Don’t worry, we’re not going to beat you up

Lots happening since my last post. I officially gave notice at work (for those of you who don’t know, I’m fleeing to an island), and enjoyed an extended Thanksgiving vacation back down on the farm in South Jersey. There, I played video games, ate holiday food (disappointing my mother with my recent redismissal of the depths of the meat), and went to my ten-year high school reunion. Many were surprised that I was so interested in attending this seminal event, but it was good to see some friends I don’t see enough of, and even better to see drunks who I hadn’t even thought of in ten years. Too good.

Meanwhile, I moved my stuff out of my apartment (forgot to mention that in the opening paragraph), and am taking the LSATs this Saturday (law school is back on the radar). Huh? I clearly don’t know whether I’m coming or going, but I’m enjoying the ride. Not so sure Laser is, though, as she is undoubtedly suspicious of her new roommate (me).

Jay Webb’s movie, Breaking Point, starring the Sniper/Jake Taylor and Busta Rhymes, opens in New York this weekend.

On a final note, my fantasy football team, despite starting 0-5, has now won seven straight in a desperate bid for a playoff spot. Team Gringo Jesus cannot be stopped.

Caps will be busted.

Valleys and clowns

Wonderful birthday party this past weekend. Alan and I have done that joint bday thing pretty much since I moved to New York, so it was good to do one more in proper fashion before I leave these hallowed sidewalks.

Went to MoMA today for its Tim Burton retrospective, which I wrote about in this week’s Time Out. The exhibit itself is great—early Burton drawings, some set pieces from the films, and even so custom creations made specifically for this show. Guy is pretty twisted and hilarious, and the quality of his work front to back is impressive. (no, I didn’t forget that he was a producer on Cabin Boy.)

Something else I thought was interesting. I was riding on the subway this morning, where every manner of weirdness can and usually does happen, and some greybeard was just yelling “LET ME OUT!” while trying to pry the door back open. Not sure why he didn’t get out in the designated exit time, but I admired his indomitable will to escape.

Bazebol

Brofessional agitator and homeowner Tom Reese has started a baseball website, for all your pressing needs about Von Hayes’s whereabouts.

Hark, your savior is born

Birthday High Line jaunt

Get em next time

I sit here before you as a cautionary tale highlighting the perils of sports gambling. No, I didn’t lose my life’s savings or have my legs broken by an overzealous bookie. I made the old wear-the-winner’s-jersey-for-a-day bet with a fellow at the office. So, yeah, now I’m finishing up my excruciating day in a Robinson Cano jersey. Could’ve been worse—if the Series had gone seven games and the Yanks had won, a side clause of the bet would’ve kicked in and you would’ve seen me at their fucking parade. Small favors.

Turning 29 this Saturday. I was going to go out hellraising, but my rheumatism is acting up again.

Record oil profits

I was just in the kitchen at work explaining the Wawa milkshake to some incredulous coworkers. Introduced around 2005 or 2006, these machines seem to be at the cutting edge of three-minute milkshake technology. It must’ve taken decades of research to refine this sweet baby (you can even choose shake thicknesses, for heaven’s sake), but where did Wawa get the money to finance such a project? Meatball subs?

So THIS is why they introduced gas pumps at selected locations. I reckon that the shake machine is the realization of years of record oil price profit reaping. Majestic.

Conceivable

Halloween is weird. I’m traditionally not too into either the holiday or Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, stemming back to a time when I ate too many RPBC one Halloween and threw up. Still, I suppose it can be fun. This year, the Laser and I, in a display of nauseating cuteness, went as the Dread Pirate Roberts and Buttercup (respectively). Somewhat hampered by my lack of an Inigo to duel left-handed with, we nonetheless did Fred Savage proud.

I just now realized the Buttercup/Reese Peanut Butter Cup connection. I don’t know what this means.

Dual mind blades

This weather has me feeling a little bummed out—a condition which, it should be noted, seems normal enough, and not reason enough for its own disorder. However, at lunch, I was paging through this Raymond Carver biography that I will be reviewing for Time Out, and that short story writer’s grappling with alchohol made me feel much better. Well, sad for him, but better for not being him. I’m reading it in tandem with his story collection, Where I’m Calling From, where the stories are arranged chronologically. It’s perfect for supplemental reading.

This post is boring. I’m going to find an exciting picture to zazz it up.

Shields shall be splintered

The Laser and I went camping (sort of) this weekend. I say sort of, because we went to Malouf’s Mountain, where city cowards like ourselves can get a campsite with all the necessities already there (tent, chow box, fire-starting compost [which Laser insisted on referring to simply as "poop"]). While it did get a little chilly, the whole thing—from the scenic Metro North train ride, to sleeping in jackets, hats, gloves, etc was great. They’re open until the end of October, but if you don’t go this year, hit them up next. (They have spots for real campers, too.)

As I was talking to my brother on the phone yesterday, he was watching the Eagles in the midst of their humiliating defeat to the hapless Raiders. As Oakland moved down the field, he says to me, “I think I’m going to cheer for the Raiders. I don’t even like this Eagles team that much.” Got a text later that read, “Go Raiders.” Pretty funny. Going to see him and the old man tonight for game four.

Oh, almost forgot somehow. Met Terry Gilliam last week. I was interviewing him for his forthcoming movie, The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus (Heath Ledger’s last film). Pretty amazing dude, with a singular sartorial sensibility. Somehow we went from his movie into Malthusian agricultural crisis. The publicist said that he talked about it for the rest of the junket, laughing and talking about how he had “failed” to help curb population growth, because he has three kids.

Reviewed Daniel Nester’s book

Spoke to Palin

“The Last Book I Loved” on the Rumpus.

RIP Cap’n Lou

Sad day, yesterday. Wrestling icon and Cyndi Lauper video actor and Super Mario Captain Lou Albano left us bereft of spiritual leadership. We will endeavor to carry on, Captain Lou, and do your will and use rubber bands on our beards.

In happier news, I saw Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are last night, and, although you may have heard things to the contrary, I thought it was pretty excellent, once you get used to James Gandolfini’s voice in a big Muppet. It’s beautiful, really, and seems pretty true to the book. Made me think of times when I had Atari, and played this space game, and just left it on and constructed a pillow space ship and pretended to fly through space, with the screen being my spaceship window, or whatever. Or also the time we recreated the Alamo in my friend’s yard, using bales of hay as fortifications. Before the internet, every day you had to escape into your brain in order to stave off boredom, and it was awesome.

Everyone wish Laser a happy birthday. She’s 28 and awesomer than ever.