anywhereisbetter

Hello. I’m alive. I’m sure you’ve been worried sick.

A few days ago, I wrote a somewhat lengthy post about stupid items for sale in the back of the New Yorker, but somehow I lost it. (Lost the post, that is, not “it.” I lost “it” a long time ago.) Rewriting the same crap over was boring, so instead, here’s a quick rundown, by the numbers.

1. I am a sucker for movie cameos. And underdog movies. And schlock. And movies in general.

The thing is that I pretty much just love movies. And I really love going to the movies. That means that, with very few exceptions, I come out of the theater feeling great about whatever I saw. “You know, casting John Goodman as King Ralph was really a great choice,” I might say, “and that was one of Peter O’toole’s best performances in a long time!” Maybe my discerning tastes are temporarily distorted by all that liquid nacho cheese and huge box of Milk Duds, but I’m usually pretty enthusiastic for the first few hours after leaving the theater.

Maybe that’s why I loved Rocky Balboa. Or maybe it was actually kind of good. I thought it would be a good movie to see on Boxing Day (get it?!), but frankly, I just couldn’t wait. At first I thought he might die at the end, since the idea of a guy pushing 60 getting into the ring seems pretty asinine. And let’s face it, even though it featured Survivor’s follow-up to “Eye of the Tiger,” Rocky IV: Russian Roullette wasn’t the best film I’ve seen. But it was more a film about aging and loneliness than it was about kicking ass. And I’m a sucker for sentimental crap like that.

And brief as it was, I loved the Mike Tyson cameo. That man is bat-shit crazy.

2. In spite of item #1, Liberty Stands Still was laughably bad.

Looking to spend two hours of your life in a vortex of entertainment value? I’ve got just the thing. Count the cars, kids on bikes, and dog-walkers that pass by after the police have “cordoned off the whole area.”

3. Denver picked a lousy time to have a blizzard.

I was supposed to fly to Denver on Wednesday morning. That didn’t happen. Something about two feet of snow closed the airport. This prompted a mad dash for the ticket counter by every would-be passenger, including me, to make new reservations. I’m not leaving until tomorrow–a four day delay. Ouch. I just feel bad for the poor saps who are stuck paying for hotels or sleeping on airport floors until they get out.

4. Making graduate school applicants write personal statements is a form of sadism.

As self-absorbed as I am, I don’t like writing papers that expound on all the reasons I’m so fucking great—especially when all that bombast is really just thinly veiled groveling. When I say “the ethnographer is in a unique position, able to observe and recount cultural phenomena, processes, and details that may otherwise be impossible to capture,” what I really mean is “please please please please please please please take me.” I’m glad to be done with it. Now, the waiting begins…

5. Striped sweaters are the new black.

There’s not much to say about this. I love striped sweaters. They’re my new look. I don’t care if I look like a 1960′s prep school kid (as I was told by one of the professors at work). I like them.

6. The season finale of Doctor Who was awesome.

I love this show. I started watching because of vague childhood memories of watching it with my dad. At six years old, I didn’t exactly know what was going on, and invariably fell asleep by the end. All I remembered was something about a sonic screwdriver, and some trashcan-looking things that screamed “exterminate!” over and over. But I’m totally hooked on the new episodes. Don’t make fun.

That pretty much brings you up to date. I’m leaving for Denver tomorrow; maybe I’ll post stupid pictures of friends and family when I return. Or maybe not.

Toodles.