Saturday, April 01, 2006

'Don't give a damn 'bout my reputation'

Yo no hablo espana, but like to think I understand it anyway. I suppose that sort of explains why I even bother frequenting websites in Spanish attempting to find trivia about Natalie Portman.

--- Two idiots just knocked on my door, I suppose, looking for their friend who lives in unit 5615. They greeted me with blank stares like I'm the one who's lost then proceeded to dare ask if this was said apartment. You'd think the gold plated '5415' on
my door would be clue enough. I quote the splendous, wonderful, effulgent, Karen W. when I say, "I weep for the state of humanity if this the benchmark for all future generations to come". Hee.

Right then. So, Spanish. I'd like to think that my knowledge of the language is still at that 'D+' level it was before, but I have a sinking feeling that it has sunk to a brand-spankin' new 'F-'. I suspect that the only reason I half understand what's going on in the article is because I have only read about, oh just about 6,745 other webpages concerning Ms Portman in my entire lifetime. What can I say? I've been a fan for quite a while now. What's funny (to me, at least) is that I've seen almost every movie she's acted in to date except that movie, the one that first placed her as an upcoming starlet to watch, The Professional. I'll get my hands on the DVD if it's the last thing I do.

Awww. She's so gosh darn pretty.Proof that going to Harvard means jackshit: when you can't appreciate the beauty of Natalie Portman and instead go on about some actress whose last name rhymes with a bird that can't fly who lives in icy conditions (but is gosh darn cute too come to think of it). Too bad the praise doesn't extend to her. My loving tribute to Nick, who's off vacationing where the sun shines and heat sizzles. I'm angsty. Melbourne just got damn cold. And yeah yeah. You'll be having the last laugh when it comes to who's getting a nice, cushy executive position first.

And since we're on the subject of all things pretty, here's a picture of Ashton Holmes who was last seen on movie screens as Viggo Mortenson's kid in A History of Violence.

He's pwetty. Like Seth Cohen kinda pretty, except he's still watchable and not groan-inducing after five consecutive episodes. Technically, that last sentence doesn't make sense. But at least I got to string 'Seth Cohen', 'groan-inducing' and 'five consecutive episodes' together. Plus, Ashton just looks damn fine in that suit. Who cares if he's cheeks are rosier than mine, or if his hair is elegantly styled in that 'messy but rockin'' 'do which somehow translates to 'dirty homeless bag-lady' on me, or if his lips never need to know the icky-ness of lipstick to stay that red? Yeah, I'd go out with him. Ouch. Reality just bit back hard. I'm here, ya bastard.

Has anyone out there got a copy of Magnolia? I promise you instant karma if you loan it to me. Aimee Mann makes a killing on the soundtrack. And if the movie is as promising as the soundtrack, hell, sign me right up. If you know what's good for you, download Aimee Mann's Wise Up and Save Me. With lyrics that read like this,

"If you could save me,
from the ranks of the freaks,

that suspect they could never love anyone..."
Aimee Mann- Save Me

it's not everyday you come across a gem of songwriting like that.

The reason why I haven't scoured Limewire for a copy of the movie is because my current download list looks something like this:

I miss That 70's Show, circa Season One. All six of them were actually there. And the punchlines and gags were just better.

You know, I think yesterday marks the first April Fool's Day in my life where not one single prank was pulled, either me in the position of prankster or fool. It was like it was just some other day. Nobody at work recognized it and I infact completely forgot about it. It's a little sad to think about. I know when I was a kid, April 1st always seemed to hold a little crackle of energy in the air. Between raising your guard and being on constant lookout for the best opportunity to pull a prank, the day was spent in a haze of joyous laughter, sneaky collaborations that only lasted until the next prank, and intense debates defending your intelligence quotient. Now as adults, we instead celebrate random days, like St. Patrick's, which we all know is just a thinly veiled excuse for the average individual to nurture his or her inner alcoholic, while alcoholics everywhere rejoice and drink as they like without having to makeup lame excuses for yet another day spent in a foggy state of insobriety. And life is suppose to make more sense as we age? How so, I retort?

It ain't bad, this growing up thing. Your fears become more complex, as does your thought-processes and love-life. Most days I don't have a problem with it. Just seems like you can live forever in a permanent state of happiness and yet can't help but look back at days long past with a slight twinge and inkling for the simpler times.
Just saying it's all.