Seriously

Recently, I found myself on Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade with some time to kill. After a little browsing, I found myself doing what most people in their lives have done at one point or another: I moseyed into the Brookstone to use one of their massage chairs for way too long.

Let me back up a second. I think the free Brookstone massage is one of the greatest things the modern mall has to offer, and I love forgetting about my cares and letting myself drift away while the hyperactive ten-year-old directly behind me plays with a mechanical dragon that dances to iPod music. Brookstone itself is the greatest, because not one item that it sells is something you need. If you purchase something from Brookstone, congratulations - you've briefly become a wasteful rich person!

Anyway, as I sat there, enjoying the benefits of a luxury item I had no intention of buying, in walks the lost member of Color Me Badd, he euro hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a blazer and round sunglasses with the ever-cool blue tint. He's listing to music via his wrap-around-behind-the-head earphones. He slips into the chair next to mine after removing his suede moccasins. He smells. He hums along to his music. He is a burden.

And I realize: this is where he goes for his regular massage.

Suddenly, I hate myself for sitting in the chair in the first place. I do NOT want to be that guy.

Quick update

I'm finally getting a haircut this morning - my first since before I was married 4 months ago. Jealous yet?

Me neither.

Morning has broken...

...literally. I don't sleep well anymore. The length of the sleep and the place where it takes place are of zero consequence. I truly can't remember the last time I went to bed at a reasonable hour, woke up the next morning and felt refreshed. I'm beginning to think I'm some sort of freak who leaks rest like a sieve. I wish I could remember when it happened so I could do something about it, and here's the kicker: if I nap in the middle of the day, it gets worse.

I don't know how my wife does it - she gets by on minimal sleep while essentially juggling 3 careers and can still walk and from complete sentences on her days off. She's the little engine that could, while I move in a zombie like state from obligation to obligation, mustering energy in bursts, just enough to get me through and do the best job I can. I would prefer to have energy during the day.

Now that I consider it more, there are likely two chief culprits:

1. My diet is shitty, and in now way engineered to fuel my body. It really isn't engineered
at all.

2. I lack regular physical activity. There was a time where I was semi-regularly playing racquetball, basketball, and other sports. That felt good. I need to do more of that.

Is anybody else out there experiencing the same thing?

In Memoriam

So I'm taking some time away from writing that I should be doing because while scanning cnn.com, I read that their longtime film critic Paul Clinton has passed away. Now, since I put as much stock into film reviewers as I do in the chances that I will spontaneously gain the ability to fly, I figured I would judge the man by his words, to ask the most important question of all about his no doubt impressive body of work:

Does he agree with me?

Here's what he has said about some films I've seen, with my comments beneath:

-North Country
"Around this time of year -- like a visit from the flu bug -- Hollywood is bitten by a severe case of B.O.B, 'Blatant Oscar Bid.' 'North Country' is one of this year's first full-blown cases."

Right on, Paul. With every shot screaming of potential rape and filmed like a lifetime movie, North Country deserved little more than whatever meager box office numbers it managed to achieve.

-50 First Dates
"Remember the comedy 'Groundhog Day,' in which Bill Murray is forced to relive the same day time and time again? Well, '50 First Dates' has the exact same premise with one big difference: It's not funny."

Zing, you snappy bitch. I love it.

-One Hour Photo
"Robin Williams, it has been reported, decided to change his career strategy in the aftermath of being critically accused of playing the same warm-and-fuzzy characters time and again in such sappy films as 'Patch Adams' (1998) and 'Jack' (1996). It got to the point where insulin shots should have been sold along with the tickets to his films."

To be honest, I didn't see this one - I just like the fact that he dumped on Robin Williams a little bit.

So in the end, what does all of this mean. Have I lost a kindred spirit? Are all the people with my taste in movies slowly being killed off by fate, or natural causes? I don't know for sure, but I do know this: Anyone who called "Freddy Got Fingered" quite simply the worst film ever released by a major studio in Hollywood history is OK by me. You'll be missed, Paul.

In the way of violating the law.

I read a story today on cnn.com about a Colombian heroin ring that hid their drugs from authorities by sewing them into the stomachs of puppies. Now let me preface this blog by saying that I am firmly a dog person. We always had at least one dog around when I was growing up, and I wish my apartment allowed dogs so I could have one of my own. I'm also not much of a drug person. Keeping that in mind, I have to give to those drug lords. I mean, puppies? Brilliant! First of all, the average Joe Customs Officer doesn't want to be seen as an asshole for doing a cavity search on a 10-month-old Beagle, even if said dog is being carried in its tote by a 6'5" Venezualan with a dragon tattoo winding around his left arm. Also, say you have your drug sniffing dogs on the job, patrolling the terminal. Would you be suspicious when your dog begins sniffing the ass and crotch area of a year old King Charles Spaniel? Of course not! That's what dogs do! It's pracitcally a handshake for them.

Now that these Colombians have been busted, they've ruined that method for all the other South American drug cartels. So where does a power/money hungry drug lord hide his merchandise now? Here are some thoughts:

- A snake: Snakes are creepy. Nobody likes touching/holding them except for drug addicts and other dealers. Plus, you can say the bulge in its abdomen is just an undigested mouse.

- A boom box: Sure, the police are going to try to search you if you look suspicious. But will they be able to finish the search when the jam box reeking of hashish starts playing "Shadows of the Night?" I doubt it.

- Another person: That way, when they get caught, you don't. Probably shouldn't be somebody who can identify you in a court hearing.

So let that be a lesson to the trailer park meth cookers, closet-blacklight pot farmers and backwoods moonshine makers: with a little ingenuity, you can hide your goods in a way that is both inventive and effective.

And then get caught. But at least you'll be read about on cnn.com. Maybe you'll even be the top story.