms might be found in the 2 year old cube of garbage being brought home from the International Space Station -- a question that I was only really jokingly wondering. Then I began to think about it. Now I seem unable to stop.
At first, I started thinking about all the lonely souls living completely separated from their families. Surely there would be some small amount of zero gravity infidelity taking place -- perhaps after drinking a few too many Tang screwdrivers or following a few too many dizzying laps around the giant stationary hamster wheel. Maybe there would be a close call with a meteor after working in close quarters that would force bodily contact, thus initiating an urgently passionate tryst. Whatever the cause, capsule copulation is almost guaranteed -- I watch movies, I know how these things work.
Then my thoughts moved to an issue slightly more pressing than a mystery pregnancy at 8 million feet: imagine the completely honest, loving, faithful astronaut who doesn't have the luxury of an extra-planetary affair. His only option is to "take matters into his own hands." A few frantic moments of spasm and release later, and there's now thick milky gobs of ejaculate floating around the space station, mingling with the remnants from last night's tapioca pudding, coffee creamer, Toaster Strudel icing, ranch dressing, and country gravy.
In my mind there's no question that condoms are standard equipment on the International Space Station, and perhaps ordinary shuttle missions as well.
While reading about how the Space Shuttle is returning to Earth carrying two years worth of trash, I couldn't help but wonder something that I'm sure most people are also wondering: How many condoms do you think are in there?
That thought led me to one I hadn't thought of for probably 10 years. My friend and I were watching Moonraker and when it got to the end where James Bond is having sex in zero gravity -- bodies in missionary position, floating freely about the cabin with a silver blanket draped over them, dangling down as if gravity was there to hold it in place -- my friends sister said how impossible that scene is.
"Because," she said confidently, "There is no friction in space. Sex just won't work without friction."
I just found a $50 bill in the parking lot of a local business. Large parking lot, busy business. I decided I was going to do the honest thing and turn it into the lost and found.
My reasoning went something like this: I don't need this $50. Someone else very well might. Chances are no one else on the planet would turn in a $50 bill, and few people that lost one would even bother trying to claim it, so it is pretty much ensured to be mine anyways. And if not, then I got to help someone out -- possibly restoring their faith in humanity in the process. A good thing.
Then I got to Customer Service and actually got to see the "Lost and Found" while talking to a managery looking woman on the Closed side of the Customer Service Island -- I was talking to her because there were no other customers over there to overhear me and pretend they lost what I was returning. After opening the drawer full of crap Lost and Found to show me that they do in fact have one, she told me to go wait in line with everyone else. After 5 minutes of standing in line watching the stoners who manned the island, I decided that chances are pretty good that one of them would just steal it. The rightful owner, who would most likely not try to claim it anyway, would still be out $50. The only person I helped in the process would be the loser who claimed it, and the dealer who makes another sale. A bad thing.