Thursday, January 30, 2014
New York, New York
For some reason we are now getting two copies of The New Yorker every week. This is fine, I suppose, except I really don't want to be PAYING for two copies of The New Yorker every week. Also, I barely read the one copy as it is. I've developed a system whereby I 1) check out the cartoon caption contest at the back and verify that all the submissions are terrible, then 2) read whatever criticism back there that happens to be of interest (for instance, NOT three-page thinkpieces on Icelandic artists I've never heard of), at which point I flip back to the front and 3) check out the table of contents for anything that doesn't sound super depressing and/or super boring, then 4) read whatever Talk of the Town pieces don't make me throw up in my mouth in the first paragraph, and 5) start on any of the aforementioned non-depressing/boring long form pieces, unless I feel like maybe I'd rather play with my phone instead. Of course, the system doesn't generally apply if I'm on the train or the elliptical, in which case I'll pretty much read anything, although I'll have The Young & The Restless with closed captioning on in the background. But regardless, what to do about the two copies? I should probably call their subscription department, but I'm afraid they'll be all urbane and witty and hoist me by my own petard or something.
For some reason we are now getting two copies of The New Yorker every week. This is fine, I suppose, except I really don't want to be PAYING for two copies of The New Yorker every week. Also, I barely read the one copy as it is. I've developed a system whereby I 1) check out the cartoon caption contest at the back and verify that all the submissions are terrible, then 2) read whatever criticism back there that happens to be of interest (for instance, NOT three-page thinkpieces on Icelandic artists I've never heard of), at which point I flip back to the front and 3) check out the table of contents for anything that doesn't sound super depressing and/or super boring, then 4) read whatever Talk of the Town pieces don't make me throw up in my mouth in the first paragraph, and 5) start on any of the aforementioned non-depressing/boring long form pieces, unless I feel like maybe I'd rather play with my phone instead. Of course, the system doesn't generally apply if I'm on the train or the elliptical, in which case I'll pretty much read anything, although I'll have The Young & The Restless with closed captioning on in the background. But regardless, what to do about the two copies? I should probably call their subscription department, but I'm afraid they'll be all urbane and witty and hoist me by my own petard or something.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Grammys Wrap Up
I have to say, the Grammys are greatly improved by fast forwarding through the majority of them. Also by store bought mozz sticks and potato skins. I still really wish there had been some Miley involved, but you can't have everything.
What you can have, apparently, is Taylor Swift swaying arhythmically to everything. Also Katy Perry reenacting the Stonehenge sequence of Spinal Tap. I did think the Stevie Wonder and Daft Punk (and yes, I place them in that order) sequence was pretty nifty, although at first I thought Stevie had a court reporter's keyboard with him, and it's fairly impressive to see Paul McCartney do anything at this age. Beyoncé and Jay-Z somewhat underwhelmed for me, as much as I do love the new "visual album" (not a thing). I would have loved to have seen an all out production number to Blow, but frankly, I would have loved to have seen an all out production number to Anything Goes, for that matter. I'm an all out production number guy, I guess.
Lorde kind of creeps me out. I worry that she's casting a spell on me. Also, the eyebrows.
I should probably address the biggest stunt of the night, by which I mean the reanimation of Madonna's corpse to celebrate Queen Latifah's marrying a bunch of couples and still not coming out of the closet. It was all right. I mean, I totally support its social messages and all, but that's still not going to make me like Macklemore.
I have to say, the Grammys are greatly improved by fast forwarding through the majority of them. Also by store bought mozz sticks and potato skins. I still really wish there had been some Miley involved, but you can't have everything.
What you can have, apparently, is Taylor Swift swaying arhythmically to everything. Also Katy Perry reenacting the Stonehenge sequence of Spinal Tap. I did think the Stevie Wonder and Daft Punk (and yes, I place them in that order) sequence was pretty nifty, although at first I thought Stevie had a court reporter's keyboard with him, and it's fairly impressive to see Paul McCartney do anything at this age. Beyoncé and Jay-Z somewhat underwhelmed for me, as much as I do love the new "visual album" (not a thing). I would have loved to have seen an all out production number to Blow, but frankly, I would have loved to have seen an all out production number to Anything Goes, for that matter. I'm an all out production number guy, I guess.
