Wanted

Endurance test codename "Bella" failed miserably.

Whenever I convince myself to throw down a couple sets of pushups, pullups, layups, etc., the number of reps per set always decreases with each passing set. Yesterday I observed the same trend with a horrible drama movie (Bella). Turns out, I can only do 3 sets of hyperdrive drama - 40 minutes, 5 minutes, and 3 seconds. Let me summarize the plot so you can sympathize.

Chapter 1:
Flash back to a day in the good-old days when Jose was a star soccer player - the kind that can sign passerbys' faces and not get pounded for it. Don't finish the flashback, but allude to a bad ending.

Flash forward - Jose had a 5 inch beard, 6 inch eyebrows, and works for his slavedriver brother as a chef. Jose finds time every day to look down garbage disposal units, up at clouds, deep into people's eyes, and experience profound emotional turmoil on account of the girl his car turned into a puddle. ...No wait, that isn't revealed till Chapter 3.

Screw it. New summary: Jose meets...umm...damn!...can't even remember her name. Argh!

New summary: Jose and some woman with onions stuffed under her eyelids and lemons in her cheeks search desperately for a botox injection to arrest their facial twitching. Meanwhile, a series of flashbacks reenacts a little girl getting run over in increasingly artistic and provocative manners. I have a bad feeling now you're going to say it sounds interesting, but believe me, it was crap.

Saw Wanted today. First, let's get the bad jokes out of the way:

It should have been called Wanted: A Plot.
This kind of crap is definitely not wanted.
I just wanted it to stop, please! Make it stop!
It has been weighed, it has been measured, it has been found wanting.

Now the review:

Short version (SPOILER ALERT):
It sure was a load of crap.

Slightly longer version (SPOILER ALERT):
The plot is fairly simple. Basically it's a thinly veiled ripoff of the Matrix. A bunch of supposedly beautiful people (Matrix) run fast (Matrix), shoot even faster (Matrix), bend some laws of physics (Matrix), break others (Matrix), and do all of these in slow motion (Matrix). If the movie were played entirely at full speed, it would barely skid over the 10 minute mark. To make up for this, there are of course some excellent if ruthlessly abused plot twists.

One such plot twist involves identity of the main character's father, initially an unknown. The trend however is quickly established. Every successive man who dies in the movie is instantly awarded paternity. Not to point out the obvious, but this is dramatic! This ain't Gosford Park. I didn't stay past the credits to see the final act where Angelina Jolie finally receives the honor, but I have full confidence in her abilities as a father.

Another, equally excellent plot twist involves an Oracle - do I hear Matrix again? However, in this "remix," the Oracle turns out to be...can you guess? Is it a dragon? A hobbit? Kiera Knightley? All equally good guesses, but when you find out, you'll all be slapping your foreheads and/or slitting your wrists screaming "WHY??? WHY DIDN'T I GUESS THAT, IT'S SO OBVIOUS!" You've probably guessed it by now, but I'll tell you anyway - a loom. Yea, one of those thread gizmos.

Oh well, at least Morgan Freeman dies.

The Eve of Tomorrow's Tomorrow

Time to broaden my musical horizons. I've been listening to the same Led Zeppelin song for the last 8 years. This moment, some of Michael Jackson and Madonna are trickling into my downloads directory. Michelle's leaving early tomorrow for five fun-filled days of nostalgia-for-home-camp. After the emotionally charged days of the past several weeks, I lack the energy for a twenty minute sobfest, so she's kindly allowing me to escape with a quick and groggy morning hug and a five day consolation session with my parents. Piece of cake compared to the daily.

Today's been a long day. In the morning I campaigned in the east for hours, attaining a mere status of Roc upon victory. I resumed the murder and pillage in the evening, and lasted only an hour before tapping out from fatigue. I just don't have the stamina of my 12-year old self. And even victories just don't have that same taste of glory anymore. I wish someone would just uninstall Heroes from my machine.

I've started and dropped four or five books in the last couple days. High Fidelity, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Fight Club all received a frustrated Alt-F4 for failing to arouse lasting interest. The survivors are:

Battle Cry of Freedom - being at Barnes and Nobles, it's irritatingly un-Alt-F4-able.
The Diamond Age - I haven't yet reached the fateful page 25 where decisions are made and sentences carried out.
Mosaicos - the Spanish textbook endures even the harshest down-sizing.

