Soothing Veggies

I'm not sure, but I may have dispensed with the holy theme by moving towards vegetables. It's a slim chance, but we can take it together.Today I am breathing and eating crackers and listening to classical music. I am avoiding taking action until I know what said action is. The TV is still gone, and I am bereft of opportunities to watch The People's Court, for example. Courtroom TV is oddly soothing when you are bereft of justice in your own life. There, I said it!I have a brother who lives on the East Coast. Two, actually. The older one is sane and logical, the younger one is less sane but logical in his own way. I am the middle child, stuck there like a slice of cheese in-between the meat and the...yes...you guessed it!...vegetables.I wonder what Craig Ferguson is doing right now? Sleeping, probably. If I had tons of cash and my own TV show, I'd sleep constantly, stroking myself contentedly with my right hand and knitting large capes in my spare time. Purple velvet ones, with tassels.Siblings could be an interesting topic, but I think a better one is capes. No, maybe just The Wizard of Oz. I read this odd thing (I love that word, odd) in GQ magazine about how soundtracks can be listened to while viewing certain movies on MUTE, and the music can eerily parallel the happenings in the movie. I haven't tried it yet, but God, I'd like to, ma'am! I think it would be very cool. Anyway, WOZ was one of the films, but I forget the soundtrack.My Aunt is right: I'm bright and should write! For major magazines! Why not, eh. I can see myself at GQ magazine, that lion's den of male privilege, handing in my feminist-soaked quasi-literature (very quasi-literature) while a dude with a $500 haircut tells me to insert more references to Britney Spears' cleavage. I cry, and go home and write revenge stories. Me and Ray Bradbury.Ray Bradbury wrote the screenplay for John Huston's Moby Dick movie. Apparently John Huston treated Bradbury like shit, and he wrote a story about it as revenge. That's great. There is a great interview with Bradbury from Playboy magazine on the web somewhere, just google the keywords Ray Bradbury Playboy Magazine and you should come up with it. The dude is seriously brilliant, politically INCORRECT, and wonderful. I wrote him a letter once and he wrote back. I love you, Mr. Bradbury! Bear my children! Just kidding, that would be too Michael Douglas/Catherine Zeta-Jones, plus you're married. And I guess I'm supposed to do the bearing anyhow.Speaking of Michael, my cousin and I agree he resembles a Gila Lizard.Thus endeth my blog for today.

Butter your Muffn

Hunky men in movies. That's our theme for the night, children! It's actually daylight, but I prefer to see myself as a mysterious creature of darkness...heh...heh...heh. I can do some amateur psychoanalysis on my poor wee brain and deduce that I may just be lonely for a man...or some chocolate. Swiss chocolate is good, and someone told me they make nifty watches! Heh! Swiss men I have no insight into, but I'm sure they are both punctual and charming.
And neutral in war-time, kerchoo.
A brief list, then:
Rutger Hauer (sp) from Blade Runner is hunky. He's also mesmerizing, intelligent, and oh yes, hunky again. He was in the Batman Begins movie and still looks pretty good, and starred with Michelle Pfeiffer in that movie where the hawk keeps flying around and he has to rescue her and she looks amazingly fragile and makes me wonder why I don't look like that, for Godsakes!
Keanu Reeves is intriguing. I don't think he's an idiot, I think he's just really monotone. Basically he's pure visual eye candy. Speed was a good flick if you're lonely for a ride on the Keanu. I'm not a fan of the Matrix flicks, although listening to the actors talking about it on Charlie Rose was hilarious. They took it all so SERIOUSLY. It's a MOVIE, people!!
John Cusack would be a good guy to have a talk with in a coffeeshop. He's smart. I've heard in real life he's a bit of a bastard, but at least he wouldn't be boring! Not that I wish to date a bastard, but he could be a good friend.
Gerard Butler broke my heart in Phantom of the Opera. What a guy. Women freak out b/c he looks like Michelangelo (if you don't believe me, check out gerardbutler.net), but he has such a huge, emotional heart that he's irresistible. I assume he's gay (it just saves time). He's too good-looking not to be. At the very least I suspect some visits to the other side.
Erroyl Flynn (sp!). You know, Robin Hood, died when he was 50-something, dashing British guy with a very interesting resume, apparently worked as a pirate? I've had more than one dirty thought about this guy. I love his voice, it sends chills down my spine. Holy shit!!
Cary Grant. Need we say more?
Jimmy Stewart. Greatest actor ever. Ah, shucks.
Peter Saarsgard (sp!) Character actor, nice bedroom eyes, very talented, dates Maggie Gyllenhall (sp!). Made me sick in Boys Don't Cry, got to see his willie in Kinsey (poor Liam Neeson. The dude is SO Irish, and when he was trying to convey lust for Peter, he just looked like he was trying not to cry instead. Liam Neeson makes the least convincing bi-sexual man ever, although he's a way talented dude, and I don't argue with people who are that tall).
Craig Ferguson. Have to work him in, because I have such a crush. I suspect many women do. He was great as Mr. Wick on the Drew Carey Show, but I haven't seen all of his movies yet. I did see Saving Grace, which didn't do much for me, frankly. I've heard the film he did with Charlotte Church was good, however. I'd like to take him home and install him by my mythical fireplace. He brings out the side of me I struggle to suppress, namely the one that wants to wait on him hand and foot.

Kerchoo!

