Caffeine...the fifth food group.

This is a post I've been mulling around in my head for a while, but I think I had a sign last night. A young blonde entered the store, and she was shall we say...gifted with a chest that would make Jesus stop what he was doing and say "Sweet ME! Will you look at those sweater monkeys?".

Anyway.

I enjoyed the scenery but didn't think anything of it until Matt rang her out, and walked over to me.

Matt: She was a stripper.
Me: Maybe. I guess.
Matt: She was young, had huge implants, was showing them off, and she had a scary boyfriend.
Me: And? So what?
Matt: And she paid for her entire purchase with a one dollar bills.
pause
Me: Oh. Hmm. Well...she could have been a bartender.
Matt: 'You're a moron' look

I've had my fair share of experiences around strippers. Back when I lived in Seattle, I briefly dated a cocktail waitress at strip club. It's amazing how quickly a bunch of naked women can become mundane. I saw them a couple times a week for a few months, got to know them...and strip clubs were ruined for me for years. I suppose I could still go into one for the fun of it, but I always crack up at the guys who go in, drop a hundred bucks, and go home alone. What's the point of having a (usually) attractive woman crawl all over you if nothing is ever going to come of it? More to the point, is this something you want to experience while surrounded by a bunch of your (male) friends. That in and of itself seems a bit creepy to me.

Funny story about a stripper, though.

Back when I worked for Micros, I was sent down to Atlanta to do a job. I was teamed with a guy who I had just met, Mario Acosta (couldn't remember his name for the life of me until I found it in my rolodex recently). Anyway. Mario was the nicest guy you're ever going to meet. Total holy roller, but of the breed that Jesus had in mind when he got the ball rolling. Non judgmental, totally friendly, didn't impose his beliefs on others (in fact, rarely mentioned it, and never out of context). I loved the guy. Mario knew a guy, Greg, who he had worked with before, and was planning on meeting up with one Saturday afternoon. Knowing that I didn't have any friends in Atlanta, he invited me along. So, Greg, Mario, and I went bowling, grabbed some great Cuban food, and an after dinner cocktail. Greg mentioned that he was meeting his friend Gretchen for drinks, and invited us along. Gretchen was an awesome chick, the picture of southern hospitality (and southern belle good looks). With a few doses of liquid courage, I pull out my "A" game, and start working on her, making (I believe) great progress. Around 9:00 or so, she said that she had to go to work, and asked if we wanted to come hang out. With a wink at me, Greg said sure, and we followed her in.

To Atlanta's (in)famous Gold Club.

Greg begins laughing his ass off, as do I (after the initial surprise wore off. I hadn't thought too much about who goes to work at 9:30. I assumed she was a bar tender. Seems to be a common theme). Mario...well...Mario was completely and totally nonplussed. But he was a trooper. We offered to take him back to the hotel, but he insisted he was game. Patting him on the back (and paying his cover charge), we led him in.

I thought the mans eyes were going to bug out of his head. I'm not sure he had ever imagined so many naked women in one place, much less seen them.

"The road to hell, eh, Mario?" I asked.
"Si. But look at the SCENERY!" he replied.

I gave up on Gretchen after she got drunk. She was a complete and total tosser when she was loaded. Pity. Every girl in the place descended on Mario like sharks after a dying whale. I'll always have the image of him holding his left hand in front of his face, pointing at his wedding ring, and crying "I'm married! I'm MARRIED!" every time a girl asked if he wanted to buy a dance. Great times. I did see the the most erotic dance ever that night. And she chose the most unusual song. I'll never listen to Train's "Drops of Jupiter" the same way ever again.

Final thought: When I'm Dictator For Life, there will be a law banning all use of cliched names for strippers. Or anyone else, for that matter.

It's been a while, and I missed you. Just as much as you've missed me, I'm sure. So, why don't we do a little catching up?

WORK

By the way, Exxon's profits were 44% over projection last quarter. Gives you a warm fuzzy. What the fuck happened to Iraq? I thought one of the perks of imperialism was exploiting resources. Shrub can't even fucking do that right.

I did have one of the most patronizing comments I've ever heard directed at me the other day. My. You're very well read for someone who works in a chain bookstore. Well. Fuck you very much lady. May a thousand diseased gerbils mate in your sock drawer.

