Shooter: entertainingly dreadful

They shot my dawg - prepare to die

. . . or dreadfully entertaining I'm not sure which; maybe an equal blend of the two. But I stayed until the bitter end which is relatively unusual for me. Sometimes I feel shortchanged when half the movie is in slo-mo, but I was more than happy staring at Mark Wahlberg's ridiculous musculature. I started laughing shortly before Marky Mark whispers: "I'm not your son," and didn't stop until long after the credits rolled up the screen. "They killed my dawg" - too funny! Awesome! [Review by Writer Girl -Ed]

Because one doesn't get a second chance at the first impression, my first choice of DVD had to be perfect. The question is ... was Shooter the perfect DVD one could present Writer Girl and the Dubai Kid with?

In fairness I was in a difficult position. It was far too early in the "relationship" to take the more challenging titles. David Cronenburg's "Crash", and James Spader's "Secretary" could wait another day for an unveiling, if indeed at all. I wonder what a film about car crash eroticism and S&M would say about me as a person? Far too much at this early stage one muses. The romantic comedies were just as bad, and for exactly the same reasons they stayed at home as well.

Can you go wrong with action movies? I thought to myself, as I headed out to their house. To deny the brilliance of Shooter or Serenity could be in itself a huge faux pas - what if, in a brilliant move, I was actually taking the piss. Could you really rip either to shreds, when in actuality, you'd make yourself look silly in the process; after all Top Gun was actually a succinct exploration of the gay subculture in America in the 80's right? Exactly.

I arrived to find Writer girl making guacamole on the breakfast counter. Making guacamole ! Holy cow - I thought that that stuff came in plastic containers from the supermarket. Suitable impressed, I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't like avocado, but shit, she'll never know - It will be our little secret - right? And as for their sound system - all previous memories of watching movies with subtitles at Brew King's place (so we didn't wake the kids), were well and truly erased in a blast that blew my man breasts out my back.

So what was it going to be ? Serenity or Shooter? Would either choice be the correct move - and in doing so would they finally see the subtle nuances behind my choices. Hold on a minute - were there actually any? SHIT!!!!

I needn't have worried, I really enjoyed the night. Writer girl and the Dubai kid laughed at all the right places, telling me that (a distinct lack of swearing from Writer girl aside) they were indeed kindred spirits. Now all I have to do is work out if they were laughing with me, or at me.

With me - right?

Once more with Feeling

These moments never happen in real life...



But they should....

Wheres my bloody Scythe?

This Monday I could have done without.
If there are two things I loathe, it's arrogance and a distinct lack of fair play.

On an interesting aside, I discovered I do not harbor any latent telekinesis; fortunate indeed for the arrogant prick in one of my Monday meetings ,whose head would have surely exploded half way through his ill informed and spiteful "dribbling on". Especially when he had no right to comment so negatively on something and someone he knew nothing about.


My disgust at this persons inane drivel, may have seeped out into the gaia-field, as other people present at the meeting came up to me afterward, commenting favorably on my restraint.

Restraint is well and good - but my sense of fair play dictates some kind of retribution.
If there is one thing I know about being a Kiwi; it's mostly about lopping the heads off arrogant tall poppies. Well - most of the time it's just tall poppies in general - but in this case I'm happy to get specific.

Degrees of digression

I'd like to think we all have a special talent. Perhaps we'll never be a John Mayer, Edward Norton, or a Marla Olmstead - but does that really matter?
There's no degree of talent to consider, just a measure of enjoyment.

I love music. From an early age I played the piano, but it never stuck. At high school I picked up the bass guitar and never looked back. In the early 80's I took up the guitar; initially I thought I was better than I was, perhaps now I've swung the other way; feelings of regression in the air. Regardless; music is a daily staple.

But as a younger man, music was an obsession. Now in some ways I've leveled out from that death spiral, although some days I'm forced to wonder if I'm on a slippery slope again.... I recently picked up the bass again - in one room of my house I have both bass and acoustic guitars . They always seem watch me when I walk past; calling me, imploring me to come and play.

Recently I spirited my Roland Synthesizer from Dunedin, and I am about to embark on a journey with a piano again. It's going to be a fiendishly difficult journey. I'll never be a Tori Amos, but I will be a me - and that's the most important thing to accept. Being the best you can be, doesn't invite a comparison, and I'm in no hurry to make one.

Haiku Moments

When you find yourself lying in your hotel bed after a week of little to no sleep it's a blessing when you find the bed to your liking. Stranger still, the moment when you discover the pillow is the right size and consistency.
Dread follows when you slip under the cool, clean sheets, turn on to your side, and you start to slip into slumber. Dread because you realise, you could be slipping into a haiku moment. A minute later you realize that you've found the perfect position in a perfect bed with a perfect pillow. Too late - you're in the moment; a perfect sleep beacons. But why dread it?
The sad thing is, in that moment of blissful happiness, you know there will almost certainly be an external force applied to ruin it all. And there it was - a dripping tap in the bathroom.
I lay there, blissfully happy; warm and content, knowing that getting up to stop the damn faucet from its infernal drip would ruin it all. I waited as long as I could before dragging myself away from nirvana - knowing full well that tap had eventually done it's job, and ruined my moment in time. Afterward I went back to bed, slept like the dead - well at least until 4am when I leapt out of bed with a wicked cramp in my left calf. Shit - it hurt; dragged kicking from a deep sleep...

Ain't that just like life 'though?
You have those moments of perfection, and although they're often fleeting, afterward there's almost always some pain to deal with. The secret is to recognize those moments of perfection for what they are. Cherish them. Like friends and lovers you may meet along the way to the here and now; haiku moments of perfection; comfort with pain - all this has happened before, and it will happen again. Life's a circle from the outside, when you take the time to look back in.

The Alternate Cycle

When monks don't think others are watching.

Character is what emerges
from all the little things you were too busy to do yesterday,
but did anyway.
~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

Wouldn't it be boring if everything always went your way?
You want something? - it's yours. Just like that. Unconditionally.
Really - who would want that ? Is that really a life worth living?

Through our ups and downs we learn an important lesson. Not much good in this life comes easily, and the sweetest moments often taste all the more sweeter when you've known some sour.

It's the same here. My thoughts, and experiences, and resulting words wouldn't be nearly as interesting if all my life was a series of Pollyanna moments strung together with candy floss gossamer threads of joy. I make no apologies for what ends up here - the roller coaster goes up and down, but in the long run it's a ride well worth taking.*


*[Ten points to those who pick the not so subtle references to Parenthood, and Vanilla Sky in this post. Writers steal for a living - don't you ever forget it. ]

Soulmates

It's hard enough to find that someone special. People believe I'm fussy - When they invariably confront me, I always ask them if they chose second best when they picked their life partner. The answer is always the same, so why should my quest be any different?
While I'm old enough to admit they we may be compatible with more than one person in this world, I'm looking to be with my soulmate, and therin lieth the problem. I wont go there unless theres a faint chance she likes dark chocolate and red wine, along with the intangible stuff of attraction; something that mere words cannot convey.

...and this week (drum roll), she must thinks this ever so slightly humorous.


My sister in law didn't like it - so I guess it passes the litmus test :)

Office Monks ?

There were three conversations going on in office at the same time. Different voices, different pitches, different timbres, different tempo's. I tried to focus on one, but in trying to, my concentration completely dissolved like an ice cube on a summers day. I found myself, shortly thereafter, staring into space; a moment of complete relaxation.

Office chatter; the chant of the working man, bringing enlightenment?

What is the world coming to? :)