Okay, I am sitting here at the end of an inconsistent week, which started with a rainy weekend, followed by the beginning of Spring, and finally a return to rain. When I think of inconsistent, I think of my blog, and so I wanted to put some thoughts down. Actually, I just wanted to do anything, since I found myself watching this movie, and I know the ending is coming up, and I always cry when Hooch dies, and then I feel like a pussy, and that begins a cycle of self-loathing and life evaluation. Oh, Hooch, why did you have to stop the bullet? Why, I ask?
-What were Tom Hanks and Roger Spottiswoode, the director of Turner and Hooch, thinking in having Hanks in his underwear (black briefs) for any scenes, let alone quite a few? Was this something anyone in the world wanted to see? Was this an appeal to some sort of extreme fetish for people who liked the Tom Cruise Risky Business scene but couldn't help but wish that the scene featured an older, less attractive, more pallid man? I started to feel alright about my own body after this shit, and then I realized that this was just another example of Tom Hanks doing whatever it takes to make people feel better in this crazy, mixed-up world. Thanks, Tom, for showing us that one does not have to be well-endowed or built to become a star.
-I have hired CBS to put together a video package a la "One Shining Moment", the sappy montage that airs at the end of the NCAA Tournament. My video will feature brief clips from my year, set to the inspirational song you have all heard. But, instead of scenes of basketball action, you will get to see me, one moment typing on my computer (maybe even working on a Pound for Pound post!!!), reading at a cafe, drunk on a Thursday night at the 700 Club. I believe that anything can look good in a four-minute segment with a catchy ballad. In order to prove this theory, I will show that this format can make even my life look interesting, emotional and inspiring. If successful, most copies will go to my parents, ex-girlfriends and haters, while all remaining ones will go to storage for me to watch when I am a 47-year old single guy typing my blog, drinking coffee at a cafe, and being drunk at the 700 Club. Glory days, motherfucker, glory days.
-Words to live by from the man who penned "One Shining Moment", David Barrett:
It took 10 years of playing and writing songs for other people. That song was in a batch when I said, 'I'm not going to pay attention to anyone. I'm going to write what I know.' That was the lesson.
If that's corny, well, then the world is corny. I'm OK with that.
I'm OK with it to you, Dave. The world is corny, now that's some real talk.
-At the gym a few nights ago, I looked at the TV and saw this movie playing on NBC. I immediately went outside to see if the world had ended. It had not. Yet.
-This eventually lead to me waking up screaming in the middle, drenched in sweat, afraid, paranoid, unable to get this image out of my head.
-Also, at the gym, I wanted to talk to this girl who I think is cute, as she sat next to me on the sit-up mats (or whatever the hell they are called). I was unable to get any words out, paralyzed in . I realized that I am coward with women, and it made me sad.
-My horoscope from a few weeks ago read, "Sex and the City's Kristin Davis and comedian Steve Martin have been seen holding hands and acting cozy. Meanwhile, Nancy O'Dell of Access Hollywood has gotten engaged to business executive Keith Zubchevich. With Venus pepping up your house of pleasure, you could be immersed in some hot snugglebunny behavior too. If you're single, adopt a frisky strategy and cure this condition. Sidle up to that hunky new neighbor who just moved in across the hall. "Coffee, tea, Red Bull or me?" This strategy did not work for me. Upon asking said hunk, I was beaten mercilessly by the Red Bull six-pack, then scalded by my cup of coffee. I am unsure why this did not end with "hot snugglebunny behavior", but fear that Venus had left my house of pleasure. Damn you, Venus! [As an aside, Coffee, tea, Red Bull or me? will be either the title of my auto-biography or epitaph.]
Well, I began writing this on a rainy Sunday, and am now finishing it up on another beautiful Spring day. I never put much stock in the seasonal mood disorder stuff, but have come to fully accept its existence over the last two days. It was a long winter, as Spring's inability to arrive took its toll. This perfect weather makes everything seem a little better, y'know? Before, I would scream "Bush, you fascist", pulling my hair out, sobbing uncontrollably, lying in the fetal position on my bed. Now, I say "Bush, you fascist, you adorable fascist", all with a smile, while getting ready to go for a walk. Spring is here, people, and real big things are coming.