Another line it was my misfortune to witness shook me to the core. Now, I've long maintained that if you need a license to drive a car, you sure as fuck better have one to have kids (and you damn well better believe it's going to be that way when the revolution comes). This couldn't have been illustrated better than with the comment I always hated Shakespeare. I think it's a travesty that our children have to read this in school. Are you fucking KIDDING me? I should have called Child Protective Services on that dumb slut right there. Poor kids will be lucky to have an IQ over 20 after she's done with them.

So, that's work.

LOVE LIFE

Yup. Still engaged. Still hoping that Stacey will let us have a girlfriend. Still waiting on a huge bag of Fritos and a monkey from Matt.

SCHOOL

Nothing new to report here. Passing my classes, though there is no way I'm finishing the semester with my 4.0. Ah well. We all knew it wouldn't last.

ASSORTED STUFF

Went with Stacey on my birthday to see Sin City. Loved it. One of the more entertaining movies I have seen in a long while. Elijah Wood deserves some Oscar love, and I'm predicting a Travolta-esque comeback for Mickey Rourke.

Had Stacey's ex-boyfriend Kevin over for dinner a little while back. I like Kevin. He's a genuinely good guy, and we share some of the same interests, so we can chat without it being awkward. We've hung out before, so I didn't think anything of it when Stace invited him over.

O, if I knew then what I know now.

I knew something wasn't going to be quite right when he arrived at the door with what appeared to be a manuscript, and his guitar slung over his shoulder.

Umm. Okay. Whatever.

"So Kev," I ask "what's going on?"
"Nothing much. I'm on disability now."
"No shit? What happened, man?"
"My psychologist diagnosed me with schizo affective disorder."

cue the sound of a needle being pulled across an old LP

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm...WHAT? Now, I was just about to crack up, when I realized he was dead on fucking serious. What the hell are you supposed to say?

"Ummm...Jesus...that sucks. Can I get you a beer?"

Fuck you. What would YOU fucking say?

But we were just beginning. He read to us from his manuscripts. I can't even begin to describe how horribly painful this was. I don't think I could do it justice. Let me just summarize the story thusly: total player of a man has all of his girlfriends killed, runs away to the mountains with a bunch of porn, only to have the photos in the 50th anniversary edition of Playboy come to life and complicate his life. All in written in prose...well, I won't say it was bad. I'll just say that I think it was written in crayon.

Then more conversation. Now, I'm a pretty gregarious guy. I can talk to just about anyone about anything. I can laugh politely at anything even close to a joke. I don't know if I was still reeling from the horrible stories or what, but all my skills left me. All I could do was sit there with a "please, don't hurt me" smile on my face. I think this man ranks right up there with Rumsfeld on the unfunny meter.

But there was more to come. We were serenaded by some of Kevin's original songwriting. Dear lord, I almost missed the story telling. Imagine Tom Waits singing to you. Underwater. After having been sat on my a hippopotamus. Singing songs written by a depressed 16 year old home-schooled girl.

I don't remember much after that. I think I huddled in a corner crying, muttering "happy place, happy place, happy place" over and over again. But Stacey was eventually able to get him out the door. After over five hours of this.

No, I'm quite serious.

Five hours.

Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan does she owe me big.

So. What else is going on?

Oh, yeah. Dan has cast me in a movie that he has co-written with Matt. Now, I wanted to be a tree, but Dan felt that my tremendous charisma would be better served with a speaking role. Or something like that. Apparently I have a sexy voice, and he wants to capture that on film. Who can blame him?

I smell an Oscar nod. Well. Maybe not an Oscar, but certainly a Golden Globe.

After being together for three wonderful years, I broke down last night, and proposed to Stacey.

Against all logic and reason, she said yes. Apparently, she wants to make an honest man out of me. I think she's in for a lifetime of frustration, but hey, she knew that going in, right?

But, it isn't going to be a while, as somebody has to get his ass a degree first. That means the family is in an informational black out. Who wants to deal with three years of questions about the wedding planning. Christ, I think Dante wrote a poem about that.