Lorde kind of creeps me out. I worry that she's casting a spell on me. Also, the eyebrows.
I should probably address the biggest stunt of the night, by which I mean the reanimation of Madonna's corpse to celebrate Queen Latifah's marrying a bunch of couples and still not coming out of the closet. It was all right. I mean, I totally support its social messages and all, but that's still not going to make me like Macklemore.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Grammys Countdown!
Who is so excited for the Grammys tonight? And who, like me, is uncertain as to whether he has ever even watched the Grammys all the way through before? Last year is probably the closest I have ever come, when my sister randomly decided that we "always got together to watch the Grammys" (we had never gotten together to watch the Grammys) and decided to have a little party. But I was also trying to extract files from my dead computer using her space aged electronics equipment while they were on, so I don't think even that really counts. And I'm pretty sure I left before ten. Did Taylor Swift win everything? I feel like I remember something about Taylor Swift.
Anyway, tonight is the allegedly big night! I will of course be going to my sister's again, so in that way at least she is sort of retroactively correct. I don't really know who's up for what, but I do know that I enjoy saying "Macklemore." Also that there are likely to be dips, which is more than enough for me. Viva la Grammys!
Who is so excited for the Grammys tonight? And who, like me, is uncertain as to whether he has ever even watched the Grammys all the way through before? Last year is probably the closest I have ever come, when my sister randomly decided that we "always got together to watch the Grammys" (we had never gotten together to watch the Grammys) and decided to have a little party. But I was also trying to extract files from my dead computer using her space aged electronics equipment while they were on, so I don't think even that really counts. And I'm pretty sure I left before ten. Did Taylor Swift win everything? I feel like I remember something about Taylor Swift.
Anyway, tonight is the allegedly big night! I will of course be going to my sister's again, so in that way at least she is sort of retroactively correct. I don't really know who's up for what, but I do know that I enjoy saying "Macklemore." Also that there are likely to be dips, which is more than enough for me. Viva la Grammys!
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Do the Hustle
Did I mention that I finally saw American Hustle? I actually know that I didn't mention it, because I looked back over my posts since I did, but the rhetorical question just seems like a truly snappy way to start a post. I'm an artist, people. And so, by way of transition, is David O. Russell, who has put together a pretty intriguing little picture here. I've always been interested in the Abscam sting, although not interested enough to do much more than google it, and this was a pretty entertaining fictionalization. And the acting was good. I'm not sure about Academy Award good, but it was good. I've always found Amy Adams to be perfectly pleasant but not particularly exciting; here I felt like she really carried the movie in a lot of ways. And Bradley Cooper usually kind of bugs me, but here I thought his innate annoyingness really worked for the character he was playing. Christian Bale I've never really had any problems with, aside from the occasional episodes of him screaming at people, and this was no exception. Jennifer Lawrence I of course love, but I didn't really even feel like she was in the movie that much. Couldn't they have added some scenes where she, like, goes to the zoo or something? Now that would be compelling filmmaking.
I did think it was a bit long. I tend to think everything is a bit long, though. Except for life. That's still way too short and it still has a ridiculous ending.
Did I mention that I finally saw American Hustle? I actually know that I didn't mention it, because I looked back over my posts since I did, but the rhetorical question just seems like a truly snappy way to start a post. I'm an artist, people. And so, by way of transition, is David O. Russell, who has put together a pretty intriguing little picture here. I've always been interested in the Abscam sting, although not interested enough to do much more than google it, and this was a pretty entertaining fictionalization. And the acting was good. I'm not sure about Academy Award good, but it was good. I've always found Amy Adams to be perfectly pleasant but not particularly exciting; here I felt like she really carried the movie in a lot of ways. And Bradley Cooper usually kind of bugs me, but here I thought his innate annoyingness really worked for the character he was playing. Christian Bale I've never really had any problems with, aside from the occasional episodes of him screaming at people, and this was no exception. Jennifer Lawrence I of course love, but I didn't really even feel like she was in the movie that much. Couldn't they have added some scenes where she, like, goes to the zoo or something? Now that would be compelling filmmaking.
