usurpation of authority, right?

this is a story of two rebels. you are very excited right now, i can see.

it's a tuesday evening and the time is brutal, the usual adjectives like rushed and hectic apply, the perfect culmination of a scheme so grand as to challenge the delicate hands within which it is grasped, as they ring life from lifeless circumstances and run on sentences from the tender white of a blank page. or computer screen. unless it's not white. a lot of people have a different background color than white on their computers.

the occassion is a presentation of the independent film, "Waitress", a film by Adrienne Shelly, at the Arclight theatre in hollyweird.

the players were two wonderful humans, referred to as 'he' or 'she', or perhaps, 'him' and 'her', for reasons not expressly evident.

hurry to the theatre, barely on time. but wait! it's a screening held by the notorious AFI and the ubiquitous (not really, i'm just molesting the thesaurus at this point) SAGindie. said parties, in full display of their own personal pomp, ran an extremely tight security check. with little to no effort, him and her brought in two cameras and one knife. without meaning to of course. one camera was attached to a cel phone, the other forgotten in a coat pocket, and the knife, merely a tool for cutting things like wire, or boxes when people around him say "Damn, I really need a knife to open this right now." well you know what? bam! there's a knife right when you need it. maybe someday in the future humans won't need to open things, or separate one thing from another, but until that day, a few prepared humans will hold the gateway to the contents of sealed boxes... well... they waved the metal detector over his pocket and it grew exited passing over the knife. too be fair, the pocket also contained a bunch of keys, but the knife's clip was quite visible outside the pocket. at any rate, he was asked, "Keys?" to which he responded, "Yes." The cameras were mostly forgotten in a purse.

They were there to watch a movie, not change the world, so just calm the fuck down you knee jerk grass eating marxist freaks.

it's a short story really. i was going to drag it out, but honestly i don't feel like it. plus i have to get back to work. and that was really the main point. him and her did ditch the famous actors during the Q&A, leaving right in the middle of the discussion in plain view of all the serious films buffs who would never deign to have the balls to us this many participle phrases to explain how they ditched famous actors in favour of hot apple pie from the apple pan. there is another blog elsewhere in the ether that delves into the fantastic world of celebrity elbow rubbing, but you can't read it. it's private. so solly chollie, no linky for you.

also, my shift key sticks so i decided instead of having a bunch of random capital letters floating about i'd just skip it's use altogether. gotta love a blog that expounds on the usage of the keyboard upon which it is composed... or not...

irony or karma?

So I'm eating salad for lunch. Chinese chicken salad. I have too many bananas. How lucky for me. I'd better eat them soon before they turn brown and shrivel. And I think my apples are going to taste mealy soon. That should be enough fuel for penis jokes, so when you finish patting yourself on the back for having an I.Q. of 68, read the next paragraph.

After dailies, standing at the top of the stairs discussing unrelated importance of something or other, she walks by. Replete with black nail polish and a little left over eyeliner. From a pirate party she says. Excellent. Pirates are second only to robots. And robots are second only to monkeys. And monkeys are second only to bacon. As tasty as it is, monkey bacon just isn't the same as pig bacon. And robot bacon hurts my teeth. And pirate bacon will send you right back to the first paragraph, with the addition of a pole-boy* reference.

So she passes by us, interupting our conversation with her pirate left overs, and walking down the stairs she says how, with all the black, she's feeling like an angsty high school kid today.

I suggested listening to some Depeche Mode.

Like bittersweet justice, or a moment of sad emotional nakedness, I find myself, without realizing it at first, listening to Depeche Mode while eating my salad and writing this blog.

Sigh.




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* pole-boy. Apparently this is a young man, kept aboard a sailing vessel in times of old, who was, while not in 'service', was seated on a pole, as a means of loosening up the exit ramp of his interstate where food is transported from the docks to the local convenience store, so as to facilite the reversal of the flow of traffic. If you catch my meaning. I guess 1800's sea going ships didn't really have a lot of chicks aboard. Too bad for the pole boy. I was unable to locate a substantial reference for this on the internet, and since the internet is the repository of all Truth, I suspect I have been shined on, regardless of the numerous times I've heard the phrase used. If you like the phrase, it is public domain, and fit for use in your personal communications, should you need to drive home your point.