interesting . . . i took this once before and i got the traitor from the first movie, saying i'm ruthless and will do anything to get what i want. this seems much more appropriate, haha. although if anyone agrees with the former description . . .sorry to disappoint.
this blog is rated PG-13 by the blogger association of america for strong language and some sexuality
i'm sure there's a list somewhere. regulations about what you can or cannot do/say/show/insinuate in a PG-13 movie. now i definitely don't know the quota of Sh!@'s you can say or exactly where the camera should be focused or how strategically placed the sheets and a woman's hair should be during a sex scene.
but one thing is certain. or at least as close to certain as you can get in hollywood.
you can only say fu_k one time. one time, i don't remember many exceptions. it makes sense though, if you're gonna say it twice, why stop there . . . you might as well throw it in with every other sentence for the sake of reality or just for the fu_k of it, hehe.
but if you say it only once, boy does it have to count. i remember the fu_k usage of many-a-mediocre PG-13 movie, but probably couldn't tell you how the movie ended. that is power. i'm probably alone in this, but if it's approaching the end of the movie and they haven't said it yet, i find myself awaiting it . . .trying to anticipate or predict the context. thankfully i'm usually still caught off guard. . .
that's the best part!
perhaps my favorite sole usage of the word in a PG-13 movie is in ocean's eleven. haha, if you've seen the movie, i can bet you remember it without me describing it. maybe not, but it was by far the funniest moment of the movie in my opinion. a brief set up: daniel and linus are about to blow up the Bellagio vault door . .. unbeknownst to them is the fact that the amazing yen is caught in the door on the other side. after struggling with the batteries of the detonator, the door explodes unexpectedly, and a surprised daniel and linus enter the vault not knowing what to expect. you don't know what to expect either. out from behind a small metal box emerges yen, covered in dust and just plain disheveled . . .
"WHE DA FUCK BEEN?" yen demands. his only english dialogue of the entire movie. it's hilarious. if you haven't seen it, sorry for ruinin' it, but if you have and didn't notice, go back and watch it again. i promise you'll laugh.
i'd like to apologize for and slightly retract my bold statements and accusations about the dead art of commenting. apparently more people were commenting than i thought, but for some reason, blogger is not showing me how many comments are on a person's blog. so while it appears that i and everyone else have no comments in the past 3 weeks . . . they in fact do have comments.
so if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem . . .
well I, along with two other twin revolutionaries are attempting to resurrect the DEAD art of commenting on blogs. actually gonads still comments . . so props to him.
see half the fun of blogging is hearing, or reading to be precise, other people's opinions about whatever it is you're saying, or writing actually. now, if nobody is reading the blogs, that's one tragedy . . BUT, if people are reading them and still not commenting, then we have issues.
now i know its not just because i'm not saying anything worthwhile, because i could live with that. but even george and jon's blogs, which feature rather interesting entries if i do say so myself, are devoid of regular comments from all the loyal readers that i know are out there.
come on people, don't hold back, let those comments fly. blogger world is dry without them.
there are about 20 restaurants on this one block next to my apartment here in DC, many different cuisines, just multiple restaurants in each cuisine. for example, there are 3 italian places, 2 sushi places, 2 thai, 2 vietnamese, 2 indian, 2 mexican, etc.
it's odd, to say the least.
what is even more frustrating is when i went to one of the indian restaurants the other day, the "fancier looking one," ooh ah ooh ah. i ordered one of my favorite dishes, chicken karahi now this wasn't even mediocre. it was bad. like just didn't taste good at all. i was pissed. i haven't had good Indian food in a long time, and i know i'm partial to my mother's no oil, no salt cooking because she still manages sooo much flavor with none of the guilt (thrilling, i know), but i'm not exactly a food snob.
this was bad though, so tonight i decided to try the other indian place, which is much more modest, at least in terms of decor. this time i asked what their best chicken dish was. chicken vindaloo was the consensus from the staff. not my favorite, but definitely good so i took their word for it.
mediocre at best. ugh, that really bothers me. they operate a restaurant, it's their job to provide quality indian food. how hard can it be? really. i'm no chef when it comes to Indian food, but if you say something is your best dish and it still has no flavor, you got problems.
worst of all, it left a bad taste in my mouth. now if you frequent indian cuisine, you know that the bad taste is all part of the experience, but this is abnormal. it's bitter, and not reminding me of a pleasant dining experience. it's just reminding me of why i don't want the leftovers.
so foolishly, i was cajoled into going out last night with my buddy and his west virginia senator co-workers. needless to say, both the liver and the wallet had suffered substantial abuse when the night was over.
i set 2 alarms for 7am so i can get up for work, and i'm dreading the sound of them. amazingly, i hear them and wake up, and, quoting ant : i thought: "oh, there's a nail in my head."
