Sunday, April 26, 2009

The Lost Boys



I love this movie and I love Kiefer Sutherland even more. 80's movies rock!

Thursday, April 23, 2009

[What I wish I could say]



"So . . . how old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

"22"

"Really?! I thought you'd be like, 23 or 24"

[Right, keep thinking that, 40-something-year-old-divorced guy with 3 kids]

"So are you doing anything after this?"

[Do you always start your sentences with "Soooo"? At least republican guy could hold a conversation . . .]

"I'm going to school"

[That's right, I go to school, that place you haven't been in over 20 years. I bet your kids go to school too. Get it? I go to school, they go to school. Why don't you give me your son's number, now that's a better match, dontcha think?]

"Well, I guess I'll see next week"

"Have a nice day"

[No sucker, I made sure I made your appointment the day I won't be here. So I WONT be seeing you next week.]

THE END

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

Lo-li-ta



I'm writing a paper on media mainstream values toward teenage girls. It got me thinking about Lolita. I saw both movie versions and, although they are very different from each other, they are both that keyhole through which we can see the disturbing openness into the mind of a romanticized pedophile.

This only confirms what I already know: I'm not having children. And if I do, they better have something dangling between their legs because I'm not raising girls. No sir, I don't want to have a bunch of lolitas running around my house.

Because I might forget that Lolita was the victim.

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Got this song stuck in my head, I love it.



Just a small town girl, livin in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south detroit
He took the midnight train goin anywhere

A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlight people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night

Working hard to get my fill,
Everybody wants a thrill
Payin anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

Dont stop believin
Hold on to the feelin
Streetlight people

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Randomness



Jon Stewart is damn sexy and he needs to not be married.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

The Chola truth



Somebody asked me today why I like cholas so much. Well, see, there is a soft spot in my heart for cholas and their sharpie eyebrows. I had a chola friend in high school who once came up to me and said "if anybody messes with you, I've got your back." I have never forgotten that. Next thing I knew all her chola friends knew I was alright and soon it appeared as if I had a brigade of cholas at my disposition if need be. Please, don't think they were literally "at my disposition." Hardcore cholas don't roll like that. But it felt good to know I had them behind me "just in case." Just-in-case never happened and that kind of sucks because it was like having a resource I never utilized. I hate waste.

They were not the kind of cholas who spent hours in the mirror taking pictures with their cell phones. Nah, that wasn't them. Their sharpie eyebrows took them a minute and there was something genuine about them. They were the kind of people who would not only tell you that "yes, your butt does look big in those jeans," they would also tell you the shirt you are wearing is 3 sizes too small, that your lonjas were exposed and unless you wanted to make the school puke, you better put that shiz away and that nobody wanted to suffocate on your freakin Dolce & Gabanna Light Blue knockoff (Seriously, I witnessed them saying that to a girl, verbatim). Homegirl had it coming, you don't cross the cholas and leave unharmed.

The thing is, they weren't trying to impress you. They had no necessity to please you. They were who they were and nothing else mattered. You wanted the truth, you would go to a chola, because she's not going to lie to you. Hurt feelings are not something very high on their list of priorities, and that freakin rocked.

Bottom line, I have a thing for eyebrows and chola eyebrows fascinate me. Secondly, the cholas have been nothing but good friends to me and I have nothing against them, and while I may not categorized them in the most reputable of levels, I choose not to categorize them at all. I met a couple of rotten ones, but there's rotten apples everywhere. The cholas I met were good people, maybe not math geniuses, or class presidents, or the best athletes. But they were GOOD PEOPLE, and good people are hard to find.

Friday, April 3, 2009

Not a pretty picture

Writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block, writer's block...fhfjfkdfldajfkladjflajflazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Some Bill Maher for ya

Terrorism as bad as it is, should not control our lives.



Wednesday, April 1, 2009

I was not born in the 80's



I was not born in 80's. I didn't get to taste Bon Jovi through his long-hair, ripped jeans, shirts-with-no-sleeves era. I wasn't born in the 70's. I didn't get to protest, asking for love not war. I didn't get to enjoy the hippie awesomeness and my long, straight hair would have been popular as hell. I didn't get to do the peace sign when it actually meant something. I also wasn't part of the disco era. No pictures of me with an afro. No pictures of me with bell bottoms striking the John Travolta Saturday-night-fever pose. I was not born in the 60's. I didn't get to sport the mod style, complete with the cute, color block, little dress and white boots. I didn't get to see Twiggy emerge. I didn't get to see The Beatles change the sound of music forever.

I wasn't born in the 50's. I didn't get to experience the rebelliousness of what Rock 'n' Roll meant at the time. By the time I knew who Elvis had been, he was already dead. I didn't get to absorb the meaning of the classic leather jacket and what it transpired.

I was not born in the 40's either. I didn't get to fully experience the glory of the pin-up girl in its true form. I didn't get to savor the mystery of Humphrey Bogart, the rise of Lena Horne, Peggy Lee, Édith Piaf, Frank Sinatra, Glenn Miller among others. The beginning of Audrey Hepburn, the offset of Batman. The class of the black-and-white film period.

I wasn't born in the 20's. Ah, the roaring 20's. The flappers, the beginning of the "Jazz Age." The birth of the radio. I didn't partake in the 20's break from traditions. The glamour, the slinky knee-length dresses, chin-length bob, the pearls . . . The decade make-up stopped being associated with prostitutes only.

No sir. I wasn't born in any of those eras. Though I was born in 1987, by the time I became aware of the world around me, it was the 90's. The Backstreet boys, bubblegum pop, freakin Aqua and their Barbie girl crap! Belly button piercings, SpiceGirls, Britney Spears and lycra!

And then came the millennium. Backstreet boys still existed, so did Britney Spears. Jessica Simpson, Christina Aguilera followed. The overexposure, the crotch shots, the beginning of the Bush administration. Reality shows emerged, Newspapers began to die, Paris Hilton happened, Guantanamo Bay was created.

Yes, many good things happened in the 90's. But no one is going to remember it as the decade in which Seinfeld launched its pilot. Nobody connects the 90's and the first televised war: The Gulf War. No one but me will cherish the fact that Conan O'brien began his Late Night Show gig in 1993!

I hereby declare my disapproval of the time period I was born in. I want no part of a decade in which guys lift up their shirts and take mirror pictures and girls suck the stomach in, stick out their butts, pout and do the same.

I'm not happy and I think God might have made a mistake . . . with all due respect. I hope one day I'll know why, with my birth date began the death of almost all that is brilliant.

I'll follow this guy to the end of the world...

"When I was growing up, the newspaper business was as solid as Sears, which was as solid as General Motors, which was as solid as U.S. Steel, which was as solid as Pan-Am Airlines...."