Blogging Like I've Never Blogged Before

Monday, February 28, 2005

Just watched the Oscars and here are some quick thoughts:

-- Renee Zellweger looked and walked like a seahorse.

-- Not enough Beyonce.

-- Robin Williams did a Marlon Brando impression and then a Jack Nicholson impression. I knew this sounded familiar, so I searched my own blog for Robin Williams and found this post from 8/28/03:

Holy crap. Robin Williams is on Regis and Kelly Lee right now and he's doing a Marlon Brando impression. Zing! Take that Brando! Oh man, Robin Williams is great. A Marlon Brando impression! It's about time someone stuck it to him. No one has ever done one of those. What next? Maybe a Jack Nicholson impression? Robin Williams is a genius! And by genius, I mean annoying idiot hack who hasn't been funny in 15 years.

That's all I remember. Oh, and Julia Roberts' boobs. Those were impressive.

That last post I had is gone. Wha happened?

To sum up, got promotion, good Monday, new hours, rest of week rough, fat guy sleeping comfortably on train, chemist playing Twister by himself.

Anyway, I just got my wisdom teeth out about two hours ago. Maybe three. The pain is just starting to kick in. So I just took some Vicodin, and hopefully that will kick in just as fast.

I just walked away and spit some blood. But you don't need to know that.

Getting them out was kind of fun. I've never had the laughing gas before, and you know what? It made me laugh. As it was taking its effects, I started thinking of that Simpsons episode where Lisa gets braces, and at the end of the episode they are all laughing after Lisa says, "And that's the tooth!" Instead of "truth." So they all start laughing, then the dentist says, "Oops, I left the gas on." Then they all laugh again. So I started laughing at that.

Then I felt even higher, and I wanted to start asking the dental assistant dude what his favorite Simpsons episode is. But I couldn't really talk, so I kept quiet. The first thing I noticed was the music playing. The Cure was on. I think it was "Friday I'm in Love." Not the best Cure song, but better than most dentist music. When the dentist was removing my second tooth, George Michael's "Faith" came on. I started laughing on the inside when I heard that. Right after George Michael says, "Because I know not everybody has got a body like you," my dentist said, "Do you think that anywhere else in the city right now there are three guys in a room together listening to Faith?"

So I started laughing again. It was the funniest wisdom tooth extraction ever.

It was so weird to watch the dentist struggle to get the teeth out. I didn't realize how much oomph he had to put in to get these fuckers out. His face and arm movements reminded me of me when I can't get a lugnut off a car tire.

Before the Simpsons thoughts, I got kind of nervous, because the dentist or oral surgeon, whatever he is, he's very young. But I know someone else who got their wisdom teeth out by him, and she had no problems. But then I got nervous thinking something might be his first, you know? Like, afterwards he says to someone, "Well, I've never seen that before."

Later I got really nervous, because as he was about to go to town on my last tooth, I felt way too much. The first three were painless, but I could feel him all up in my shit. So I put my hands up and said "Agghghhg." He shot me up some more, I concentrated on sucking on the laughing gas, then my last tooth was gone. All in about 45 hilarious minutes.

Another song that was on was that song (from Footloose I think) that goes, "Let's hear it for the boy, let's hear it for my man." I was pretending she was serenading me. Then I started laughing again.

I wasn't laughing as I was trying to get drugs. The first pharmacy didn't accept my insurance plan, but didn't tell me that until 45 minutes after I dropped off the prescription. So I went to an Eckerd, and at this point I wasn't able to open my mouth without a pint of blood falling out. So the pharmacist, not looking at me, asks, "What's your address?" I try to motion to her that I need a pen to write it down, because my shit can't talk. But she's not looking.

She finally saw me and apologized. She told me that she would "rush" my prescription. Normally I hate the word "RUSH!" but this time it was music to my ears. And rush she did. I was going to thank her by pointing to my eye, then my heart, then at her, which is the universal sign for "I love you." But she gave my drugs to the cashier and that lady checked me out. She had really hairy arms and no idea that my mouth was filling with blood. I wanted to somehow thank the rush lady, but she wasn't looking at me. I finally got her attention and just waved, sort of a Thanks, I appreciate it. But after I left I realized it made me seem like a retarded guy that couldn't talk and likes waving to people.

When I was walking home from the pharmacy, I had two instances where I realized I was choking on blood. I had to stop and spit. And people watched. It made me feel kind of cool. Like, they might go home and be like, "I totally just saw this dude puking blood on Steinway Street." I like being part of strangers' conversations.