I did think it was a bit long. I tend to think everything is a bit long, though. Except for life. That's still way too short and it still has a ridiculous ending.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Holiday Club
So it is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, or as I call it, the day where I make a huge list of things I need to do and then end up watching L.A. Confidential for the hundredth time instead of doing any of them. It's an important day for many reasons, none of which fortunately have anything to do with cleaning my kitchen or shredding my old bank statements. Not that they have much to do with the early works of Russell Crowe, either. But I guess that not feeling the need to engage in any sort of meaningful activity is freedom of a sort, so I'm going to go ahead and say that it's exactly what Dr. King would have wanted.
The downside of having the day off is, of course, the exponentially increased sense of dread I feel about returning to work tomorrow. It's not that I don't like my job; it's just that I sort of resent being asked to do anything. It would make so much more sense for them to just give me money. Why can't it be Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Week, for heaven's sake? I hate to feel time constraints on my solemn memorializing.
So it is Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, or as I call it, the day where I make a huge list of things I need to do and then end up watching L.A. Confidential for the hundredth time instead of doing any of them. It's an important day for many reasons, none of which fortunately have anything to do with cleaning my kitchen or shredding my old bank statements. Not that they have much to do with the early works of Russell Crowe, either. But I guess that not feeling the need to engage in any sort of meaningful activity is freedom of a sort, so I'm going to go ahead and say that it's exactly what Dr. King would have wanted.
The downside of having the day off is, of course, the exponentially increased sense of dread I feel about returning to work tomorrow. It's not that I don't like my job; it's just that I sort of resent being asked to do anything. It would make so much more sense for them to just give me money. Why can't it be Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Week, for heaven's sake? I hate to feel time constraints on my solemn memorializing.
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Another Sequel No One Wanted
So apparently we're going to have a second phase of the Polar Vortex. The temperatures have dropped back down to that region where they cause me to reflexively swear every time I step outside and I'm wearing two pairs of socks again. And it's snowing. The good times just keep on coming.
This is where you have to say thank God for Netflix. And delivery. Well, if you're a Tea Party conservative, you have to first say that the cold disproves the existence of Global Warming, but then you can go on and say thank God for Netflix, assuming they have it in Alabama. (Tangent: did you know that your Netflix is only good within the United States? I found this out when I tried to solve the problem of German television by hauling out my computer. I do blame the Germans for this, as with so many things.) Maybe I'll watch an entire season of something this weekend, as my desire to leave the house for any reason up to and including a fire has wholly faded.
So apparently we're going to have a second phase of the Polar Vortex. The temperatures have dropped back down to that region where they cause me to reflexively swear every time I step outside and I'm wearing two pairs of socks again. And it's snowing. The good times just keep on coming.
This is where you have to say thank God for Netflix. And delivery. Well, if you're a Tea Party conservative, you have to first say that the cold disproves the existence of Global Warming, but then you can go on and say thank God for Netflix, assuming they have it in Alabama. (Tangent: did you know that your Netflix is only good within the United States? I found this out when I tried to solve the problem of German television by hauling out my computer. I do blame the Germans for this, as with so many things.) Maybe I'll watch an entire season of something this weekend, as my desire to leave the house for any reason up to and including a fire has wholly faded.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Golden Boy
I really do have to apologize for failing to guide all of you through the Golden Globes as I usually do. I did watch them with friends, but opted to drink a variety of powerful liquors in precisely the wrong combination as opposed to liveblogging. And also to eat my weight in lasagna. These things do happen, although in truth it seems they generally only happen to me.
The awards were of course a gala affair. Jennifer Lawrence wore the results of a Project Runway challenge involving bedsheets and Sandra Bullock wore a visual representation of the '90s. Jessica's Chastain's hairline did that weird thing that it does. And Hayden Panetierre really, really wanted everyone to know that she washed her hair beforehand. Taylor Swift cast shade on everyone and Lena Dunham looked like someone was making sausages. Way to go, Hollywood.
