Alright, everyone, this is going to be a simple little post, detailing the past week and how I've been feeling lately. Might I start off with the fact that, for an hour and thirty minutes, I was working out? More like a healthy exercise, which caused me to sweat profusely. Afterwards, I took a refreshingly hot-and-cold shower in one of those bathtub/shower combinations. Then, dripping from the shower, I hobbled over to my bedroom and told my mother some useful nutritional facts about which foods help specific needs of the human body. For instance, flaxseeds and sweet potatoes are wrinkle defenders, just as doughnuts and French fries decrease one's chances of conceiving a child. Interestingly useful, yes? I, then, dried my hair to a silky smooth and decided it was time to spend quality time with my baby brother, who is now coming up with witty sentences. Innocent childishness is probably the cause of it. Dutifully, I spent nearly an hour with him, without breaks, and one could be confident in assuming I felt relieved and accomplished for doing so. I must add that my calves are extremely tight, most likely from the steady work-out routine I've been practicing. Each step I take is just another slightly-painful clench for my entire leg. My calves are the only section which feels effected by my extraneous exercise schedule. (Extraneous? That sounds about right.) Unfortunately, my thighs have been feelings a bit...softer than what I'd expect. Perhaps it's my low self-esteem acting up again. One may wonder, why the sudden urge to increase my exercise dosage? Well, my friends, later this August, I'll be venturing to Walt Disney World once again. Henceforth, I would like--rather, love--to look stunning when I depart for the magical land. Same as last year, I have made a sort of resolution to meet a perfect stranger and engage in a "summer fling". Preferably with an older man. That's right, a man. I'm sick of these immature boys. It's almost impossible to find one who has actually heard of The Artist. More like, impossible. There is one, but he finds me to be immature for his tastes. How ironic. That would be considered irony, correct? The last guy I've been with was [censured], and that was nearly three weeks ago. While that may not be that long for the average girl, the fact that it was the only guy I've ever been with, intimately, it's rather sad. No sex was involved, I can assure you, for that would be utterly tragic if there was. You can see why I am quite anxious to meet someone in the foreign and whimsical land of Walt Disney World. The fact that he is there, alone, is enough to sweep me off my feet. Again, an older man would suffice.
I feel I am getting off course. Yes, my day thus far. After playing with my little brother, I sat down on my leather loveseat and prepared for my lunch-slash-dinner. For a "first course", a delicious salad with avocado, mango salsa, and cucumbers. The ideal summer treat. Following typical procedure, I finished only a slight more than half of it, preparing for my entree, which I would feast upon an hour later. Today, just as any other day, I was pleased to see a plate full of sautéed vegetables, which included colorful zucchini, eggplant, squash, red and green peppers, red potatoes, mushrooms, and sun-dried tomatoes. Oh, how scrumptious. My mother is quite the chef, believe it or not. And no, I cannot cook anything but eggs. And, may I say, I cook them to perfection. Oh, I forgot to mention: I had a small glass of gin-and-tonic. Instead of tonic water, which is full of carbonated gunk and high-fructose corn syrup, I substituted Perrier sparkling water. And a lemon. Now, doesn't that all sound delightful? It sure was. I am proud to say that I did not fall asleep after my expectedly-tasty cuisine, as I usually do, rather I willed myself to write this very post. Actually, no, I willed myself to begin a certain "project" that I must complete over the summer, as part of the annual request of my "boss". I figured writing this was much more amusing. Aren't you benefiting from this impromptu decision? You bet you are.