Anyway, I'm home now, the vike is kicking in. I think this will be a weekend of couch sitting, movie watching, ice cream eating, drug taking splendor.

Oh yeah, I'm high right now. Drugs on an empty stomach are awesome! I should probably stop typing. This could go on forever.

This is fun. I'm so happy right now.

Kids, don't do drugs. Unless you have your wisdom teeth taken out or kidney stones. Then drugs are awesome. And concerts. They are good there too.

Tonight I am drinking wine and eating cheese doodles. I figure since people eat wine and cheese, wine and cheese doodles should be acceptable. They actually go quite good together. It's just the word "doodles" that makes it seem a little trashy.

This past weekend I was in Afton, NY at the sometimes home of Bill. It was ton of fun. You know when you have one of those weekends where you laugh more than you can ever remember laughing before? That was this weekend. Most of the laughter was thanks to lots of stories about pooping. That seemed to be a theme. I will have to soon tell you my own personal poop story that involves Disney World. It's a fun story.

Anyway, we went skiing with a bunch of folk, and I'd tell you stories, but I think most of it is "you had to be there" type things. My favorite line of the weekend was "I like me some clown dick." No idea how that line came to be uttered, but it was uttered by someone and it was hilarious.

Tomorrow (Monday) is my official five year anniversary at my job. Holy crap. That's a long time.

I should go to bed. I want to be well rested for my five year anniversary. Maybe I'll take my job out to dinner and then give it a little oral. It is our anniversary after all.

Hello ladies.

I would first like to thank everyone for the very helpful tips on how to fix my wrist. I have to say that Big Stupid Tommy's idea was the best, though.

In my family, we have a saying: No Wrists, No Cysts.

I say, find a doctor who will amputate the forearms, and attach the hands to the elbows. If you can't find a doctor, any Japanese person will be able to do it for you with their samurai sword.

I grant you, it makes the little things awkward...eating, playing the cymbals, wiping your butt.

But everybody's impressed with your tyrannosaur impression.


Great suggestion.

Anyway, I've been flossing a lot lately. Flossing makes me feel good. It's very difficult to get into flossing, but once you do, it's like, "Hey, if I can keep up this flossing bullshit, I can do anything!"

I've always had a feeling, though, that once I started flossing, something awful would happen to me. Like my doctor would tell me I have cancer, and my first thought would be, "Damn. And I just started flossing."

If you are someone that dies young, and you know you're about to die, you might look back at all that shit and wonder, Why did I floss so much? I could have been doing so much more, non-plaque related.

But I'm glad I'm flossing. I hope when I look back on this life, I regret the sleeping too much, and not the feeling of cleaner teeth.

If there's one thing I should be doing right now, it's sleeping. I'm tired. As usual. I've not been sleeping well, due to some anxiety, but tonight it is mostly due to Mexican food. Not all Mexican food, just the Mexican food I had tonight. Technically, it's Tex-Mex, so I suppose the Texans have to take some of the responsibility here as well. Can't totally blame the Mexicans for this one.

I have a Ganglion cyst on my wrist. Is there an uglier word than Ganglion? It's disgusting. Anyway, I went to this doctor who I was referred to so he could take a look at it. He was this old Polish guy. Plus, he was useless. He said that the cyst was too small to do anything about. I said, "Well, it hurts." He kind of shrugged and said there's not much he can do. I said, "I shouldn't have to put up with pain like this, right? Normally, from what I understand, these aren't supposed to hurt, and if they do hurt, they need to be treated." Again, he shrugged. He asked me what kind of pain I was having. I said, "Well, I can't even do a push-up. It hurts to put pressure on my wrist." He then said, "Well, don't do push-ups."

Thanks for that advice, dick. Can I have my fucking co-pay back? I should have just gone to my dad.

"Let me smash it with a book."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"It's how they did it in the old days. Everything got smashed with a book."

"I'm pretty sure that's not the best way to fix it."

"Yes it is. How do you think you were born? I smashed your mother with a book. Now hand me that dictionary. Unabridged, motherfucker."

Maybe I should just go to my mother for a second opinion, but I'm sure she'll give me her usual, "Son, stop being such a pussy."

So if anyone out there has some medical advice for me, I'd appreciate it.


Me: See you later.

Co-Worker: Later. Doing anything tonight?

Me: Probably just go home and get wasted. Well, no, not really. I think I'm going to go home and go right to bed.

Co-Worker: Wish I was right there with you man.

