Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Four months, something about sun

Upon visitation, you might be thinking to yourself: "Why, this blog looks different than the last time I was here," and the answer to that is you would be correct.  You might have thought: "I don't remember what it looked like last time, but I'm certain it looks the same - in fact, since I did not notice change, I should not be having this thought whatsoever," and I say to that, I'll permit it.  A similar thought might be: "This is my first visit, and its aestethic is pleasing," and I will answer yes, it is, but shame on you for never visiting before.  Or, of course, you might now be thinking: "This opening paragraph is making me want to punch Matt in the face," and I hope this is thought has never crossed your mind before just now.

I grew tired with looking at the same old, and as I usually hope with visual overhauls (always minor and largely insignificant), I hope I get back into posting as much as I once did.  Or at least regain some sort of precedence of quality, because this just isn't.

To describe my day - and this might not actually be relevant to what I'll continue to write about, but bear with me - I would say that I was on a bit of a roller coaster.  Of emotion.  But as much as roller coasters are fun, my day was charged with anger.  I failed a road test this morning, and I'll promise this is a final rant about the topic, at least until you either a) see me in person, b) read an inevitable drunk and irate blog post, or the rarest of the three, c) see me in person while I'm drunk and irate, and I'm sorry to some people in my life because it will happen on Saturday.  I understand that since my last test (and lessons) I've adapted a handful of bad driving habits: maybe I don't always shoulder check, or use my signals, or follow the speed limits, really.  But I knew leading up to my test, I've been catching myself, and I know for a fact how I drove during my test was good.  Not great, but good - I'm alive, the drive tester is alive (and if he's not it was by my hand and my car was not a factor), and I abided by the rules like glue.  And yet, I failed.  I failed because my idiotic minor mistakes piled up - again, I understand the importance of following the rules of the road, and I did, but I'm human, and I was in a pressured situation.  Regardless: oh, no, I didn't check my right mirror on step two of the three point turn!  God, I looked left and right, but not left again!  I couldn't contort my arms so call the priest! my hand came off the wheel on one or two turns!  I went over the speed limit by five kilometers an hour while driving up a hill!  I'm just irritated.  Irritated because I know I'm a good driver, but I know I was put under the heaviest observation and scrutiny possible.  Irritated because I failed, and I'm not used to failure.  (see: most previous post about my unemployment) Extremely frustrated, stressed and panicked because my license is to expire in two months, and the earliest test I could book is in three weeks, so god forbid I fail again - will I have time to book it again?

Enough about that.  I know exactly where the test score sheet is in my house, and it's taunting me, but enough about that.  No, my point of writing was to capture in words a sort of summer syllabus, and I guess thinking about it now my still nonexistent G license will become relevant in the sense that I need to get it this summer.

That's a good starting point, then: I hope to get my G license this summer before my license expires on me and I start all over again.  I can't picture my life without a license, though I'm certain I'd probably still drive around and evade the police.

I need to go to Wonderland.  I never did last summer, and it disappointed me.  Now that there's this new colossus of a roller coaster, I need to be front seat on that thing.

I always say this, but I hope to pick up on my writing again.  In the past few months I've started two entire projects (in addition to the three still handing in the air unfinished) with this bursting sense of excitement to write about that, without fail, fizzled out within days.  It's not that I don't want to write.  It's just that I start these things without any thought of a possible ending, and while I want to force myself to continue on with writing these characters who I think will be interesting or intriguing, I can't bring myself to do it.  It's a conundrum, really: I can't explicitly plan out an entire story, so I write; and yet, I can't write without a plan.  I don't know, I confuse myself.  At least I'm writing now.

God, gift me with new television to watch.  I've recently gone crazy for 30 Rock and Tina Fey, but as I just began the fifth season today - and as I started the entire series probably about a week and a half ago, but I might be kidding myself from the truth of really starting a week ago - I'm going to need more TV to occupy myself.  Breaking Bad has been sitting on my 'to-watch' list for a very long time, as is Six Feet Under.  I suppose in a similar vein, I'm excited for the summer movie season, what with The Avengers next week and that Spider-Man reboot I keep forgetting about and scoffing at even though I'll see it anyways.  Then there's The Dark Knight Rises which will completely end my life, and Snow White and the Huntsman which looks unbelievable, and Prometheus with a very beautiful cast and a very beautiful Fassbender.  (truth is truth, he's my man)

As completely reverse to being serious, I can't wait to be drunk 80% of my time.  That's a stretch, as alcohol does cost money, and I will have to work this summer at that job I didn't really want to return to.  I can already visualize the summer days in backyards with beer and best friends.  (I've been called an alcoholic enough that I might as well play into it.  I'm a fun drunk, and I'd drink with me)

To be serious, then, I want to get healthy.  I can't quite see giving up the goodies, but I know I'm joining a gym with someone who will definitely kick my ass, and I'm excited.