Details we will figure out later, but right now, I'm the happiest man in the world.

 

Nah...I'm really not.

I am getting old, I've decided. Sat down in a chair yesterday and just about every nerve bundle in my lower back told me to fuck off. In unison. A little better today, but don't ask me to tie my shoes. Thank God I have a pair of clogs. The worst part is that I know these problems don't get better as you get older. I'm praying for a medical breakthrough some time in the next few years. Screw that. Months.

Hell. Hours would be nice.

I almost wonder if it's psycho-somatic. Been under a bunch of stress lately, I guess. I've got to get better about paying attention to my body. I'll honestly believe that everything is cool...then BAM. Either my blood pressure freaks out, or my back decides to try out low grade rigor mortis.

I think that placing my brain in a military grade cyborg is the solution to solving later problems.

Anyway. A list of some of my favorite words to say:

Mumu
Kumquat
Lithium
Fuck
Artichoke
Squirrel
Ny-Quil
Spore
Fuck
Lien
Oligarchy
Kangaroo
Fuck

I think I like vowel sounds (and the word fuck).

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

The world does not, in fact, revolve around me.

The entire mother-fucking universe does.

But I'd be pretty happy with the world (though I do have every intention of showing those bastards on Venus who's boss. Fucking Venusians).

However, the world has not recognized me as their leader yet. That will change.

Today I conquered the back yard and the driveway. Tomorrow I think I go after the neighbors tree.

Sunday I take over John's dining room.

MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Tremble mortals. For I am going to make Frankenblog watch the Godfather. Which is, in fact, better than the Godfather, Part II.

My shoe squeeks. Not both of them, just the left one. Distracting as hell. Not sure what to do as they are fairly new, and pretty comfortable. I probably wouldn't care much, but at work I wonder if the customers think I'm farting when I walk.

Kenneth Branagh's Hamlet to come to DVD in 2006?

I'm hearing from several sources (not the least of whom, that ineffable fount of cinema knowledge, Dan Dorman) that Warner Brothers is planning on releasing a special edition of this movie for its tenth anniversary next year. Tied up in "legal issues" (the details of which elude me, but as near as I can figure it's a bunch of real dumb fuckers being greedy fucks), it hasn't seen the light of day for years. A fucking shame that millions of people have not seen this because some fucking millionaire has to make an extra grand in royalties.

I'm trying not to get too worked up over this, as there have been teases in the past, but from everything I can tell, this actually looks legit.

I can't even begin to explain how happy this makes me.

For starters, I love the works of Shakespeare. Adore them. If given an original Shakespeare portfolio I wouldn't know whether to molest it, or fucking revere it as a sacred object handed down from on high. If there is a heaven, and by some theological miracle I end up there, I hope to be able to watch the plays in their original forms, with the original cast. I hope to be able to throw myself at the feet of the Bard and thank him.

So, you have Shakespeare. Then you add Kenneth Branagh. There have been hundreds, if not thousands, of gifted (even brilliant) actors and directors who have interpreted Shakespeare's words. But I view KB as the current High Priest. The Most Holy Voice of the Man himself. And Hamlet is, in my mind, his masterpiece. The best version of it put on film to date (and I am most certainly NOT detracting from the other works. Some are very good...even great). The man behind Henry V (1989, and another movie that is a MUST see), Loves Labour Lost (2000 and very underrated), Much Ado About Nothing (1993...awesome...but I do want to kick KB in the nuts for casting Keanu Reeves as John...the pain...the fucking HORROR), and Twelfth Night (1988) gathered up some of the best Hollywood had to offer; Charleton Heston, Kate Winslet, Jack Lemmon, Robin Williams, Billy Crystal (could have been as bad as the Reeves casting, but it worked out), Julie Christie, Richard Attenborough, Judi Dench...sweet Jesus I could keep going, but you get the point...and directed them so fucking well I actually cried in some scenes...yes...it's THAT FUCKING GOOD.

This is quite possibly the greatest Shakespeare movie ever.

Fuck that. It is. And I'm going to celebrate the good news with a nice glass of wine, and a good shagging of my girlfriend.



Don't tease me bitch, I don't think I can handle it. 

This is the best news I've had in weeks.