Moving on. This won't be a cheerful post on how my life has been. More like a weekly review of the movies I've seen over the past few days. There have quite a lot. (My grandmother just came up to give me my yearly allowance for finishing a job well-done over the past year. I feel so special.) Again, the past five days, I've been with my father, celebrating my graduation I suppose, and we have seen an impressive amount of movies over this weekend. Expect a bundle more for the next two months to come. Do not expect, however, a review for each and every one. I'm trying, fellas, honest! For now, I hope you will be satisfied with what I have now.
m. Realizing what magic the three made together, as well as on their own, truly makes their absence devastating. Just now, I watched Walter Matthau's salute to Jack Lemmon at the American Film Institute's Lifetime Achievement Ceremony, witnessing the genuine friendship between the two actors. Watching those clips, Oscar acceptance speeches and all, as well as their films, truly brings tears to my eyes. I think to myself, "Boy, what would it be like to have dinner with one of them? That would sure be swell." I'll wrap this up right now and say that you wouldn't want to make the mistake of missing a film of the delightful Odd Couple.
"It's hard enough to write a good drama, it's much harder to write a good comedy, and it's hardest of all to write a drama with comedy. Which is what life is." --Jack Lemmon
I think that just about does it for now. I was going to elaborate into the various other movies I've watched these past few days, but then thought to myself, "No, Dallas is on at nine." Yes, I am victim to the soap opera full of backstabbing and where the dialogue is laced with the passionate "Now, listen to me, god-dammit", or a form of it. I decided to watch it because I was curious to see exactly what this huge phenomenon was all about. "Who Shot J.R.?" Even those who've never watched the show have heard of that! So, I decided to tune in every Wednesday night at nine to see what all the fuss is about. Turns out, it's all about financial conniving and trickery, though the corny pseudo-serious acting is there. Despite my lukewarm interest, I continue to watch it because I enjoy the idea of having a show to watch on-the-dot every week. It gives me a sexual thrill. What's wrong with me?
Here they are, in order:
The Front Page
The Dark Knight
The Fortune Cookie
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Wow. That title is a mouthful. A mouthful of words. This is more of yet another trailer-promotion than it is an announcement. Unless you are unaware of Quentin Tarantino's upcoming modern classic Django Unchained, then this is no announcement. (Boy, I hope I phrased that sentence properly. I don't want no double-negatives in here. It hurts to even joke about it.) The following trailer is that of Quentin Tarantino's upcoming modern classic, dare I say it again, starring the ever-impressive Leonardo DiCaprio and Christoph Waltz. Oh, boy, we done going to have us a mighty fine piece of cinema here. Just watch.
While it may not appear to be Quentin Tarantino's usual film, with it taking place in the Old West and all, it does have his distinctive theme of vengeance. Admit it, you are just dancing awkwardly with anxiety to see this sure-masterpiece yourself, aren't you?
Saturday, May 26, 2012
I've come to the resolution that I will record my days in Washington D.C. Did I mention? I'm going to the nation's capital for Memorial Day weekend. How patriotic of me. Don't go following me there, I've had enough bad experiences with obsessed admirers. Anyway, right now, as I have decided to compose a small diary, I am on the road to my destination. It's a three-hour drive, in a car full of noise, so I might as well occupy my time by ranting. But, no, I won't rant. That's too crass for my taste. (That didn't stop me before. Enjoying my comments so far?) You're probably pitying me for being trapped in such a loud vehicle. Allow me to paint a picture: my mother's husband making pointless comments that are made all the more aggravating by the sheer lack of necessity for them; my brother hopelessly agreeing with everything he says; and my mother's incessant coughing. That last one isn't too obnoxious because she can't help it. In fact, despite my utter intolerance for sickly bodily sounds, hers are not unbearable. I just feel really sorry for her, especially of late, for she is, once again, accepting the horrible treatment of her husband and son. It's truly sad, but that's her choice, unfortunately. Moving on, I won't get too personal with my possibly non-existent emotional trouble. Some trouble. Not.