It should be a good summer.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Unemployment's Employee of the Month

If I were to offer you, my reader, a dollar for every time I've started a post off with some sort of "oh golly, it's been a long time since I've posted!" ramblings, you'd probably be rich enough to buy yourself a substantial amount of alcohol that'd get you drunk enough to make bad decisions, throw up into a cup, black out and wake up someplace you don't recognize beside a stranger who's trying to make you breakfast.  Add another shiny dollar to that one night stand fund I've conveniently set up for you: indeed, it has been a very long time since I've officially posted, and if one was to review my most recent postings, you'd find an abundance of pseudo-movie reviews and horrific things written while under the influence of alcohol.  Perhaps my lack of creative drive is due to the fact that, since moving back home from residence and finishing my third year of university (mostly - I only have one exam left, on Monday, so I'll probably open my notes.. hm, Monday morning), I have done absolutely nothing.  My days off from school, my summer officially underway, are wasting away with my computer taking alternating shifts of being open or closed while I watch the first season of 30 Rock (which I haven't entirely warmed up to, but it's very clever) or playing the first Pokemon game I can find in my house without straining myself or watching the very same shows on TV, being Arthur which is on at one - I go shower between 1:30 and 2 - then either Ellen or an hour of Friends to a rerun of Saturday Night Live and then Arthur again and by then I'm just upset with my existence.  I wish I could say I'm out making memories for myself, out living up the final weeks left I have of my unofficial 'youth' before I turn twenty-one in May, but given that my friends are still here and there I just have no reason to leave the house or, honestly, to even shower.  (though I usually do to escape the verbal onslaught from my parents that is, "you look like a hobo") Why, even now, I just ate a full sleeve of Ritz crackers, because I can/

Aside from my vegetative stewing, I've been on a job hunt, and until this evening, my lack of success had been something I kept myself oblivious to.  I still have a job at Longo's - I think - and I say I think only because come this past August I never officially told my boss that I was leaving for the summer (let alone informing them of my possible intentions of returning) and, honestly, I didn't even work in August because I said I'd come back once I was over my bronchitis which never really happened.  Not that it's a bad job whatsoever, but my preference is to not return: there's that slight awkwardness (which would disappear) about returning, there's the fact that the store had a massive renovation and I haven't actually even set foot in it since, and the fact that if I am to return - and this is now a very real reality - I need to relearn every single produce code, all of which have completely poured from my brain.  Like I said, it's not my first choice to return, but I'm not complaining if it means I will be working and will be making money.  (well, part of that is a lie.  I am complaining)

My disappointment in my unsuccessful job search has seemingly hit me full force today.  Since the end of March I've been applying to everywhere in the city, specifically places I knew were hiring - and nothing.  Yesterday, I had an interview with a new video store, though it was extremely informal and was the first of three stages in the hiring process, and had I advanced to the second stage I would've received a phone call today.  I thought it had gone well, though I was fairly disappointed to hear of the high amount of applicants for the low amount of positions, let alone the lengthy and strenuous hiring process I was confused to hear about.  Something didn't exactly sit right with it; it might've been the fact that the store was under construction and I had to walk through people at work drilling who knows what without regard for my presence, but it was probably that my interviewer was notably fidgety as if inattentive.  Didn't help that I was told that I was the last of all of the interviews.  Regardless, when evening came around today, it settled with me that the call wasn't coming in for my advancement, and with that came this serious gravity about my summer job predicament and mainly frustration.

This is probably a very spoiled thing for me to say, but I think my disappointment is entirely due to the fact that I've never not gotten something I wanted - and no, I don't mean that I'm a brat and that I demand a pony from my parents.  What I mean is that anything I've ever attempted before, I've achieved.  Aside from yesterday, I've had one job interview in my life, and I got the job; I applied to be a don for the upcoming school year, and despite the large field of applicants and slim chance of hiring, I was hired; and so, I'm not used to failure.  I suppose knowing that the excess of twenty or thirty job applications and resumes of mine floating around the city to no avail, in combination with this seemingly lucrative opportunity with the interview disappearing as quickly as it appeared, was a feeling new to me, and was a bit much for me to handle.  I know I'm coming off as ungrateful especially since I actually do have a job that I'll begrudgingly be returning to (unless I get some sort of miracle interview and job offering in the next week and a half, fingers crossed and knock on wood), but I guess the feeling of knowing something I've ventured out for brought me nothing - and the knowledge that I'll return to a monotony I was happy to part with - is upsetting to me regardless.  I think this calls for another sleeve of Ritz crackers, or perhaps a beer from the fridge which my dad won't notice is gone.  On the flip side, it's late, I'm poor, and I could use a good few hours of sleep blissfully ignorant to the concept of employment altogether.

