rock over London. rock on, Chicago.

HOLY FUCK pt 1
HOLY FUCK pt 2

I would seriously warn against clicking on either of these links, unless you can handle the most awesome twenty minutes ever captured on camera.

I was up until 6 am watching some shitty “Alien” rip-off called “Creature.” the only thing it improved on was managing to get about thirty seconds of boob in. other than that, I’d suggest watching static.

column about Moussaoui. not half bad. I can see a few sentences I’d change, but overall, I’m alright with it.

it’s 2:15 in the a.m., and I’m at the library.
no. I planned on coming here. no shit.
I think I broke up with Alisha. ended whatever it was. it was something. couldn’t put my finger on it. liked it. but she’s somewhere else. so it was mutual; this is what she wants, and I’m not going to keep asking her. no point.
so this is better. sucks. but it’ll be better in a few.
didn’t flip out. heavy heart right now, and I actually noticed that I was breathing hard, taking deep breaths coming into the library – and it wasn’t because of the fucking steps, I’m not that out of shape – but because I was upset.
but I think I’m calming down. it’s not like I didn’t know this was coming.
fuck it. I’ll take it standing up.
I’m reading back over what I’ve just written, and I noticed that I wrote “I think,” to begin with. that was the problem there, for me, at least. I never had any fucking idea what was going on.

I’m here, the idea is, to do my math homework. which, realistically, I won’t start for another 40 minutes. until then, I’ll fuck around on Wikipedia and stare at the other people in this computer lab.
but no, I have purpose now. I have a story. check this out.
I’m delivering tonight for the motherfucking D A G (so throw your motherfucking hands up and follow me), and I’m up at Northlane apts – which is basically a filing cabinet for young moderate republicans from the Indianapolis suburbs that come down to Bloomington to get drunk and go to basketball games for four years. but I digress. I pull into one of the parking lots looking for the right door, and there’s a Pizza Express car in front of me.
I look around for the driver, and sure enough, she’s at the very door I’m going to; leave it to frat pledges to order from two different delivery places in one night.
so I park behind the her car, and start walking to the door. it’s dark, and they’re not really looking for me, so no one sees me, and when I’m about thirty feet from the door I hear one of the guys say, “we ordered Dagwood’s at the same time. we were betting whether or not you’d get here at the same time.”
the Pizza Express girl says, “oh, we’re much faster than they are.”

…
… the fuck?
…
…
now, it’s not often you get a chance to really zing someone. they made a “Seinfeld” episode out of the phenomenon that keeps all of us, the human race, one step behind in the zinger department; you only think of something smart to say to the shit-talking jackass until after the time has come. it’s always on the way home, that you think to yourself, “god damn, I should have said this or that.”
but not tonight.
I come right up behind her as she’s saying it, and as soon as she finishes, by divine influence, I’m about a foot off her right shoulder. and I say, “yeah. we’re real slow.”
she jumps a little bit, and the guys in the apartment say something like, “fuck yeah, dude, Dagwood’s is here!” I don’t even look at her. just say to the guy, “sign here,” and hand him the credit card slip. I then bust on up out. she doesn’t say anything.

I gotta do this homework.

zing, bitch.

wrote a column and a review today. it isn’t often that my column beats my review. but “phat girlz” left me no choice. it sucked. hard.

so I’m sending a resume and a current photo to a guy who runs an conversational-English school in Japan. holy fuck. I have to shave. give Spencer a dollar for getting the ball rolling.

and, good god awmighty, I’ve watched a lot of movies in the last couple of days. yeah, “phat girlz,” but also “the killing fields” and “saturn 3.”

tonite’s feature:
“saturn 3″

Fu Manchu has song named after this on “the action is go,” and it’s really good.
the movie is cool, only if it’s cause a naked Kirk Douglas chokes out Harvey Keitel over Farah Fawcett’s vapid ass. so bizarre.
I didn’t know what was going on most of the time, but this is what I discerned: spaceman Harvey Keitel (playing a guy who moves with a stick up his ass) is fucking insane, and he kills a guy due to go to the ass-end of nowhere: a base on a moon of Saturn. Keitel takes his place, and arrives at a space farm that produces food for an overpopulated and heavily-polluted Earth that is manned by only Douglas and Fawcett. at least, I think they produce a food supply; mostly they just hang out and fuck a lot.
which is a distrubing image. I hate aging sex symbols like Douglas (read: Charlton Heston), and Fawcett has always been nothing more than an irritating waif with a nice rack. since there’s basically only three actors in the entire movie, you get a lot of them, and some unneccesary nudity.
so anyway, Keitel starts building an android that learns by plugging directly into Harvey’s brain, directly below his ponytail. since he’s insane (and wants to get up on Fawcett) the super-strong robot takes on his undesirable characteristics, and mayhem ensues.
I turned it off around here; figured I’d gotten the gist. check it out, if you’re stuck in a cave with nothing better to do, ever.

“the killing fields,” I won’t denegrate by reviewing here. it’s a very powerful movie, it’ll make you a little upset, and it’s just as good and predates other war horror stories like “Schindler’s List” by about a decade.
it’s not to be compared. but you should see it, cause I bet it’s about shit you’ve never thought about. and America had a lot to do with it.

right now, I’m really hungry; but I don’t want to spend the money. instead, I’ll wait til I work at Dagwood’s in three hours, and then gorge on a massive sandwich. what a diet. no wonder I look like shit.

to begin, I gotta get sweatpants that say “juicy” on the ass. call me old-fashioned.

rented five movies last night.
they are:
“the Black Robe”
“Dark City”
“Gallipoli”
“Saturn 3″
“the Killing Fields”

already watched two. “Dark City” is “the Matrix” in 1997. I know I’m not the only one to have recognized this, but in all that I’ve ever read about that movie, you never fucking hear about “dark city.” which is wrong, cause you should; this one has Kiefer Sutherland.