Sandwiches

I was going to do a post on American men, but I've decided that there is no way to be objective about it, so I'm going to save that rant for never, possibly. No matter how I put it out there, someone's going to decide I'm a Femi-Nazi, and I'm not in the mood for that, because I've known many nice American guys (and do). The trouble is, I think too many of them are socialized to be self-important self-absorbed wankers who don't have enough respect for females in general, and the bitter pill of male-female relationships is too large for me to swallow at present. I'd rather keep taking Valerian, frankly.
So I thought I'd talk about sandwiches instead. It's only natural, right?
I'm not a big fan of sandwiches. Bread is always so dry, and there's never enough peanut butter around when you need it. Peanut butter has a mysterious way of disappearing, like there's a vortex out there expressly designed to suck it into oblivion. The only good sandwich I've ever really had was at a place called The Everyday Gourmet in Takoma Park, MD. Best sandwiches in the world! Fresh bread, delicious cheeses, nice cold cuts, charming presentation for you aesthetic types, and a nice little fake waterfall thingie in the window. I used to sit there and stare out the window, hoping Jesus would walk by, or maybe the reincarnation of Jim Morrison. Possibly, Jim could come back as Jesus, but that's my fantasy alone, I know. Sniff.
Anyway, sandwiches are not the first things I reach for. Now, sometimes a bologna sandwich on whole wheat with tomato (thin slice: big tomato slices repel me) with some mayonnaise is fetching. And Subway puts out a good sandwich, but by the time I order it I'm fucking exhausted, like I've just run a verbal marathon. Too much work ordering a sandwich there. And anyway, that's a SUB sandwich, not a flat little sandwich like the kind you got in your lunchbox, until some nasty nun came along who hadn't had sex in fifteen years and decided she wanted it, instead! And her big meaty paw comes OUT and BAM, she grabs it and chows it down like she hasn't eaten in fifteen years.
Did I mention I fear imminent psychosis?
Anyway, sandwiches really ARE nice things, but they're tricky to pull off. Fresh bread is the key here, that and fresh ingredients, and ensuring the tomato slices aren't huge, beastly, repulsive things, wet soggy flesh laying limply against my bologna. Why people love tomatoes so much confuses me, especially when you can have something else, instead.
I re-read the thing about soggy flesh laying limply against my bologna. Maybe I'm the repressed one here.
I go off to make my sandwich. Amen.
Papa, can you hear me?

Vaguely Evil

I feel vaguely guilty and evil living in our instant-gratification society. That's a topic done ad nauseum, but I feel it nonetheless.
Lately I am blogging to avoid a nervous breakdown and subsequent arrival at the psych ward not of my choice. So far it seems to be working. I popped some Valerian last night, then worried about low blood pressure, as folks with said low blood pressure are not supposed to take it. A recent doctor's visit confirmed I had it, but then again, I've gone to the doctor's and they've told me it's high, so I have no idea, Dear Doctor, what my blood pressure really is! From day to day!
I am now qualified to enter the senior citizen's home of my choice. Hypochondriacs, unite!
Ah, blogging.
My last topic was about Sex in the City. I have more vague fears about people appropriating my genius (tee, to, ho) and copying it onto their servers and pretending they wrote it. That bugs me, it really does. Hence I might actually put my name to my work, but you fuckers will NEVER find me! The Witness Protection Program actually WORKS! I read a book once about that, and the family ended up living in a wee shitty house in Florida, where all evil must go. That and New Jersey and Texas and California, but in CA the evil is, at least, tan.
Hmm...
When I am really bored I go online, as Pisces tend to do, and read shit about astrology and love compatibility. I am apparently compatible with Scorpio and Taurus. Gemini is OK too, but I should avoid those drafty air signs. I find this all very relaxing and enjoyable between popping Valerian and trying not to contemplate life in a psych ward.
Nah, forget putting my name down. I can just see myself applying for a job at the federal govt. (NOT GONNA HAPPEN) and some person shoving this in my face. "Did you write this, hmm? Did you?" Insert evil laugh here. Bahahahahahahaha.
I actually had a wonderful professor in college with a laugh like that. It was a beautiful thing, that laugh. I miss that man, he was something else. You don't meet a lot of true characters in this life, but when you do, it can be pretty darned enjoyable. Pretty darned enjoyable, sonny!
Kerplump.
The TV is still missing from my life b/c of my friends killing the Cable Monster. I am quite sad about this, as I love the Cable Monster. I watched some of the Danny Bonaduce (sp) show and really enjoyed it, oddly enough. The guy is so PISSED. He reminds of me throughout my twenties, although I was far less pissed, and in any case society does not support female aggression. We're just supposed to throw up, starve ourselves, and buy a lot of shoes. Guys can throw punches, but you'd better believe women feel like that sometimes. And I'm sure many women have thrown punches, but I still prefer to err on the side of non-violence, thank you very much.
Anyway, I like Danny. He's got issues galore, he blames everyone but himself, and he's alienating his wife a whole helluva lot, but he's also honest, mostly kind, and interesting as hell. It's just hard to reconcile his angry middle-aged self with that cute kid from The Partridge Family. It's kind of heart-breaking, really.
I read he was physically abused by his Dad. Duh! Danny! I hope you've put two and two together! As someone also abused by their father I can tell ya this, at some point you have to lay the anger down...and rework it. No matter what that takes. You learn to channel the aggression. I still work on it to this day, and don't always succeed, but you can do it, buddy. You're a force of nature and it can work.
So he's a kindred spirit, Danny, in certain ways. I admire him, b/c most people in our society THINK they're sane, but they're in denial. He might seem more insane on some level, but he's very honest, and society doesn't want honest, it wants to sweep everything under the rug.
But that's a whole other ball of yarn. Or wax. Whichever you prefer.