(no subject)

I am in my room listening through the wall to my landlord and his girlfriend remodel the bathroom. And discuss every step of the way. And not say what they're thinking at every step, which is, "That's not going to work, dickweed." I'm feeling the tedium and I'm not even actively involved. Note to self: Never get involved on a project with any human being of any kind ever, because it leads to eight years of going back and forth because you're both too polite to say, "That's not going to work, dickweed."

Working in customer service has turned me into a misanthropist. I think Emily Dickinson, JD Salinger, and every other famous writer who said, "The hell with you all" and holed up for the rest of their lives had a pretty good system. And with the advances we have achieved since, such as the Internet, you could conceivably set it up so that for the rest of your life, the only person you have to actually look at is the UPS guy. And eventually they'll have robots for that.

(no subject)

Heh. I just realized that my last post is my first post of this year. Way to begin on an up note.

That's okay, though, because I'm just not feeling the transition this time. Today is the same as yesterday as the day before as tomorrow, no matter which calendar you've got on the wall. Time is an arbitrary human construct and, while an excellent tool for things such as not missing the beginning of the movie, it is essentially meaningless.

On the other hand, this is the first time in forever that I haven't stayed up to watch the ball drop, since I had to work today. Maybe that little ceremony is more important than I thought it was.

God, I'm in a weird mood. I could bullshit like this for ages. I bet the mood I'm in right now is the kind that philosophy majors strive to maintain for years on end.

(no subject)

Don't you love it when life reminds you of Shakespeare? In this case, the quote was from MacBeth: "Full of sound and fury, and signifying nothing."

Modern-day translation: Scott, the landlord (and Rikki's dad) called a meeting involving himself, Rikki, his girlfriend Sandy, and myself, to deal with "issues." Excellent, I thought. Maybe there will be actual communication! Scott, you see, is not so good at the communicating. What he is good at is letting something drive him crazy until he explodes and leaves a hostile little note on the whiteboard by the phone. And that only happens if it does indeed drive him sufficiently crazy. Which means that since I've moved in, I have gotten very little indication of what I am doing wrong, what I am doing right, and whether or not he does, in fact, hate me and want me to die. That might be a bit dramatic, but lack of input makes me nervous.

So, in stark contrast to Rikki's sulking (she is so immature; it's not nice, but it's true, and frankly it's her parents' fault, but I digress) I was kind of glad about it. Because yay, input!

Ha. Hahaha. HA HA HA HA HA.

See, I had forgotten to take Scott's style of elocution into account. He talks in circles. Many, many circles. Many, many nonspecific circles. He really likes the word "issue." So we didn't get, "Don't do this, keep doing that, and try doing the other thing." We got . . . okay, hell if I know, I took my level of attention down to about fifty percent thirty seconds in.

All I really got out of it is that, rather than leaving my dinner dishes to drip dry, I should dry them and put them away. But he can't just say that. He tells us - five times in a row, with different words each time - that he is tired of putting away dishes that he didn't make, and they're not his, and he has to put them away. Except NO HE DOESN'T. Unless, of course, he simply forgot to mention the guy holding a gun to his head. He can let them sit there and rot if he really, really doesn't want to put them away. But he would much rather put them away and then tell us eighty-seven times about what a martyr he is. He's a born-again, so I bet if I handed him a cross and some nails and maybe gave him a hand up there and passed him the hammer, he'd know how to do the rest.

So. Yes. From now on I will dry my dinner dishes and put them away immediately. I am glad to have specific feedback. I could have done without the accompanying drama.

(On the other hand, I did appreciate Sandy's attempts to inject humour, and her directness when she spoke. I like Sandy.)

Oh, yeah, and remember earlier when I said I could hear them through the wall? Yeah, that was actually me hearing them through the FLOOR. Scott's renovating, so right now, the kitchen, which is below me, has no ceiling to muffle sound. Combine that with their naturally loud voices, and it's litte wonder I thought they were on the same floor as I am. *g*

By the way, that MacBeth quote I mentioned at the beginning is preceded by the line "It is a tale told by an idiot." Just sayin'.

(no subject)

Quick review of Life Aquatic.

Interesting movie. I liked all the performances, especially Willem Dafoe's (of course, I adore Willem, so I might be slightly biased, but he was really funny), it had great character interactions, and the plot took some very unexpected directions. How unexpected? Let's just say ( vague spoiler. )

And the music is excellent. There's a strong Bowie theme, which is always a good start. One of the characters is Portuguese and plays the guitar, and Wes Anderson worked that into the movie so that sometimes the character's playing acts as the score. The soundtrack, which I bought right after the movie, features several of the character's songs, some of which happen to be Bowie's, and all of which were translated into Portuguese by the actor. Listening to Bowie songs in Portuguese sung to an acoustic guitar is one of those experiences that is just off-kilter enough to make me kind of glad that the world exists, and in existing, contains people who do things like this.

It also features one of the best uses of a song that I've ever seen. The set-up: Steve Zissou has released the latest in his series of documentaries, and it's gotten a bad reception. When he is introduced to a young man who may or may not be his son, he excuses himself for a moment. There is a very simple scene where he walks to the - prow? stern? the very front end - of the ship and lights a cigarette as the chorus to Bowie's "Life on Mars?" plays. Not only is it a great song, but the lyrics - especially the chorus - are strikingly appropriate for Steve's character on about a hundred different levels. If you've seen the movie, you'll know what I mean when I say that Steve is in this song. It is a brilliant choice characterwise, and complements the scene musically, too.

Heh - I was going to end this review by saying that, while I enjoyed Life Aquatic, I wouldn't go out of my way to see it again, but I think I've just talked myself into doing exactly that.