As I was saying, to drown out the mind-numbing ambiance of the car, I have the relief of my iPod, of which is credited to the late genius Steve Jobs. Worth attributing to, I think. What's on my playlist, you may wonder? Lately, I've been listening to vintage rock of the 1960s and 1970s, particularly The Doors and The Beatles. Within this nostalgic mix are so-called "one-hit wonders" such as Venus by Shocking Blue and House of the Rising Sun by The Animals. I believe watching Forrest Gump aroused this crave of classic rock. (I noticed I used the word "nostalgic" to describe my playlist, which is misleading since I was not around at the time they were initially popular.) 96 Tears by ? & The Mysterians just came on. I've always recognized this song from various films, just had no one to attribute it to. Now I do. Listening to these groovy tunes ignites a desire to smoke a cigarette for some odd reason. And, no, not an illegal cigarette, otherwise known as marijuana. Will the government investigate me because I mentioned marijuana? Twice? I have nothing to hide. (Love Street by The Doors. I'll be letting you know which songs come on at the exact moment they do.) This music just flows through my body, releasing all my inhibitions and stress. Here is the coveted stress-reliever for those thightly-wound people of the world. As I listen to it, my eyes shut on a reflex and my body may or may not ebb with the soft melody. With louder music, my body also corresponds with the harder beats. (Pictures of Matchstick Men by Status Quo.) One would make the confident supposition that I will be exploring the historic sights of our nation's capital. What naivety. I've seen what people come to see, well more than once. I've done the double-decker bus tour twice, the tour of the Capitol twice, roamed through museums. Yada yada yada. It is unbearably crowded with people who have never seen the remarkable artifacts, so I'll let them ravage in peace. Meanwhile, my mother and I will explore the beautiful city of Georgetown. (A Hard Day's Night by The Beatles.) It's true, we've seen parts of Georgetown already, but there is always something new to discover. Another pleasure of this quaintly modern city is the delicacy of cuisine. Food. Have you ever noticed that the term "food" has such a greedy, hungry connotation, fitting only those who are overweight? I prefer to use the term "cuisine" whenever possible. (People are Strange by The Doors.) Here in Georgetown, the cuisine is absolutely scrumptious, and so varied. Rest assured I will try to remember to take pictures of my meals and post them here. Not to make you envious, oh no, but to show just how delectable they are.
Let us transfer to another tangent for a moment. For the past week, I've been experiencing several excruciating spasms in my feet. (Strange Days by The Doors.) This has always happened every now and then, which, according to my doctor, is because of my low calcium intake, or something of that nature. However, these feet spasms have become more frequent, spreading throughout my body to my hands, chest, and back. Once I was able to sit up straight in a chair and read until my bottom became sore. Now, I can't sit still for even a half-hour, for my back would begin to constrict and plead for me to lay down. Last night, in particular, I simply had to lay down on my bed, without the strength to get under my plush blanket. And I just fell asleep hard. (Sex and the City 2 reference. Charlotte in Abu Dhabi after her nap. "I slept hard." Okay.) Following my stiff nights, I would awaken to an entire body-sore, from my immobile legs to my aching head. My mother will probably hyper-ventilate when she reads this. Don't worry, it has nothing to do with my nutrition/health habits. (Not to Touch the Earth by The Doors.) After a soothing shower, I feel completely rejuvenated, ready for a three-to-four-hour drive to Washington D.C.
At the moment, we are taking a sharp turn on the highway. My body was literally thrown to the other side of the car. I'm sitting in the spacious back seat, if you need a mental picture. Really? There's no graceful method of turning? (Love Her Madly by The Doors.) My mother is reading a book as we drive, just what I advised her not to do. Reading in a bumpy, chaotic vehicle, made uncomfortable by the recklessness of the driver, will only cause a pounding headache. I guess she'll wait and see. Writing while driving isn't that much better. I'm referring to myself, naturally. I'd better stop for now.
A few hours later...
