OK. So we're back. And I'm gonna do one of those inane tributes to mundanity and commonplaceness. That's right, I'm bloggin' about BULLSHIT!!!
What's the haps, you ask? Well, I saw "18 Blocks" last night and it was lousy as hell. Not a single punch was thrown, therefore, not a single punch was landed. May a remind you, this is Bruce Willis movie. I like Bruce Willis, seen most of his films and think he's an above-average action hero, but not necessarily an above-average actor. This is probably not breaking news and that's OK. But once again, the marketing team of a big-budget Hollywood vehicle has duped the hard-working, film-going citizenry. (On another note I wanted to see Dave Chappelle's "Block Party" for my Mos Def fix, which would have been a much better route, as Mos' role in "18 Blocks" was lame, one-dimensional and beneath him.) ---///--- What else is going? Apparently I eat Peruvian food, which is pretty awesome. Lotsa g-lac (garlic), a term based loosely on the hyphen of Gilroy, being "G-Roy," but which I affectionately refer to as "The Roy." Thinkin' 'bout goin' to The Roy's G-Lac Festival this summer, that's right. What else is mind-numbingly inane? Well, started a new game at the office, a game that has elicited the ire of a couple of my lady co-workers, Ananda Rong and Heloise Winterbottom. The game is simple but requires three key ingredients: 1 San Diego Chargers "Feel the Power" hacky sack, 1 fondue pot and 1 Gibson-based opponent; in this case, Gibson himself. Think H-O-R-S-E in a very small space, the floor littered with office supplies and thunderous shaking of cubicles as we crash down to Earth after another monstrous jam. ---///---What other bullshit can I blog about? I enjoyed some cannabanoids after "Crap" won the Best Picture Oscar via a bent-up Tecate can at Heloise Winterbottom's crib -- return to prominence, indeed. That's when you know you're out of practice. Y'see, in college, everybody was always blazin, so you better believe we had some sweet-ass water pipes (For Tobacco Use Only, of course) in circulation. (Small digression: the greatest water pipe of them all was Tony Gwynn, a metric foot of pure narcotic narcissism, known for his excellent hitting average. Old or young, tall or short, vet or noob, T Gwynn got you high. One day, the best DJ you never heard of (yet), Noose, decided to smash T Gwynn into a door handle. I haven't really gotten over it and we'll tackle that another day.) Anyway, these days, being an upstanding young(ish) man with a stable job, small dog and comitted relationship, what do I do? I smoke out of a Mexican beer can, that's what. I've come a long way, baby.