Pledge Turned to Prestige

Is it weird to want to be able to do this?

Bits. Tid Bits.

I endure myriad stupid comments throughout my work week. Today's quote takes the cake. On one of my many, MANY conference calls, I heard, "All of those myths are definitely false." The brain wobbles. And not that scotch-tastic wobble, either.

I feel for people trying to find teddy bears for their kids. We almost all of us had them when we were kids. They were simple, cute, and happy little stuffed animals. Nowadays, those damn things look like they'll all murder you in the night.

Finding the right shawl collar cardigan is much harder than I figured.

I can't help it and I can't say why, kids, but I'm feeling a great deal of Texas pride lately.

I do hope Daniel Craig doesn't wear a new pair of sunglasses in the next film. I just can't afford it.

Watching last week's episode of 30 Rock was glorious. To see my favorite comedy of the present cross paths with my favorite comedy of my childhood (Night Court)...well...that's like having a James Bond film and a Batman film in the same year. Hey, wait a minute...

Speaking of which, my Quantum of Solace review is forthcoming.

Ready yourselves.

25 Words or Less, Part 2...

Fanboys and critics are wrong. My friends and I are right.

Quantum of Solace is outstanding.

And Strawberry Fields...oh, Strawberry Fields.

More to come...

Never Say Midnight Again

Well, it's official. I've gone to my last midnight show.

I was supposed to have seen Quantum of Solace tonight.

But I didn't. Because a group of absolute fucking retards did not know how to behave in the theater (constant talking, racist remarks during the trailers, and other dicketry).

And I had a choice to make. I could either leave the theater, or call one of you fine people to bail me out of jail for the--I assure you--IMMENSE BODILY HARM I WOULD HAVE SWIFTLY INFLICTED UPON THOSE COMPLETE AND UTTER ASSHOLES WHO HAVE POSITIVELY NO CLUE HOW TO BEHAVE WITH CIVILITY IN ANY PUBLIC VENUE, MUCH LESS A PACKED MOVIE THEATER.

I was forced from a Bond film this evening; about 10 minutes of that crap was all I could take.

And if I ever run into those guys in a dark alley someday...I will fuck them up but good.

A horrid end to a horrid day.

I've gone to my last midnight show. I go now to fretful sleep.

"It's not your word...it's who ya give it to!"

Those words were yelled with customary righteous indignation by Ernest Borgnine in one of my favorite movies of all time, The Wild Bunch. I think of those words, however, in relation to one of my favorite films of this year--Appaloosa--which I just watched again this evening.

There's a lot that I love about Ed Harris's western. The friendship between Virgil Cole (Harris) and Everett Hitch (Viggo Mortensen), yet another example of how westerns get the idea of friendship just right (in my eyes, anyway). The film's fine balance of the realistic and the romantic. The fact that it pretty much blindsided me with how enjoyable it was--something that happens to me too little anymore, my film taste becoming more weathered and eccentric with each passing year. And, as my friend Stew put it, the fact that it's nice to watch a film upon which the fate of an entire genre doesn't rest.

However, what I'm fixated on right now are two scenes in the film, both involving a man's word being given. In one scene, a stranger gives his word to Cole that he'll testify against the villain (Jeremy Irons) in a court of law. In the other, Cole asks a criminal (Lance Henriksen) for his word to put aside any differences they might have and leave their showdown for a later time, given their need to team up for a spell.

A man's word is given. And taken. With speed. And without question.

I find grand satisfaction in this commonplace honor, however minor the application. Actually, I can't tell you which I find more beguiling: the fact that someone would be willing to keep his word to a stranger, or that someone would be willing to accept the word of a stranger.

And yes, kids, I know this is a concept the movies (particularly the western and the gangster film) and fiction in general excel at promoting. I'm not so naive as that. (Okay, I'm close.)

I can't help it, though. The thought so wholly resonates with me, even though I realize it was probably never that commonplace. It is something, I suppose, that one may still find nowadays...albeit in rare corners.

And I guess that gets me back to why I love the Borgnine quote so much. Because it's not just the weight of your word that does you honor. The choice of whom you would trust with it really is more important, particularly since that person would just as quickly keep theirs to you.

I can't really tell you why all this is on my mind. I think about stuff like this now and then, and as with most things probably way more seriously than I should. If nothing else, I hope you walk away with a good movie recommendation and a couple of minutes' entertainment from me sharing all this with you.

Alright. I'm done for the evening. Now that I've finished Crooked Little Vein, I'm off to figure out what I'm going to read next.

Until next time...


Read: "Gonna Be a Long Drive," "Our Time on the Edge," "I Know, Right," and "Journeys Big and Small." They're all blogs my friends write, and they'll actually give you more entertainment and satisfaction than the books, movies, or music I usually recommend here. Enjoy them, kids.

I'm not a political man, but...

...in much the same way that candidates have both victory speeches and concession speeches prepared, I've had a couple of quotes circling around in my head.

The first one, a most dreadful thought, has been in my head for a few weeks now. Upon the outbreak of World War I, British Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey made the following comment, which has stuck with me ever since I first heard it in Coach Blake's 8th Grade History class:

"The lamps are going out all over Europe; we shall not see them lit again in our lifetime."

Thankfully, the turnout TURNED OUT. As a result, another quote comes to mind, from a poem about baseball--the name and author of which both escape me at present:

"The day is done/The score is in/The final cheer and jeer have passed/

And in the night/Beyond the fight/The player finds rest, at last."

And so too can we find some rest, at least tonight.

All that's left to say is...this looks like a job for the President of the United States.

Magic Hour

No, not that magic hour. It's yesterday's extra hour to which I refer.

You see, kids, the end of daylight saving time is one of my favorite days of the year (if not my absolute favorite).

I purposely don't adjust my clocks the night before, as I like awakening with the sense that I've somehow fooled time. That feeling fills me with the illusory joy of achieving the impossible. It's what I imagine it would feel like to dribble a football.

In the days that follow, I relish the sensation that comes over me when I check the time in the evening, always feeling as though I have so many more opportunities for accomplishment before day's end. For me, it's always a spot of hope.

I love that magic hour. I'd live in it forever, if I could. Admittedly, I'm romanticizing this little bit of time, but then...that's kinda what I tend to do at times, isn't it?

(Oh, and speaking of hope, here's hoping tomorrow's turnout turns out well.)

More to come. Later...