Me: I'm uncomfortable.

Co-Worker: Gah, well, not with y-. You know what I meant.

Me: Not really.

Co-Worker: I tried to stop mid-sentence, but it just came out.

Me: No, I know. It is Valentine's Day and all.

Co-Worker: Go home.

Me: Gone.

I like reading reviews of movies after I see them. I think I've talked about this before. Critics often give away too much. Anyway, I also like reading user reviews on things like Netflix and Amazon. I just watched Ray last night, and here is my favorite review so far:

Damn, I'd love to get my hands on Jamie Foxx. He is so fine and cute. In the movie "Ray," you can see one of his nipples when he's in bed with his wife. I really hope he gets the Oscar, because if he don't, there's gonna be some MAJOR problems, okay? You go, Jamie!

Spoiler alert!

It is true. You do see one of Jamie Foxx's nipples. Just one, though. What a gyp. He's got dark nipples. Well, at least one dark nipple. Can't vouch for the other one. I heard that Ray Charles had really dark nipples, and Jamie Foxx wanted his performance to be so accurate, he made his nipples darker for the film. What an amazing performance!

Truth be told, I wasn't nuts about this movie. Sure Jamie Foxx is pretty good, but the movie itself is kind of lame. It's a movie about a heroin addict. I've seen enough of those. I was very impressed by the performance of Booger from Revenge of the Nerds. For real. He was really good.

Now, Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. That's a fine film. Neil Patrick Harris definitely should have been nominated. Just to see and hear Doogie Howser say, "I'm totally tripping balls." Worth the price of admission.

Hey Mama Celeste. I know it's really lame of me to be eating frozen pizza for dinner all alone, but you gotta rub it in like this?

The Pizza for One title is enough, but I really don't think you had add to the directions, "When finished, masturbate and fall asleep." Pa dump dum. Wait, is that how it goes? You know the drum thing when someone makes a joke. The rim shot. That was my attempt at a rim shot worthy joke.

Tonight on my way home from work I stopped and got some sushi to go. As I was walking home, I nearly got hit by a car. I had the right of way and he was apparently not aware of my rights. Anyway, I thought it would have been sad (like when I almost got hit by a car last January), but if I did get hit and killed, I hope that the worst investigator ever would be the one to file the report.

He'd be looking down at the scene, notice the pieces of sushi scattered about. Then, very slowly and dramatically he'd look up and say to the onlookers, "My God. This man was half-fish."

In case you were wondering, Cathy got married last weekend. Here is a little bit from the ceremony.

I once made a promise to myself that I would never marry someone who didn't know where they were when the Challenger exploded, because I felt they'd be too young, you know? I think I might put that silly rule aside and commit to never marrying someone who consistently says "AACK!" I will gladly take some young thing who asks me "What's a Challenger?" over something like Cathy any day.

Now, I'm not much of a reader of comics. I don't really know Cathy's history. I know she's had some weight problems and it took her a while to find a man. And she says "AACK" a lot and her eyeballs are close together. That's all I really know. Knowing that, I also know that this wedding of hers is probably the biggest thing to ever happen to the comic strip. And all Cathy Guisewite could come up with was this piece of garbage of a comic strip? I would think that there would be something fairly emotional, like Cathy being all, "Even though I'm a tubby ol' cunt*, I've still got myself one hell of a man." Not something idiotic like a couple of pets fighting over a bouquet. I was going to say "dog and a cat" rather than "a couple of pets" but I can't really tell what the hell those things are supposed to be. The thing on the left looks like a chocolate chip muffin.

* I would like to credit Lisa for the phrase "tubby ol' cunt". That was how she referred to Cathy in an email she sent me after my first Cathy post and it made me laugh like a goon. I don't even think it's the word 'cunt' that makes it all that funny. Tubby. That's a great word. I've used the C word twice in the last two days on the blog, and I've never used the word prior to that. It's a tricky word.

If you have nothing to do and you like saying to yourself, "How on earth are things like this popular?" then you can go and follow the entire agonizing Cathy wedding (or should I say AACKonizing? Get it? Brilliant. Go ahead Cathy Guisewite, you can steal that. I'll let you have it.) right here.

I understand that it must be difficult to write a shitty comic every week. You are under pressure to make something amusing in one little box six times a week, and one big funny box once a week. But Cathy, this was your Super Bowl halftime show. Show a tit. Get people talking.