And if you can, hire me.  Or influence somebody to.  Please.

Saturday, April 7, 2012

My tear ducts will go on

I first saw Titanic when it first came out in theaters, making me six.  It's odd to say but I was fascinated by the Titanic when I was a kid, though for different reasons than I am now; I made my parents buy me books about the actual boat and its sinking, and though I didn't actually make it past the detailed descriptions, the concept of a ship sinking into the Atlantic was, I suppose, intriguing.  I begged my dad to take me to the theaters, and he did.  I remember little of my theater experience, save for the intermission in the middle of the movie - and if you have the movie on VHS with the two tapes, you'd probably be familiar with the point where the movie splits off ("Well, I believe you may get your headlines, Mr. Ismay") - so I guess 1997 was a time where to sit through a three hour movie uninterrupted was unheard of.  Seeing the spectacle of a ship flooding was exhilarating - my favourite part (for whatever reason) was when the ship splits - and to a six year old kid, the hour and a half beforehand with the entire romance plot was boring.

Here's what happens in the movie
Here's what I saw. My dad covered my eyes
I'd revisit the movie after I owned it on DVD, though again, I hated having to sit through the first half.  (or the first VHS tape, that is) I still watched it for the action of the sinking ship, though I know now that there are better movies to watch for action.  I distinctly remember one time I watched it with my sister, and she laughed at the shot of a frozen dead baby in the water, even though it's one of the more disturbing instances in the movie.  That, and Rose's mother's face.  It wasn't until a few years ago that Titanic became my 'thing' again, although this time, I cried harder than an Italian woman at a funeral.  Ever since I need emotional preparation before I decide to watch, but it's gotten to the point where I've seen it so many times that watching it is merely a countdown to significant scenes, and all the rest is filler.

(the only other movie that's turned into a waiting game for 'big' scenes for me is X-Men: The Last Stand, a movie I saw in theaters.. uh, five times, a movie I knew every time was complete and utter shit, and a movie I now absolutely loathe and will not watch unless I am intoxicated, or in the mood for a laugh; regardless, my point is watching that movie is now a task: oh, opening scene.. twenty minutes until Beast, another twenty until Jean flips out and bitch slaps her house..)

As upfront as I can be: I cry every single time I watch this movie.  Every damn time.  And every single time I cry at the exact same spots - and when I saw the movie last night, I counted, and there's five whole 'pressure points' in the movie that sends me over the edge (and many of them have to do with musical cues.. all of them, actually, which I guess speaks to the testament of a soundtrack's power and presence in a film), and they are:
  •  "I'm flying, Jack" - that's a given.  I get emotional during the entire scene but I only really shed a tear when the music is all depressing and the ship fades into the wreckage.  Damn beautiful shot.
  • Right as the drawing scene comes to a close, the camera zooms into Kate Winslet's eye, and slowly wrinkles appear until the eye becomes that of the old Rose's.  I blame the music.
  • "You're so stupid, Rose!"  Dear god.  From the slow motion flare over Leo's head to when Rose jumps from the lifeboat, I'm a mess.  It's all in the music.
  • The old couple on the bed.  The single most worst scene in movie history.  WHY DID I HAVE TO WITNESS THIS!?  Again, the music: the violin plays over the scene.
  • The ending scene.  As the camera pans over the pictures of Rose on her desk, to the wreckage, then the moment the light floods in and the wreck turns into the untouched boat I am a goddamn mess.  And by mess, I mean that this scene makes me weep every single time.  Then the music amps up and all the people are smiling and clapping and then oh jesus you see Jack at the top of the stairs and I'm just done.
Last night, I had the pleasure of seeing Titanic 3D in a VIP theater.  I'd never been, and it really seems like a whole different world once you climb the stairs up to the 19+ section of the theater.  A bar which gladly served me beer.  Spacious rows and big, comfy leather seats with wide armrests.  In-seat service, which I was too nervous to take heed of.  The experience was really something, though it was essentially ruined by a group of five adults - adults - who didn't bother to whisper or turn off their phones; instead, they had loud conversations in Spanish (that language has been ruined for me, so it just made my blood boil), and until someone said "shut up!" halfway through the movie, they kept on talking and laughing.  Ridiculous, really; I shelled out extra money to experience a movie I care about in a theater without idiot teenagers ruining my experience - and if you're a teenager, then, shut up, because you're the worst and you ruin all movies - and it's rather disrespectful to think that adults who should be as respectful completely disregarded that respect.