“Gallipoli” is an odd war film. I was half-asleep when I watched it, so I don’t think my review will do it justice. if anything, it makes me not want to join the military. I’ll leave it at that, maybe I’ll watch it again. I have it for a week. god bless the public library.

CHECK THIS OUT.
dad’s wife’s brother has a dry sense of humor.

somebody tell me: when did immigration reform become so … imminent? why is this so pressing?
it’s because I don’t live in a border state, isn’t it?
that’s got to be it.
this is just another national issue that swelled up without my realization. I can’t remember when the government decided to kick the fuck out of Iraq. I can’t remember, exactly, when conservatives freaked out over homos tying the knot and tried to ammend the constitution – it just happened.
wait, no, that last one was during an election year.
so is this one. immigration reform, maybe.
maybe republicans just needed something to fucking talk about that doesn’t have to do with illegal campaign contributions, gerrymandering, failed foreign and domestic policy or bilking naive indian tribes out of millions of dollars.
probably not, though. all of those guys hanging out in front of the 7-Eleven at 6:30 a.m. when I’m trying to get my god damned coffee make me uncomfortable, too. so thank you, lawmakers of America, for handling these swarthy thugs. I say we have prison labor account for all of the newly-available shitty jobs that’ll open up after we deport its normal workforce.

tonight, me and Mar take on “Phat Girlz” in a coffin/cage match.
my money’s on Mar. I might not make it, though.

quickly.

I’m going to go see this over the weekend. because, you know, no one is more qualified to review a comedy about an obese black woman and the African prince that loves her.

I had to buy the fucking King Kong DVD to review it. not one video store in twenty miles had the special edition. anyone want it? 24 dollars.

www.jetprogramme.org looks cool as hell, but I missed the cut-off date. they won’t avoid me next year, though.

done.

maybe get a halfway decent job. I can read and write real good. does that help?

so I’ve spent the last day or two looking at employment opportunities in Asia. not kidding.

you can get a decent job with a BA if you’re a native english speaker. teaching, or writing/editing english magazines, teaching businessnmen conversational language.
you too good for this country, Matt? why don’t you just get a job in the US, you fucking hippy? is that what you were going to ask?
well, I imagine I will, eventually. but I’d like to travel, and having a straight job for a year or two while I do it doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. even if it’s on the other side of the world. could come back with a rudimentary understanding of Mandarin.
I’m only talking about Taiwan here, but Seoul, Tokyo, Bangkok – any number of these places have about a million jobs
actually, this sounds pretty fucking cool. what if, why not?
I could look up my main man, Joe the Chinese guy. who was, actually, Taiwanese, but what’s the difference to a bunch of closeted bigots in northwest Indiana? he was a divinity exchange student who lived around the corner from us in Valparaiso. very nice guy, very friendly. used to fix things around the house for my mom, as my technical skill didn’t even allow me to hang a picture correctly.
when we took our family vacation through the southwest six or seven years ago, Joe (whose family operated a Taiwanese church in North Las Vegas) showed us around the strip when we did our night in Vegas thing.
imagine how surreal that was. me, Mar, mom and grandma, and Joe Chen the Taiwanese divinity student, all inside mom’s rented Towncar, driving around Las Vegas. there is no better way to see sin city. ask me about it sometime; it was surreal.
anyway, Joe’s back in Taiwan, I think. he was shipped back, as you have mandatory military service in the Republic of China. thanks, PRC, you fucking assholes.

Mar: the job hunt is on. stay on the path.

long weekend. too much beer.
last night ended with Alisha’s little brother picking a fight with a drunk foreign student outside Rockit’s, only to calm it down at the last minute. long night.
I don’t feel like doing anything at all right now, let alone reading copy.

I’m reading through these job postings for teaching positions overseas. They’ll pay you about a grand a month to teach english in Korea. 700 in Thailand. year-long positions. all you need is a BA. teaching certificate not required. you complete a 60 hour online course. that’s it. if you don’t fuck up, they reimburse your flight costs upon completion.
I’d get to go to Bangkok for a year. I could think of worse things to do right now.

thursday nite’s feature:
“falling down”

this is going to be to the point.
I don’t even know how to describe this movie, except that I think it’s really good (if not ultimately surreal). Michael Douglas’ best movie, if you ask me, by far. plays a downsized defense engineer in Los Angeles with anger management issues. he leaves his car in the middle of a traffic jam and walks home across the city, growing increasingly psychotic along the way. some pretty intentionally funny lines.
like, after jumping a security fence to get into someone’s backyard and cutting his hand, he rushes at the family lounging by their in-ground pool:
“hey! why are you putting barbed wire on that fence? is this how you rich people amuse yourselves? you put barbed wire on the fence so innocent people like me can hurt themselves looking in?”

or, when the army surplus store owner says, “we’re the same, you and me” while showing him a bunch of nazi paraphernalia, he says:
“we are not the same. I’m an American and you’re a sick asshole.”

lots of disillusionment, loss of the American dream kind of shit. co-stars Robert Duvall as a retiring desk jockey robbery detective who is trying to catch him, as an example of how to successfully cope with getting shit upon by society. very good. little depressing, but ultimately worthwhile movie.
most of you, however, will probably go see this instead.
Duvall obviously isn’t solid good.

didn’t get around to “once upon a time in America,” and Top Ten doesn’t have “Gallipoli.” fuck.