Is everyone familiar with the phrase Tune In Tokyo? I had to explain it to someone recently and I didn't really know the origination of it, so I did a Google search and found the lyrics to what might be the greatest song ever penned. And here they are:

Tune in Tokyo!
Tune in Tokyo!!
Are your nipples sore?
Are your nipples sore??
Are they sore?!?!

Those lyrics are credited to "Evil" Kevin La Bounty. I would really like to hear that song. He also wrote a song called "Cuntamination." Here is a sampling:

Uh-nate my brain!

I'm guessing Evil Kevin won't be invited to perform at Super Bowl XL's halftime show, but I already love his band. Haven't heard a note, but this is some good stuff.

Holy shit, read these lyrics to "The Grocery Store Song."

I went to Luckys one day to get a...
Box of Animal Crackers, but when I got there...
I found that they were all out.
I said, "HEY! Store Manager...You got some more...
Somewhere in the back that you're not telling me about?"...
But she kicked me out the door...Fucking! Skanky! Whore!

Apparently Evil Kevin was part of a band called Boy Kicks Girl. Kind of violent. He seems to have issues with women. First he's tweaking their nipples, making sure they are sore, then he uses the C word, and then he calls the super market manager a whore just because they are out of what seems to be a very popular product. Geez, Kevin, it's probably not her fault that they are out of Animal Crackers. And even if she is a whore, the skanky kind, I doubt that fact has anything to do with the availability of Animal Crackers. Well, now that I re-read the lyrics, he says that he asks her if they have crackers somewhere in the back, and she kicks him out the door. That seems unnecessary. If that really happened, then I could understand his reaction.

Anyway, this whole thing got started with Tune In Tokyo. Does anyone know where that came from? What's the story? Hey, and now that I have comments, you can just give me your answer right there. How about that? These things are convenient, I suppose.

What I find weird about the comments is when people ask me questions. I don't really like commenting on my own blog. So maybe I'll just answer you here.

First, someone asked me why the comments are centered. Um, I don't know. That's how they started and I really don't give much of a damn to fix them. But if you need a reason, let's just say I like things in the middle. Left-justified text is for assholes.

Second... I thought there were more questions. Oh. Someone asked me if I saw SNL this weekend. And, um, no. I didn't. I kind of wanted to, but I actually had somewhat of a life this weekend and I was out.

Anyway, like I was saying, Tune In Tokyo? What's the deal? I also recently noticed the acronym it creates.

Oh, last thing... I've got more Gmail invites than I know what to do with, so if anyone wants one, comment me. Although I feel everyone has Gmail at this point, so what's the point? Exactly. That's my point.

OK, so Tune In Tokyo. Go!

So the Superest of all Bowls was last night, and being that I don't blog from work anymore, I am late to the party. I'm sure you've all read witty and amusing recaps from last eve's game. So now I'll bore you with mine.

First I'll start at the end. I thought at the end of the game, we would witness the first Super Bowl death ever, when Bill Belichick's kindly old father gave his son a heartfelt hug. Why would an old man die from a hug? Oh no, silly reader, it wasn't the hug that would have killed him. It would have been the 20 gallons of ice cold water that was suddenly dumped on him.

There are some things that are never really taught to you, but you just know those things. How to breathe, for example. It's natural. It isn't taught. You just know how to do it. Something else I never learned, but I know I should never do, is dump freezing water on to an old man. Unless he's on fire. Then by all means, dump away.

Isn't it time to retire this tradition? It's not that fun to watch anymore. They need something new. Maybe they can break a chair over his back. I think that might be more pleasant.

This headline is just plain silly: McCartney Plays It Safe at Super Bowl. Yeah, he's Paul McCartney. He hasn't been controversial since nineteen sixty something. It's such a non-story. Was anyone expecting something shocking from Sir Paul?

"This next song, I wrote specifically for the Super Bowl. It's called 'I Think Jesus Would Have Been in Favor of Gay Marriage Because He was Kind of a Queer.' Also, for this song, I will be playing the piano with my testicles so my hands can be free while I smoke some heroin. Thank you, I hope you like it. Oops, just give me one second to get my testicles out. They're kind of big. OK. Two three four!"

I guess that's all I've got for you. Everyone else has already talked about the commercials and the mind-boggling slowness of the Eagles on their second to last possession. But just for the record, here:

Best Commercial: The one with guy and the cat.

Worst Commercial: The rest of them.