As to the awards themselves I don't think I can have that many opinions as I've seen pretty much nothing. Wait, did Lifetime win anything? I guess I saw Gravity but the thought of Sandra Bullock having two Oscars makes me want to die. I have generally good feelings about 12 Years a Slave because, you know, slavery is super bad and stuff. And, like America, I love Jennifer Lawrence, so I really want to her to lose for her own good. Let's not do the backlash on this one, can we? Let's just stick to Hathaway, amirite?
Anyway, anything really CAN happen at the Golden Globes. It's just that it usually doesn't.
I really do have to apologize for failing to guide all of you through the Golden Globes as I usually do. I did watch them with friends, but opted to drink a variety of powerful liquors in precisely the wrong combination as opposed to liveblogging. And also to eat my weight in lasagna. These things do happen, although in truth it seems they generally only happen to me.
The awards were of course a gala affair. Jennifer Lawrence wore the results of a Project Runway challenge involving bedsheets and Sandra Bullock wore a visual representation of the '90s. Jessica's Chastain's hairline did that weird thing that it does. And Hayden Panetierre really, really wanted everyone to know that she washed her hair beforehand. Taylor Swift cast shade on everyone and Lena Dunham looked like someone was making sausages. Way to go, Hollywood.
As to the awards themselves I don't think I can have that many opinions as I've seen pretty much nothing. Wait, did Lifetime win anything? I guess I saw Gravity but the thought of Sandra Bullock having two Oscars makes me want to die. I have generally good feelings about 12 Years a Slave because, you know, slavery is super bad and stuff. And, like America, I love Jennifer Lawrence, so I really want to her to lose for her own good. Let's not do the backlash on this one, can we? Let's just stick to Hathaway, amirite?
Anyway, anything really CAN happen at the Golden Globes. It's just that it usually doesn't.
Thursday, January 09, 2014
A Few Small Repairs
Yes, that title is a reference to Shawn Colvin's smash hit 1997 album. Which I am pretty sure I have never even heard, as I had to google it just to make sure it was a thing. See all the research I do just to make sure I have good quality puns for you people? Frankly, you do not deserve me.
Anyway, I had to take my car in for some repairs (see, there's the payoff!) this morning. Or at least I thought I did. You see, as the proud owner of a super glamorous 2003 Toyota Corolla, I am a frequent recipient of recall notices detailing potentially horrible things that my car could possibly do to me but probably won't. You know, like decapitations and disembowelments and such. I got one this summer and took it in to the dealership, where they promptly discovered several thousands of dollars of additional work that they believed needed to be done. And yes, I realize that, as they dealership, they make it their mission in life to steal my every last penny. But I also haven't had any work done on this car at all for the almost ten years I've had it, so I figured there was likely some truth to the rumors of damaged drive belts and such. So I dutifully got the work done, only to receive a different recall notice a few weeks later. And, when I ignored that, a more hysterically recall notice a few months after that.
So I called and made the appointment. And when I got there very, very early this morning, I was informed that they had already known about this recall when I was in this summer and just took care of it then. Which seemed to me to be information they could have given me over the phone when I was scheduling the appointment, but then again I am not an automotive expert. So basically, I took my car on a pleasure cruise to Edgewater this morning. Of course I have no regrets.
Yes, that title is a reference to Shawn Colvin's smash hit 1997 album. Which I am pretty sure I have never even heard, as I had to google it just to make sure it was a thing. See all the research I do just to make sure I have good quality puns for you people? Frankly, you do not deserve me.