i make it work only a few minutes late, amazingly. i couldn't eat breakfast cause i just wasn't feeling up for it, but i was tired as hell. really tired. 9am rolls around and i've been at work a little while, i know i have a meeting soon and i am struggling to fight the urge to pass out on my desk.
then it occurs to me, a brilliant idea, or at least i thought it was brilliant at the time. i got up and grabbed my bathroom key. . .
into the mens room i go and head for the stall. . . peace, quiet, dim lights, nobody to see you asleep on the job. . .
perfect.
yes, i took a nap in the stall of the bathroom at work. i'm not proud, but man alive it was refreshing. i was out. had a dream and everything. thankfully i can't remember what the dream was about.
moral of the story is twofold: 1) don't go out drinking when you have work the next day. 2) the bathroom is a DOPE spot for a nap.
i feel like my blog has turned into an avenue for me to bitch about all that bothers me. oh well, on that note:
i'm sick of the hip hop duet [i use the term "hip hop" loosely].
and by duet, i don't mean a track with 2 artists on it. that can definitely be good. i.e. mos def and talib
by duet i mean that cheesy song with 2 "hip hop artists" that immediately goes to #1 on the Four-play at 4 on DRQ like a month after it's actually released and starts getting air play on hip hop stations. i guess the quintessential hip hop duet has ja rule involved in some way. ja rule sucks. i'm sorry, he does.
now this is not to say the hip hop duet has never been done right. i think perhaps the best one of all time [and maybe the only good one of all time] is mary j. and method man "you're all i need." some would disagree i'm sure. that's fine, there probably are some other good ones out there i'm overlooking, but that doesn't change the fact that they're overdone.
granted, they sell millions of copies, so the genre is likely far from being played out, especially when all the damn radio stations play them non-stop. my favorite was on 106 & park one day. they played a new video by ja rule or nelly or someone, and afterwards they interview two kids in the crowd. now usually the spontaneous review is generic, a double barreled approval often resulting. this time however, they both ripped into it. i loved it, they were saying shit like "he needs to just stop makin' videos like this, even songs like this." another was "his whole image is just . . . wack" heh heh heh. amen.
you know what i've realized i really want? complete mastery of more languages. even one language for that matter, since i'm nowhere close to mastering even english.
how sad is that? i've spoken/written/sung (poorly, mind you)/ studied, etc. the english language my entire life and i can't even say i've mastered that. i want to be able to listen to music or read books or poetry in any language and understand what everything means. really means. yes, i can translate spanish well. i know the song says that life feels like a cold fish at night sometimes . . .but it sure as hell don't mean that.
now i know that this kind of comprehension necessitates extensive study and even living in a native speaking area for a long time. i'd even be willing to do that, but there just isn't enough time to learn all the languages i'd like. french, german, arabic, hindi, kannada, mandarin . . .the list goes on forever. literally. well maybe not literally but it's a long ass list.
i think that'd be my answer to the ever-popular superpower game. walking through walls, teleportation, flying, blazing speed . . .you can have it. i think i'd want utter fluency of every language known to man (or even non-human languages like Elvish ) just like that dude in the matrix [only without all the built up sexual tension].
although x-ray vision would be dope. what superpower would you want?
. . .and the powers of good prevail as order is restored in the Universe of Blog.
well after a curiously induced panic attack, i, along with many others i presume, are resting easy now that the archive SNAFU that came with the barely announced blogger format change has been fixed.
i just want to reiterate that. now i don't mind pets at all, i think they can be great. but, what i do mind is when people treat pets, though i mostly see it with cats, like they are rationally thinking homo sapiens. . .
right now my place in DC is a studio apartment downstairs from this older white woman's house. the place is nice, and the woman is actually pretty nice too. she let me borrow her iron and vacuum cleaner and appears to be very friendly overall. . .
the problem is, the only reason i needed the vacuum cleaner was to clean up the souvenirs (read: hair) left by her lovely duo of cats. it was everywhere. on the bed, on the floor, on the couch . . .
i'm allergic to cats. the first couple nights were understandably uncomfortable.
now i ask her to use the vacuum to clean up, explaining that there is some cat hair around and i'm allergic, and she is extremely apologetic and feels terrible. "it's not a big deal, don't worry about it," i tell her, and for the most part, meaning it.
after excessive apologies, she adds [in the tone that a mother would use to talk about her baby]: "looks like someone took a nap on the couch . . ." she said it looking over her shoulder towards the stairs, i was waiting for her to start shaking her finger like mutombo . . .
i stood there for like 5 seconds, thinking "who the hell would take a nap on the couch and shed all this allergen-full hair?!" then i realized--she meant the cat. wow. cats are not people. . .