I've been given the 5-minute movie warning. All thoughts suddenly scramble, and all I see in front of me is the tower of ice cream I'll soon be erecting, and shortly afterward, consuming.

Last thing. Eric Wang has challenged me to a duel tomorrow. Weapon of choice - tennis racket. Place - Rutherford (duh!), the Wang is as always car-free. Chances of winning - we'll know tomorrow after the match; I've narrowed it down to 0% or 100%.

Bad Movie

Saw Wall-E today. Blah.

The first 6 hours of the should-be trilogy were almost bearable. There were cuteness, silly music, and cockroaches - apparently a recipe for success judging by IMDb's thousands of satisfied fans. It used to be that when prompted for my opinion on a movie, I could safely defer to IMDb; this saved the trouble of later defending said opinion. But now IMDb must be in league with the movie companies because the average rating for a crappy movie is around 8. Wall-E is rated an astounding 9.3. I would have been happy to agree if I hadn't watched it. Unfortunately I did, and even the IMDb-sponsored professional applauders in the theater couldn't convince me of a single point deserved above a "5 for special effects."

"It's OK, it's over, you made it," I thought, as I made my way back to the car with my parents and my little sister. Wrong! My dad, though he claimed the movie had bored him into a stupor, would not stop reenacting the aforementioned boredom, with such skill that I fell asleep at least 8 times behind the wheel on the 2-mile ride home. Bored my ass! Now the traitor's probably voting on IMDb to infalte Wall-E's rating to an even greater obscenity.

Just heard from Chun, she loved it of course. This is good intel - she is not to be trusted.

Showed grandma our music today. Can't say she loved it. I showed her ~5 songs, and when I mentioned Mario was still finishing one of them, she asked "why finish? They all sound the same." Ouch. No worries though, grandma's been discredited. I grabbed a piece of apple pie as I left her house, and it smelled like cheese. When she shoved a tomato under my nose to smell the divinity, it smelled like the fish she'd been slicing. Hey, if she can't tell the difference between those...

The Great Depression

Today I came within an inch of damnation. A day after posting on Craigslist, I was surprised and delighted to see that someone was interested in my quality services as a tutor. Not just interested, they wanted me to tutor their currently mediocre but soon to be genius offspring, every day of the week. One or two more such customers, I thought to myself amidst a fit of giggles, and I'd never need a job again. I went to sleep blissfully ignorant of the storm gathering in my Inbox.

I woke up this morning, and found four more wonderful emails from wonderful people with wonderfully thick children. This is where I should have pricked up my ears. Instead, I pranced around the room, threw handfuls of credit cards into the air, and only then got to reading.

Woe was me. At first glance, the emails spoke of normal people who wanted to send me baskets full of checks. But things tended quickly to the creepy. The writing had obviously missed out on some grammar and spellchecking. At the same time, the people all claimed to be from England - a little-known country that chiefly exports clones of Henry Higgins - the Naziest language Nazi of all. Everything suddenly became crystal clear. I was being asked to participate in something intrinsically un-American, and thus undoubtedly Communist-inspired. I was being asked to give an American education to a foreigner!

I was shocked! Revolted! ...But slightly tempted to participate. This last thought that zigzagged through my mind scared me most. After much deliberation, I have decided to do the right thing and turn myself in to the government. Tomorrow will likely be my last day as a free American, for temptation is harshly but justly punished in our wonderful country.

Made some more progress with my music - the Tina-turned-Chun song is moving along beautifully.

I'm writing and expecting...yearning for...nay, praying for an interruption, because material is scarce, and my movie hormones are flaring at full throttle. Tonight still lives with the promise of another B-rated film ruthlessly sacrificed to my addiction, but time is passing and...was that my name being called? Hm...no, that was just me saying it aloud. Enough! I suppose tonight, I'll have to initiate the ritual.

I Love Watermelon

I have pimped out all of my skills on Craigslist, with the frail hope of earning a dollar here and there giving private lessons. If there's something you want to learn that I don't know, and that you are willing to pay for, tell me. I will learn it and teach it to you.