Anyway, I had to take my car in for some repairs (see, there's the payoff!) this morning. Or at least I thought I did. You see, as the proud owner of a super glamorous 2003 Toyota Corolla, I am a frequent recipient of recall notices detailing potentially horrible things that my car could possibly do to me but probably won't. You know, like decapitations and disembowelments and such. I got one this summer and took it in to the dealership, where they promptly discovered several thousands of dollars of additional work that they believed needed to be done. And yes, I realize that, as they dealership, they make it their mission in life to steal my every last penny. But I also haven't had any work done on this car at all for the almost ten years I've had it, so I figured there was likely some truth to the rumors of damaged drive belts and such. So I dutifully got the work done, only to receive a different recall notice a few weeks later. And, when I ignored that, a more hysterically recall notice a few months after that.
So I called and made the appointment. And when I got there very, very early this morning, I was informed that they had already known about this recall when I was in this summer and just took care of it then. Which seemed to me to be information they could have given me over the phone when I was scheduling the appointment, but then again I am not an automotive expert. So basically, I took my car on a pleasure cruise to Edgewater this morning. Of course I have no regrets.
Tuesday, January 07, 2014
Chiberia, and Other Things They are Trying to Make Happen
So my office actually closed yesterday, which was amazing and unexpected news. I never thought getting a voicemail from my boss at 11 PM on a Sunday would end up being a good thing. We were just finishing off a rather accidental viewing of Poltergeist III when the phone rang. (Incidentally, I'm not saying Poltergeist III is the worst movie ever made, but I'm also not saying it isn't the worst movie ever made. There's a lot of screaming Carol Anne's name involved. It did introduce the world to a young Lara Flynn Boyle, though, so it definitely understood something about unmitigated evil.) I didn't answer, of course, because I didn't recognize the number, and then I got the best voicemail in the history of time! Break out your sweatpants and off-brand Cheetos; office closed!
Today there was no such luck, however, and it turned out that the cold was a lot less charming when I wasn't just standing in it for five minutes trying to unfreeze my mailbox so I could access the copy of Entertainment Weekly I was just certain was inside. I'm pretty sure parts of my face fell off during the two block walk from the train to my office. (It wasn't until later that I remembered that I could just wrap my scarf around my face, which had the added bonus of making me look super hardcore.) And my office itself was even cold. Given that last year I had to pretty much swear off sweaters since my occupational sauna was putting pit stains in all of my cashmere, this is really something. But anyway, I made it through the day and am back in the sweatpants, where I plan to stay as long as possible.
I guess at least strangers in elevators now have something to talk about. Their comfort is always my first and my foremost concern.
So my office actually closed yesterday, which was amazing and unexpected news. I never thought getting a voicemail from my boss at 11 PM on a Sunday would end up being a good thing. We were just finishing off a rather accidental viewing of Poltergeist III when the phone rang. (Incidentally, I'm not saying Poltergeist III is the worst movie ever made, but I'm also not saying it isn't the worst movie ever made. There's a lot of screaming Carol Anne's name involved. It did introduce the world to a young Lara Flynn Boyle, though, so it definitely understood something about unmitigated evil.) I didn't answer, of course, because I didn't recognize the number, and then I got the best voicemail in the history of time! Break out your sweatpants and off-brand Cheetos; office closed!
Today there was no such luck, however, and it turned out that the cold was a lot less charming when I wasn't just standing in it for five minutes trying to unfreeze my mailbox so I could access the copy of Entertainment Weekly I was just certain was inside. I'm pretty sure parts of my face fell off during the two block walk from the train to my office. (It wasn't until later that I remembered that I could just wrap my scarf around my face, which had the added bonus of making me look super hardcore.) And my office itself was even cold. Given that last year I had to pretty much swear off sweaters since my occupational sauna was putting pit stains in all of my cashmere, this is really something. But anyway, I made it through the day and am back in the sweatpants, where I plan to stay as long as possible.
I guess at least strangers in elevators now have something to talk about. Their comfort is always my first and my foremost concern.
Sunday, January 05, 2014
The Cold War
Given that I live in Chicago, it's likely that I've used that terrific pun-based title before on an entry about horrific, soul crushing weather, but if I start worrying about repeating myself now, this whole enterprise is likely to come crashing down. Basically, I see this blog as providing a series of infinite variations on the themes of weather, things I saw on television, awkward social situations, and random selfies. If I were concerned about boundary-pushing originality, I'd be putting together performance art pieces where I pee on national monuments or something. But I've got a shy bladder, so here we are.