So my first day with the mustache was awfully successful. It's kind of weird to go into work with a new look, especially when it's kind of ridiculous. People don't always notice it right off the bat, so they just stare at you with a "something's different" kind of look. I find that it's best to just point it out right away. I had to go ask two people something, and I went to where they were sitting and I said, "Hey, um." They looked up and I said, "Hi, uh, I have a mustache. Do you guys know where..."

When I was going to work, I caught a glimpse of myself in a reflection on the subway and I just started laughing. It's a very entertaining mustache. Also, when I was going to work, I was incredibly tired because I stayed up very late shaving. So I wasn't my sharpest. I was walking to the PATH train turnstiles, where you have to insert your fare card. I had neglected to even take my fare card out of my wallet, so I was just walking full speed to the turnstile, and I just slammed into it as I tried to walk through it. I started laughing because it probably looked very funny to other people, then I laughed harder when I remembered I had this mustache, so it was even funnier. It's one thing to walk into a turnstile, it's another to walk into a turnstile with a cowboy mustache.

So last night I was kind of drunk. Or very drunk, whatever you want to call it. I blame it on the mustache. I noticed this morning that I had some sort of crusty red substance on the leg of my jeans. I can't tell if it is candle wax, tomato sauce that fell off some pizza, or dried blood. And I really can't rule any of them out.

Well, after about a month of growth, tonight is the night I shave my beard. The mustache contest that I wanted to get going at work didn't come to fruition. So far there was only one entry from Dave, who didn't even wear it to work, so I'm pretty sure he's disqualified. You can see his mustache at the bottom of this post. Not bad. Kinda queer. Like Bill said, there is something very "assless chaps" about it.

The last time I had a mustache was on September 11, 2002. Well, it was the tenth when I shaved it, but it wasn't really introduced to the public until the eleventh. My roommate Mandy was contemplating a haircut, and she had loads of hair down to her bottom. She was hesitant, and I told her, "If you get your hair cut, I'll shave my beard." So she did, and I lived up to my promise. But before I completely shaved it, I played around a bit and eventually got to a stache that I thought was pretty sweet. I hadn't planned on keeping it, but Mandy assured me it was awesome. She was right.

So I showed up to work with this thing on September 11, 2002. You might recall that everyone was a little apprehensive on that day. A lot of people took the day off, and many that were working were kind of nervous in good old midtown Manhattan.

So I walked in to a group of people who weren't really sure how to act. Some were somber, a little quieter than normal. My boss looked at me, did a double take, then just started laughing. So more people looked at me and laughed. People made it a point to seek me out and check out the stache. I was told I looked like a porn star, a truck driver, a horse owner, and some other stuff. But the bottom line is that I kind of made everyone laugh on a day when people weren't sure they should be laughing about much.

I like to think I helped the city heal. I am an American hero.

Well, tomorrow at work isn't a holiday or anniversary of any kind, but it is casual Friday, so why not make it Awesome Mustache Friday? I think I shall. And the best part is that Dave will have to wear a suit because he's attempting to sell out, while I'll be wearing a mustache and dungarees.

So here I am now.

That look on my face is an impression of my friends Rich and Rick when they see me with facial hair. They like the clean cut look. They are gay. Oh, and I don't normally wear a hat when I'm about to shave, but my hair looks pretty bad right now.

I'm so vain, I probably think this blog is about me.

So I am going to go and do some shaving. I'll be back in a little bit, but you won't have to worry about the time lapse, because it will be seamless for you, dear reader. Oh, and by the way, there is no need to point out what a loser I am for doing this.

Before I begin, I just noticed this in my bathroom trash can. I call this photo "Q-Tip in a Beer Can." I'd like to thank Doug for that bit of found art. I like how in the background there is a mailer for Men's Health. No thanks, Men's Health. Doug and I will stick to our Q-Tip and Bud Light lifestyle, thank you very much.

OK. Off to shaving.

OK. I'm back. Here was the first bit of shaving. Just a little separation between the sideburns and the neck, so the neck scraggle is nice and distinguished. Yes, scraggle.

So I then got rid of much of the scraggle, and went with the neck mustache.

I kind of like the neck mustache. It probably doesn't get the respect and use that it should. Look how smart I look when I stroke my neck mustache. Pretend you just asked me a question, then look at how smart I am before I reply. OK, let's pretend you just asked me if I know how to get to Coney Island.

Hmmm? Coney Island you say? Ah yes, I know it well. Let me regale you with a tale of the Island they call Coney! Please, sit down, listen to me and gaze upon my neck mustache.

OK, more shaving to do. This is the most fun I've had in months.

