Storti's house. I think...it will....be fun. I'm gonna write a review of The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao pretty soon. It was a good book, and I liked reading it! That's a preview of the review I'munna write.
Later! *revs moped, runs out of gas, pedals moped*
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Aren't you even gonna kiss her goodbye?
No.
Yesterday we watched "Big Trouble in Little China," a mid-eighties supernatural action film starring Kurt Russell as our intrepid hero, Jack Burton.
In San Francisco with his sixteen-wheeler, Burton meets up with his old friend, man-child Wang, and after witnessing the finest dance-fighting San Francisco has to offer, they get tied up in mad hijinks involving lots of sewers and large, large hats. Wang's bride has been kidnapped, and only Jack Burton can get her back! Kim Catrall costars. Yes, seriously.
"Big Trouble" is a cult favorite among the people who live at 909 Dakin Street. Pretty much anything that comes out of Jack Burton's mouth (I no longer think of him as Kurt Russell at all) is bound to get repeated a few times. Because he's a genius.
I'd like to write a serious review of the movie like I don't get the joke, but I do get the joke. The whole movie is meant to be humorous. I think. Take this example: Jack Burton and Wang are standing in a elevator, and it starts filling with water. Burton: "What??? What is this??" It's water, Jack. Water.
I kinda thought I would hate this movie. I hate most things Tony Storti likes, and I hate Kurt Russell. But Tony was right this time, and like I said, Kurt Russell died and Jack Burton took his place. I recommend this movie wholeheartedly to anyone who likes jokes. Do you like jokes?
Positives: To the army and navy, and the battles they've won,
Negatives: To the colors of America, the colors that never run.
Grade: May the wings of freedom never lose a feather.
No actually that's a toast that takes place in the movie. Why? Heh.
Grade: A. Watch it with someone with a sense of humor. You will love it.
Yesterday we watched "Big Trouble in Little China," a mid-eighties supernatural action film starring Kurt Russell as our intrepid hero, Jack Burton.
In San Francisco with his sixteen-wheeler, Burton meets up with his old friend, man-child Wang, and after witnessing the finest dance-fighting San Francisco has to offer, they get tied up in mad hijinks involving lots of sewers and large, large hats. Wang's bride has been kidnapped, and only Jack Burton can get her back! Kim Catrall costars. Yes, seriously.
"Big Trouble" is a cult favorite among the people who live at 909 Dakin Street. Pretty much anything that comes out of Jack Burton's mouth (I no longer think of him as Kurt Russell at all) is bound to get repeated a few times. Because he's a genius.
I'd like to write a serious review of the movie like I don't get the joke, but I do get the joke. The whole movie is meant to be humorous. I think. Take this example: Jack Burton and Wang are standing in a elevator, and it starts filling with water. Burton: "What??? What is this??" It's water, Jack. Water.
I kinda thought I would hate this movie. I hate most things Tony Storti likes, and I hate Kurt Russell. But Tony was right this time, and like I said, Kurt Russell died and Jack Burton took his place. I recommend this movie wholeheartedly to anyone who likes jokes. Do you like jokes?
Positives: To the army and navy, and the battles they've won,
Negatives: To the colors of America, the colors that never run.
Grade: May the wings of freedom never lose a feather.
No actually that's a toast that takes place in the movie. Why? Heh.
Grade: A. Watch it with someone with a sense of humor. You will love it.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
I am in Chicago now.
Chick-ah-go mang. Joe helped me around the el lines. I met Anan and then went to sleep.
Hanging out with Joe means lots of repeated jokes. And usually they're drawn from the strangest shit. Here's my example: he tells me he has two jokes from the movie Silence of the Lambs, that old minefield of comedy, that he likes to repeat. Apparently he and Sarah McCormick developed these at Brian's wedding. 1. Dr. Lecter. Dr. Lecter. Dr. Lecter. and 2. Buffalo Bill (that's Monk's Ted Levine) mock-screaming at the woman in the well. Except she's really screaming, and he sounds like a fat Mike Blocksidge.
Now I have nothing to do all day. Joe's at work, Anan's at work, the Stortis are driving up from Normal later, Beard and Aaron (and Stew?) haven't arrived. That leaves...Mikey. Mikey.
I'm going to write a noir story about Mikey right now.
The smell was awful. Like the bastard didn't know how to clean a plate, let alone an apartment. It wasn't much of an apartment, either. More like a home for ugly stuffed animals.
So what was I doing there? The usual. Some idiot gambles over his head, thinks he can lay low for a while. Thinks he can disappear. You can't lay low from me. You can't disappear from me.
"You can't disappear from me," I called out. No answer. The place reeked, pizza boxes piled in the corner. You couldn't see the floor. I felt bad for the schmuck. But he owed Sad Tony money, and Sad Tony was gonna collect. Me? I'm just the messenger. Bag. They call me Beardo, BJ if ya nasty. Nasty like this guy's apartment. I wanted to get the hell out of there. Dude didn't seem to be home.
I was just leaving a little note in the kitchen when I heard the noise. I'd already smashed a couple windows and figured it was ringing in my ears when I heard it again. A tiny, gay whisper: "Bomb down."
"Is that you, singer man?" I reached for my piece, made especially for me by a GUNSMITH.
Before I can blink, the bum is on top of me. There's this huge flash like he threw the sun at me, then he's standing there, pointing some kind of big bazooka my way. I barely had time to get scared. Cat was on me like he'd practiced it for years.
"You son of a--"
He pursed his lips. For a second I thought I was getting offed by Marilyn Monroe. As he pulled the trigger he nodded a little. "Headshot."
