Looks like I've got some 'splainin to do...

Ok, I'm gonna give this a shot, but I won't lie, the TV is still on so I don't know how long my motivation will last. Not only that, but I might get overwhelmed and unfocused by all the different topics I have said I was going to write about in the last week or so but that will probably all come out in a subpar jumble in the process of trying to cover them all and remember the little parts that I planned to write about. Oh shit, Cowboy Bebop just came on, and it's pretty much my favorite show in the world, so now it's gonna be really hard to concentrate. In case I haven't said anything about it to you, it's an anime that is kind of famous for its blend of music into exploring complex and tortured characters in the quest to regain their futures by conquering their past. The band that plays all the music is an ecclectic Japanese jazz group called "The Seatbelts". The band ITSELF gives a synopsis of their music as follows: "THE SEATBELTS is a diverse band of talented artists formed in 2048 by the elusive YK. The name of the band derives from how the performers wear seatbelts to be safe from their hardcore jam sessions while they play. During the late 2040s and early 2050s, THE SEATBELTS traveled all over the solar system spreading their music which is the "Digging my POTATO" tour. Leaving their first mark in history, "Tank!" on their first album, "COWBOY BEBOP," ranked in at #1 in the Solar System Music Charts of 2056."

Ok, I'll get back to the task at hand.

I'm getting a fat haricut tomorrow, shorter than I ever have before. Let me give you a list of things that I will kick your ass if you say:
1. Oh, you got your haircut.
2. Did you get a haircut?
3. Oh my God, your hair is short!
4. Is your hair shorter?
5. Please kick my ass.
The point is, don't say shit to me unless it is to tell me that I look even hotter than I used to, as if that's even possible.

At this point I am going to choose to not get into an argument (or, "discussion") about Brian Lum's misguided musical opinions. Perhaps some of us think that things don't have to be hidden to be stimulating, because musicality can be just as challenging and rewarding for the brain. But, hey, if you've woken up at 10:20 am before and think that it warrants an entire song being written about it, and if you hate a guy that can say things in a song that may be direct, but also manage to mean a lot more to me than a time of day, then read why Billy Joel "sucks" here. If you ever care to know what I think, then...well, you'd be the first.

A while ago, I wanted to get pissed off about handicapped people and write about it here, but I've since forgotten most of the reasons why I was pissed off. The only one I can recall is that I feel really badly that they have to park directly in front of the door to wherever they want to go while I park a mile away and use their empty parking space as a more direct route to walk to the store's entrance because handicapped people can't drive, anyway. I think if you get a handicapped placard to put in your car, you should be required to get a retarded placard to put on your back for trying to drive a car even though you don't have legs. That way, I know whose kneecaps to run into with my shopping cart to get back at them for the huge dent they'll leave in my car door as they rumble their Oldsmobile Townscar around a weaving path that could fit eight lanes across it. I think handicapped (aka, over the age of 60) drivers, and all shitty drivers (aka, all women and also most men that aren't me) should be given designated driving hours to stay out of my way. That way from, say, 12 to 2 pm, I can park my car behind a large, protective gate and then grab a bag of popcorn and watch some soccer mom in a 40 foot Yukon Denali never even blink as she runs over some hunched over 94 year old who is riding the brake performing a 78 point U-turn in the middle of an intersection during a red light. Get off my road.

I saw Grizzly Man yesterday. Probably one of the best movies I've ever seen. I don't know what to feel about the guy, and it made me realize some pretty gross things about myself, I dunno, you'll have to see it to know what I'm talking about, but most importantly, I have to know what happens to middle aged/old people that makes them socially retarded or were they always like that. I bring this up now because while watching the movie, there was this freaking lady with her mom, who was probably in her 80's. They both had tremendous problems watching a movie without distracting themselves by trying to find as many opportunities as possible to coax my foot into their asses. I'm not saying I wish murder were legal, but I mean, at least acceptable. Especially if a few people tell me it's ok. Or, if I hear a few of the voices in my head tell me so. Let me explain. I'm crazy. But now, let me explain the two ladies pissing me off. So, the 80 year old is apparently physically incapable of whispering. It started out pretty bad in the first 90 seconds of the movie as she and her daughter commented on what they were seeing so I, one row behind, hear the following: "mummered whisper" "OH YES, THE SCENERY IS INCREDIBLE, BUT HE STAYED WITH BEARS, I THINK HE'S CRAZY." "mummered whisper" "YES I KNOW, HE LIVED WITH THE BEARS. BEARS ARE BIG. I THINK MY OTHER HIP JUST BROKE." Luckily, she calmed down as the movie got underway and her Alzheimer's kicked in so she didn't remember where she was and was too afraid to say anything. Either that or she had a stroke, but in any respect, I shouldn't be so lucky. There was only one other markedly foot insertion provoking moment when the film showed a close up of a big, hairy yellow and black bumble bee on a flower that appeared dead. So, we have a brightly colored, fuzzy, immobile, 25 foot tall insect on the screen, and this geriatric waste of health care goes, "I DON'T SEE IT", followed by a minute of silence and then, "OH, LOOK HONEY, IT'S RIGHT THERE ON THE FLOWER." Holy. Shit. I would have laughed if I weren't so ready to abort her face with my fist. But then. Then there was the daughter, probably about 50 herself. This lady seemed to feel the intense need to express all emotion audibly as if to prove that she felt it to EVREYONE AROUND HER. I am talking every single second, a scoff or loud "yip" noise at something comical or ironic. Except that it never was comical or ironic. Point in case:

Movie Interviewee: "We pulled 4 garbage bags full of body parts from the bear's stomcah."
Lady, trying desperately to get me convicted of (justifiable) 1st degree murder: "Hah! Huh-hmmm..."

Like, what the shit? Is she serious? I soon found out that, yes. She was entirely serious. Her exultations, grunts, and agonizingly idiotic noises lasted the entire movie. For the last half hour, she had the neck of her shirt over her mouth as if in an effort to show an intent to suppress and stifle her oh-so-genuine and heartfelt human reactions to a human story of triumph and torture. Next time I'm going to lace the collar of her shirt with chloroform. Not so she will pass out and shut up, but so that she won't go anywhere during the time it takes to grease up my foot. If she's been this way her whole life, I don't understand how it's possible that no one was as like-minded as me to do the world a favor and sock her larynx so hard that she'd be grateful to have Stephen Hawking's oratory skills to translate for her. And if she's become this way over time, what is it about age that makes people piss me off more? There's no way it's one of those things where she stays the same but societal standards have changed. Society has always been pissed off by women who say things or make noises (that aren't hot enough to get away with it). She's probably just become brain dead by inhaling so much of her own shit over the years. If only it were fatal. If I ever get that dumb, do me the favor of convincing me that breathing is unnecessary...I'm pretty sure it would have worked on this lady. This just goes to show that from now on I should carry a 2 x 4 that has the words "SHUT UP" engraved on it and that I should smack people in the forehead with it when they piss me off. That way, everyone can be warned about the wastes of sperm that walk amongst them when they see those words permanently indented on their face. I wish natural selection still worked.

(Sorry, Brian, I couldn't write about the big topic, yet. I still get too personal with it. Sometime in the near future, I swear.)