Actually, the more that I look at this, the more I like it. I kind of don't want to shave it. If I shave any more, I'll basically look like I did back in '02. Nothing new there. This neck mustache is all uneven and shit. I dig it.

OK. I just changed it up a bit. I got rid of the chin hair. So now I'm not really sure what it is. But I think that if the mustache contest was tomorrow, I'd win.

I bet Chester A. Arthur won a shitload of mustache contests. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's how he became president. I strive to be like, President Arthur. Some day I will. Not all the presidential bullshit, but I'll have a pretty sweet facial display like he had.

Oh wait! Before I go, I wanted to do my best Assless Chaps Dave impression. I think I pretty much nailed it. Word? I even got the shower curtain.

As you can see, I have put the comments section back on. Not sure why. I think I'm bored again with blogging so I need something new. I'll probably get rid of them again in a week. And someone who I think was a little too drunk playing with her computer recently wrote to me, "Fuck off! What the fuck are you afraid man?"

Bring it.

(If anyone comments, "Oh it's already been broughten!", you will be banned forever. Thank you.)

In honor of tonight's State of the Union address, or as some like to call it, SOTU, I shall present you with a drinking game.


Every time the president says "freedom" take a drink.

Every time the president says "liberty" take a drink.

When there is a standing ovation, you must drink non-stop until the ovation is over.

After about the first five standing ovations, you will probably have severe alcohol poisoning. Be sure to be have phoned 911 ahead of time, so they can be there to save your life.

As an alternative to this drinking game, mute the television, blast George Michael's "Freedom" on a continuous loop, drink your face off and pretend it's 1996.

PLEASE NOTE: Mike Toole assumes no responsibility for any alcohol related illnesses or deaths.

I went to Virgin MEGASTORE!!!! this evening because I wanted to buy the Life Aquatic soundtrack. Not a very good movie, but a fine soundtrack from Wes Anderson, as usual. Turns out, I was in the MEGASTORE!!!! when I was a little bit drunk. In ten minutes, I bought the following:

-- The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou soundtrack. I listened to most of it on the subway. Great. The Seu Jorge songs are beautiful; the best part of the film. I thought he was singing in French, which I later learned was Portuguese, but hey, I'm no smart guy or nothing. And it's like what Red said in the Shawshank Redemption... (I shall paraphrase) "I don't know what those Italian ladies were singing about, but I didn't care." That's what I felt about Jorge's songs. I mean, I knew the songs, but he sang them with such a newfound passion that it didn't matter what he was saying. I know the Bowie songs and what he is saying, but the sound of it was ... I don't know. It was good, get off my back.

-- The Killers - Hot Fuss. This was an impulse buy. I heard a few songs, like the somebody told me that you had a boyfriend song and something else that Yahoo Launch played for me, and it sounded pretty good. I'm listening to it right now and it's not bad, but I don't see myself listening to it all that often. Reminds me of a lot of other bands.

-- Airplane. Not much in the way of bonus features, which usually decides whether or not I buy a DVD, but this one is a movie everyone must own. And it was only ten dollars. The mom from Leave it to Beaver saying, "Excuse me, stewardess? I speak jive." That was worth my ten bucks right there.

And then I bought a Pixies album that I lost and needed to find. I did not find it, so it's a re-buy.

So what I'm saying is that drunk shopping is a little bit fun. I might regret the Killers album, but that's all. The song that's on right now is pretty good. Maybe I won't regret it. I'm sure I'll burn a song or two onto some mix CDs for someone.

There is no point to this post.

So you might say, "Hey Mike, Life Aquatic was a good movie, so why didn't you like it?"

I don't know for sure, but I just didn't like a lot of it. I think I'm over Wes Anderson's meticulous shots. I loved the boat set, but the characters were lacking. I found Cate Blanchett's character annoying (and I love that woman). What was the deal with her and the bubble gum popping? That was such a cheap Jerry Bruckheimer move. One of those lame character "traits".

"OK, so you're a tough guy and you are always chewing on a toothpick, right? And you Cate, well your character, she's kind of independent, and sassy, so we are going to convey that through you popping bubbles with your gum."


Now, for great Bill Murray movies, tomorrow is Groundhog Day. "I'm a god. I'm not the God. I don't think." Any movie that can make Andie McDowell somewhat tolerable is a fine movie. "I like to say a prayer and drink to world peace."

So happy Groundhog Day and happy State of the Union night. Perhaps the president will see his shadow.
All material © Mike Toole; 2003 - 2006