Anyway, we've got snow and cold on fairly deadly levels here. This is not just the kind of winter weather they go on and on about on local news channels because it's not like there are any murders in Chicago or anything; this is the real deal. I'm wearing two pairs of socks and slippers and three layers on my upper body right now. And I'm sitting in my bedroom, not, say, Lincoln Park. And I'm still cold. I'm pretty much always cold, to be fair, but who the hell wants to be fair, anyway? And why did I make lunch plans for tomorrow when it's supposed to be -26 with the windchill? Am I going to die trying to get a Panini?
So yeah, I just kind of figured I should share the misery with all of you. Although if you read this, you're probably someone who knows me, which in 95% of cases is going to mean that you're somewhere in the Midwest or on the East coast trying to remember how to safely start your gas fireplace, too. So best of luck to you; wake me up in May.
Given that I live in Chicago, it's likely that I've used that terrific pun-based title before on an entry about horrific, soul crushing weather, but if I start worrying about repeating myself now, this whole enterprise is likely to come crashing down. Basically, I see this blog as providing a series of infinite variations on the themes of weather, things I saw on television, awkward social situations, and random selfies. If I were concerned about boundary-pushing originality, I'd be putting together performance art pieces where I pee on national monuments or something. But I've got a shy bladder, so here we are.
Anyway, we've got snow and cold on fairly deadly levels here. This is not just the kind of winter weather they go on and on about on local news channels because it's not like there are any murders in Chicago or anything; this is the real deal. I'm wearing two pairs of socks and slippers and three layers on my upper body right now. And I'm sitting in my bedroom, not, say, Lincoln Park. And I'm still cold. I'm pretty much always cold, to be fair, but who the hell wants to be fair, anyway? And why did I make lunch plans for tomorrow when it's supposed to be -26 with the windchill? Am I going to die trying to get a Panini?
So yeah, I just kind of figured I should share the misery with all of you. Although if you read this, you're probably someone who knows me, which in 95% of cases is going to mean that you're somewhere in the Midwest or on the East coast trying to remember how to safely start your gas fireplace, too. So best of luck to you; wake me up in May.
Wednesday, January 01, 2014
And So It Begins
It's 2014! I'm excited about this because 2013 always just felt like a weird, sinister number to me. I couldn't get used to it, although I still went ahead and cashed checks that were dated in 2013, despite my principles. I mean, 2014 is divisible by two and lacks any clear association to the occult, so that has to be good. Also I'm starting it out with a full day in sweatpants and some Parks & Recreation deleted scenes, which is a good sign. And soon we will order delivery. Do the wonders never cease?
2013 ended fairly well, I guess. We went over to Former Roommate Liz's place for the evening. They had a delightful mac and cheese bar (clearly, they know their audience) and were so classy they even had a house cocktail (with vodka; again, excellent pandering). We were somewhat distracted by the ongoing snow disaster outside, but in the end it was no more distracting that Carson Daly's extreme weight loss. And we rode the bus home for free with all of the drunk people of Chicago. There is much fellowship among the inebriated, let me tell you.
It's 2014! I'm excited about this because 2013 always just felt like a weird, sinister number to me. I couldn't get used to it, although I still went ahead and cashed checks that were dated in 2013, despite my principles. I mean, 2014 is divisible by two and lacks any clear association to the occult, so that has to be good. Also I'm starting it out with a full day in sweatpants and some Parks & Recreation deleted scenes, which is a good sign. And soon we will order delivery. Do the wonders never cease?
2013 ended fairly well, I guess. We went over to Former Roommate Liz's place for the evening. They had a delightful mac and cheese bar (clearly, they know their audience) and were so classy they even had a house cocktail (with vodka; again, excellent pandering). We were somewhat distracted by the ongoing snow disaster outside, but in the end it was no more distracting that Carson Daly's extreme weight loss. And we rode the bus home for free with all of the drunk people of Chicago. There is much fellowship among the inebriated, let me tell you.