Did I cry?  Oh, yes.  By the end I was using every muscle in my body to stop myself from letting out a wail, and I'm not exaggerating when I say I was shaking and almost felt like I was going to throw up because of my effort against outwardly crying.  Regardless, the tears came, at those very five points in the movie as I had listed, but as I said by the end as the light flooded into the ship and the souls of everyone who died started clapping as Rose entered the hall I could hardly even see because my vision was so obscured.  As I said to my two friends - who, I might add, were literally wailing and heaving as the lights came up in the theaters and Celine shrieked through the speakers over the end credits - "I'm keeping my 3D glasses on for a little while."  I don't think I'll ever become desensitized to this movie, even though I've seen it so many times: seeing it on the big screen was enough to make me positively emotionally distraught.  Great movie experience, though.  I can't imagine seeing movies in just regular theaters now - does that make me a snob? - and I can say that I'll gladly spend the extra money if it means I can watch a movie I care to see in comfort.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

My Drunk Blog: Horror

Here I am, sitting on my couch once again at home - now officially moved home, I might add! - thinking about making a blog post about just that very fact when, oh, I find this treasure from last weekend.  I had a feeling there was something off with the number of posts I saw on my blogger dashboard, and lo and behold, this gem of a drunk blog was sitting there untouched.  As I now no longer feel like typing any more (maybe I'll write tomorrow..) I am assuming my duty to post what I penned a week ago while under the influence.  Enjoy as I fear for my life due to the bumps in the night.

Snakes on a Plane!  I don't really like that movie because I'm afraid of snakes.  But I saw it in theaters, and I was the only person in the theater so I thought there were vipers chilling with me, and I actually also own it on DVD cause I'm a fool.  Why have I been drinking?  Well, I went out for dinner with people who were certainly not my family, and therefore, I had three beers and god forbid wasting a buzz so I'm sitting at my computer with an open beer in hand.  I shouldn't even be allowed to drink at restaurants because my meal was something like fifteen dollars and yet my bill was fifty and HOLY, HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT, THERE IS A HUGE FUCKING NOISE UPSTAIRS, WHAT IN THE FUCK, IT'S COMING FROM MY SISTER'S ROOM AND I'M HOME ALONE AND FUCK, FUCK, I'M DEAD.  GOODBYE WORLD.  I LOVED YOU BUT IT'S COOL.  I'M MEANT TO DIE AS A VICTIM ON CRIMINAL MINDS.  THIRTEEN GHOSTS, THE WOMAN IN BLACK, FUCK.

Update, I don't know what the sound was upstairs, I could possibly be a dead man but instead of investigating I just drank another beer.  I'm expecting to see some gnarly ass bitch crawling down the stairs being all yo, hey bitty, I'm killing you now, sorry for the disturbance LOLZ.  That's how I picture it.  Ever since reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban I've been terrified of home invasions, mostly because of the scene where Ron wakes up to Sirius over his bed.  My bedroom is right above the garage, and it'll easy to get into my bedroom so long as you climb onto the garage roof that sticks out, and, well, fuck.  Watching Criminal Minds religiously has not helped at all, and now I picture endless ways in which crazy motherfuckers can break into my house and I love that Firefox recognizes motherfucker as a word from the dictionary.  You go, ghetto ass dictionary.

So there wasn't any Thirteen Ghosts upstairs, but then I realized I can't see them without the glasses and I don't own any.. I'm alive, and with life comes more beer, so hoooooray.  I'm currently watching the MuchMusic countdown, and it makes me realize how little music I actually enjoy is "popular" and that sounds pretentious, certainly, but it's obvious that I'm no Bieleber or fan of OneDirection or whatever the hell that herd of chickens is called.  Sticking to Lana Del Wife, go watch her video for Blue Jeans and you don't need to enjoy it, I don't even care that it takes her four minutes to get into a fucking pool, whatever, keep up the slow motion and alligators.  Lana Del Marry Me.

I'm now watching Saturday Night Live but 1. it's a rerun with Anna Faris which is not a good episode at all except for the skit What's Wrong with Tanya? which is hilarious and 2. since I've drank so much everything seems fast forwarded.  Why, just two minutes ago it was a commercial break, and now there's a commercial break.  Either I'm foolish or advertisers are assholes.  Probably, but I just dealt with my parents while I'm drunk and I got away with it, I'm a sober bastard to them.  One time I got fucking drunk as hell before class but that was before I lived on campus so I commuted home, and somehow I got on a bus, a train, and was picked up by my mom.  While drunk I made my mom make me eggs and I took two bites then ran to the washroom and puked everywhere before I went to bed at 7:30pm.  Shhhs, they don't know I was a drunk that night, but they probably, probably did, but my parents were dumb because they didn't know I've been getting drunk since I was sixteen.  Simple, simple parents.  Shit, I puked in my mouth.  Goodnight.