Hanging out with Joe means lots of repeated jokes. And usually they're drawn from the strangest shit. Here's my example: he tells me he has two jokes from the movie Silence of the Lambs, that old minefield of comedy, that he likes to repeat. Apparently he and Sarah McCormick developed these at Brian's wedding. 1. Dr. Lecter. Dr. Lecter. Dr. Lecter. and 2. Buffalo Bill (that's Monk's Ted Levine) mock-screaming at the woman in the well. Except she's really screaming, and he sounds like a fat Mike Blocksidge.
Now I have nothing to do all day. Joe's at work, Anan's at work, the Stortis are driving up from Normal later, Beard and Aaron (and Stew?) haven't arrived. That leaves...Mikey. Mikey.
I'm going to write a noir story about Mikey right now.
The smell was awful. Like the bastard didn't know how to clean a plate, let alone an apartment. It wasn't much of an apartment, either. More like a home for ugly stuffed animals.
So what was I doing there? The usual. Some idiot gambles over his head, thinks he can lay low for a while. Thinks he can disappear. You can't lay low from me. You can't disappear from me.
"You can't disappear from me," I called out. No answer. The place reeked, pizza boxes piled in the corner. You couldn't see the floor. I felt bad for the schmuck. But he owed Sad Tony money, and Sad Tony was gonna collect. Me? I'm just the messenger. Bag. They call me Beardo, BJ if ya nasty. Nasty like this guy's apartment. I wanted to get the hell out of there. Dude didn't seem to be home.
I was just leaving a little note in the kitchen when I heard the noise. I'd already smashed a couple windows and figured it was ringing in my ears when I heard it again. A tiny, gay whisper: "Bomb down."
"Is that you, singer man?" I reached for my piece, made especially for me by a GUNSMITH.
Before I can blink, the bum is on top of me. There's this huge flash like he threw the sun at me, then he's standing there, pointing some kind of big bazooka my way. I barely had time to get scared. Cat was on me like he'd practiced it for years.
"You son of a--"
He pursed his lips. For a second I thought I was getting offed by Marilyn Monroe. As he pulled the trigger he nodded a little. "Headshot."
Monday, May 26, 2008
An entire blog post about my neck and its muscles
My neck. Hurts.
Let's talk about my neck. Definitely not a top-ten body part. Kind of dumb-looking, difficult to shave. Pretty unspectacular. Frankly, I wouldn't miss it much, and I don't care if it knows that. No love lost.
Then last Wednesday. I'm at home, working on finals essays. I want to crack my neck. This is something I do all the time. This is common. I really had no idea my neck objected. But here it is, like the childish, backhanded rat that it is: it sits silently, twisting at my command until, with no warning, it springs its malicious plot, deliberately pulling itself just to spite me. Fucker, it hurt. I was pretty sure I was dying. Don't mind telling you I cried out for mommy as I hit the floor, writhing like Sidney Crosby. The clever little fucker. I couldn't even turn my head right without my neck biting me spitefully. Blindsided like Pearl Harbor (if you believe what you hear in school (Ron Paul for president)).
So now, over a week later, it still gives me shit. At least, often enough to blog about. Freaking ridiculous. Once in a while I turn my head and it pokes at me like a child. A child that sucks.
I have had it up to here. All suggestions for a solution welcome. I've considered coddling it with ice or pressure but we don't negotiate with terrorists.
God bless!
Love,
Steve
Let's talk about my neck. Definitely not a top-ten body part. Kind of dumb-looking, difficult to shave. Pretty unspectacular. Frankly, I wouldn't miss it much, and I don't care if it knows that. No love lost.
Then last Wednesday. I'm at home, working on finals essays. I want to crack my neck. This is something I do all the time. This is common. I really had no idea my neck objected. But here it is, like the childish, backhanded rat that it is: it sits silently, twisting at my command until, with no warning, it springs its malicious plot, deliberately pulling itself just to spite me. Fucker, it hurt. I was pretty sure I was dying. Don't mind telling you I cried out for mommy as I hit the floor, writhing like Sidney Crosby. The clever little fucker. I couldn't even turn my head right without my neck biting me spitefully. Blindsided like Pearl Harbor (if you believe what you hear in school (Ron Paul for president)).
So now, over a week later, it still gives me shit. At least, often enough to blog about. Freaking ridiculous. Once in a while I turn my head and it pokes at me like a child. A child that sucks.
I have had it up to here. All suggestions for a solution welcome. I've considered coddling it with ice or pressure but we don't negotiate with terrorists.
God bless!
Love,
Steve
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Gonna live again.
Yeah thass right. Gonna post again. Summer coming up. Got more time. Gonna be postin.
I have an idea for the blog that might be...revolutionary. We shall see. You know what I say...???
The news now is this. Brad got married! It was yesterday. It ruled! Brad is now married. He and Kady seemed happy about it. I was in the thing and I gave him the ring during the ceremony which makes me the "Best Man" but who didn't know that already. It was a good time...no...IT WAS A GREAT TIME.
I'm goin to Chicago this coming week. Joe, Tony, Paul, Aaron, Beard, Stew, people I haven't met. I'm gonna try to pronounce it like a Spanish-speaker the whole time. Chick-ah-go. Not the Sh sound white people try to force on us.
Later! *revs moped*
I have an idea for the blog that might be...revolutionary. We shall see. You know what I say...???
The news now is this. Brad got married! It was yesterday. It ruled! Brad is now married. He and Kady seemed happy about it. I was in the thing and I gave him the ring during the ceremony which makes me the "Best Man" but who didn't know that already. It was a good time...no...IT WAS A GREAT TIME.
I'm goin to Chicago this coming week. Joe, Tony, Paul, Aaron, Beard, Stew, people I haven't met. I'm gonna try to pronounce it like a Spanish-speaker the whole time. Chick-ah-go. Not the Sh sound white people try to force on us.
Later! *revs moped*
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