We arrived at the hotel at 1:00pm, and already we encountered several complications. For the average person, they would be minor mishaps, casually received with indifference. Much as how I reacted. My brother, on the other hand, is a bit of a misanthrope, I'm sorry to say. He immediately began to pout upon hearing that our room wasn't ready yet. In the defense of the hotel, check-in is between noon and 3pm. Anyway, while the room was being prepared, my mother and I (just us two, mind you, how relaxing) went to this organic French cafe I visited last winter with my dad. All I wanted was a very light lunch, a sandwich perhaps, as we were going for Italian that night. (Am I alternating from present to past tense?) And I was more than satisfied with a healthy tar tine, which is much like a sandwich only without the top slice of bread. On this slice of whole-wheat bread, I had avocado, cucumbers, and chickpeas. Deliciously organic and healthy. I felt so hip eating there, like one of those health-freak folks from the West coast. Stereotypes. On our way back to the hotel, the intense heat was starting to affect me. With petty determination, I marched to the room (and, considering how anxious I was to get there, it took a while) and literally slid into the shower. One can imagine how refreshing it was. Afterwards, I dried my hair to a silky smooth, and lied down on the bed. And here I am. Even now, I'm struggling to keep my eyes open as I write this segment. Shoulder spasm.
Later that evening...
What goes well with painful spasms? Why, blisters, of course. I don't know about you, but the word "blister", to me, is just so nasty. Not just the sound of the word itself, but the thing as well. Anyway, the culprit is my new pair of Tommy Hilfiger sandals. (I represent the company's marketing division.) When I was younger, I used to call it "Tommy Hillfinger". There was a point where I called it "Tommy Hitler" too, so whenever people trash-talked Hitler, I thought of the clothing brand and thought, "What's so bad about Tommy Hitler?" Their shoes.
Moving on. I would like to note that my mother's incessant cough has reached its peak of extreme irritation. I am in no way blaming her, though I do find it harder to be around her. Because of the cough. I would listen to my tunes, but my head is pounding as it is. (The hell with it. House of the Rising Sun by The Animals.) The remainder of my evening consisted of dinner and a movie. For dinner, we all went to this rustic Italian restaurant. I use the word "rustic" to describe this place because it often is used to describe Italian restaurants. Haven't you noticed? Tonight, there was a special party taking place right next to our table. Like the student of sociology that I am, I studied them quite frequently, deciding whether they were Italian or Jewish. (I was leaning toward Jewish because I find myself attracted to that race. Religion? The men of the party were rather attractive.) I had the veal marsala with a side of gin and tonic. For dessert, a tiny sliver of cheesecake that demanded a slice of Napolean, as the first was much too minuscule.
Monday, May 28, 2012
It appears that I have neglected to record my routine for yesterday, that being the twenty-seventh of May. I suppose you could say that I became lazy, what with the immense heat striking me severely. Perhaps I had a bit too many gin and tonics yesterday, as well, and I didn't want to inflict you all with my disturbing, hyper-active state. Anyway, don't fret over me because we all make our own decisions, society has nothing to do with them, nor does my environment. Which are two in the same, if you can believe it! At the moment, we have just left Georgetown and are on our way home. And might I briefly express my relief for this fact. I had my fun, but it's time to get the hell out of here. (What a simple sentence.) Instead of taking the conventional route home, on a major highway preferably, the driver decides to take an "alternative route", which is on some shrubbery, Pulaski highway. (Pulaski highway is a term that describes an unknown, suspicious highway.) The seat belt, as of this moment, is grazing against my upper shoulder, and is becoming rather irritating. Yes, a rash may very well form. Excuse my tinge of irritability, if there is any, for I am simply anxious to get home. Since I cannot endure this trip without my iPod, I am listening to my vintage playlist for what may be the third time. I think I'll go and watch some Desperate Housewives on my glorious MacBook. Oh, haven't you heard? I've started to rewatch the old seasons of the show, back when it was still engrossing and amusing. Why, right now, I'm in the middle of the third season, after the whole hostage-disaster-episode. That, I must say, was one of the highlights of the show, where I found myself in unexplainable tears. When I was younger, of course this episode would trigger some traumatic nerve in me that would summon tears to fall. Now? Why would the death of the annoying, white-trash Nora upset me so much? And Lynette nearly dying? Quite curious. Anyway. I hope you've enjoyed my little summary of my trip to the nation's capital. I guess that's about it. Well, bye.
As for the photos of cuisine from my adventure, I will try to upload them onto here, if I can manage to transfer them from my Blackberry. I had to say the name of my phone for the same reason I say MacBook instead of laptop. Once again, farewell for now.