Went to Barnes and Noble's again today, read a bunch of books that failed to make an impression on me. My sentimental half screams that this is because I'm still heartbroken from The Time Traveler's Wife, but I punished it with a Civil War book. Next time it'll keep its fat mouth shut.

Did some writing today - got well on my way into a song that started out about Tina, but tragically lacked a necessary depressing quality, and thus slowly transformed into a love song for Chun. I am now frantically juggling Tina between a slow blues, and an open window.

Meanwhile, Mario has come out with a new single, mourning his love for Iris, who is unfortunately a willing captive of a better man. The song is nearly complete, lacking only lyrics, but they will undoubtedly come around soon and be somewhere high on the scale from 1 to Pathetic.

Michelle asked me to tuck her in today. I considered it for a brief moment and then laughed in her face, a move which somehow doesn't hold the same element of surprise as it used to.

Michelle has a fat friend, who conveniently stores all self-consciousness for her condition in Michelle. Whenever Mom says "hey Michelle, where's fatty?" or Dad asks "where's Piglet?," Michelle inexplicably gets as offended as if it were her own liposuction-filled future they're talking about. Being intrinsically mild-mannered and considerate, I generally restrain my witty insults, and if anything, try to turn the conversation to safer and less fertile ground - such as how fat people contribute to society. By the way, has anyone found the answer to this one yet?

Long Day

Mom's looking over my shoulder, so I can't unleash my full writing potential. Half will do.

Went to Hana's house today. They were definitely unprepared to entertain me. I was counting on at least some singing, money showering, and "we're not worthy"'s accompanied by heads banging against the floor, but all I got was a good meal and an even better serving of boooring. They all camped out in the den and watched a recorded Turkey-Germany soccer match, and no amount tears or begging succeeded in making them tell me to shut up and go home. I don't understand, if you have a match taped and can watch it any time, why would you ever watch it? Especially when I'm around waiting to be entertained.

Mom's learning Stairway to Heaven so she can go to Guitar Center and piss them off - all guitar stores have Stairway to Heaven on their blacklists. Luckily for them, she only practices once every couple of months, usually in different and not always consecutive years.

Chun studying for MCATs is reflecting poorly on my self-esteem. Every now and then, she'll come at me with a "hey, I've got a really easy question for ya...," just to make sure I feel like a moron when I can't even understand what it's asking. I of course proceed to do just that, and she has her fill of laughs. Then she leaves me and returns to her career-building, while I frantically shake my computer upside down so my tears don't short its circuits.

Michelle's having a sleepover today, so there are suddenly two Michelles in the house (her friend is also a Michelle). This is pretty much your classic domestic nightmare. Right now they're upstairs and judging from the sounds, they're either mudwrestling, practicing dropkicks, or sacrificing an uncooperative goat. I hear thud after thud, and lots of giggling that'll soon make its way downstairs, meet Mom, and seamlessly become sobbing if not screaming.

Guests

My cousin and grandma from Baltimore dropped by yesterday on short notice. My cousin is a business guru with grandma's thuggish good looks. We skipped the usual midnight movie showing, and talked in bed till 3 AM. He told me some wild stories about taxi drivers and hookers, and I reciprocated with my own wild tales of sitting on the couch in our lounge. He was so impressed, he passed right out, so I went to sleep as well. In the morning he was gone, but he'll be back for more stories. They always come back.

I've been breezing through The Time Traveler's Wife - an extremely easy and entertaining read. It is drawing near the end, and my magic 8-ball is growing increasingly pessimistic. The level of drama, nostalgia, sentimentality, and inevitability has gotten so high that my tear glands are begging for an interlude. I've been drinking a lot of Gatorade to replenish my fluids. The only thing that cheers me up is thinking about how hard Chun'll be crying when she's reading it. Other people's tears always provide for quality entertainment, and Chun also has excellent delivery. (Don't worry Chun, the fall of my reputation as a dry-eyed stoic will protect yours.)

Watched a sappy Russian movie from the 80's today, a close relative of my worst enemy - Les Parapluies de Cherbourg. Watch it (the French one) if you're ever feeling more than usually sadomasochistic. The Russian movie was entertaining in comparison, despite being a colossal bore.

Michelle has volunteered me for a set of pushups with dad. I miss my couch.