Now before you go all, “WTF?” on me, I am referring to the fact that I just now Facebook “Liked” The Naked Cowboy. Someone put a link to his website on a friend of mine’s status update, and since they are moms and everything I figured it was safe for work, so I went to his website and WOW. Do you know what this guy does? He strips down to his tighty whites every day, goes out to Times Square, and poses with people.
And I read a status updated wherein the Naked Cowboy (or one of his associates) posted “3 hours, 39 degrees, naked cowboy.”
Wow. That’s dedication.
The Naked Cowboy has also written a book, and is available to officiate your wedding. In Times Square. In his underwear.
It’s not like I have the hots for the guy. I just admire someone who has the tenacity to put on his skivvies every day and drag himself out to Times Square to delight (er.) and entertain. Here’s to you, Naked Cowboy! Keep on keeping on.
So the other day I was having lunch with my mom at Ukrop’s Martins and we were eating in the little atrium eating-in area and there were these guys around my age washing the windows. Now, before you go jumping down my throat a whole bunch, I have nothing against those who do physical cleaning or fixing type things for a living. I’ve often thought that I might should (yes, I did that just there) do such things, as my brain gets awfully tired, and I once worked in warehouses and found great pleasure in lifting, placing, packing, and putting. Alas, I love writing and researching and playing with the interwebs, so I do what a I do and I say thank you for it.
Anyway. I’m sitting there, noticing that the windows are being washed, appreciating that fact, thinking about that commercial where the guy who washes windows has a cold and that wee older man gets blown on to the platform where he’s washing windows and gives him this big pep talk. Have you seen this commercial?
I’m thinking about this commercial, and I’m thinking about the panes of glass on the TOP of the room, and guessing that these guys aren’t going to clean those because if they were they would have done it BEFORE they did the bits they were doing just then (drips would have dripped, you know) and I notice that one of the guys is outside, squeegeeing, and he has a Camel dangling off his lip and a T-Shirt that says “Quit Work, Make Music.”
So I comment to my mom, “here is a guy who is not afraid to present to the world the typical Richmond stereotype of guys my age.” Because a lot of guys my age would much rather play music than work at jobs where squeegees are involved. Heck, who can blame them?
But I felt bad for saying that. The second it came out of my mouth. Because who am I to judge that guy? Do I think he ought to have been doing his job whilst burning a heater right there outside the Ukrop’s Martins eating area? Probably not, but if nobody at Martins complained, it was nunmy. I know that in my husband’s business, carpenters and contractors are not allowed to go about their business in that manner, but whatever, right? Was it any of my business that the guy wears to work a shirt that says most definitively that he would rather be doing something else than what he is doing? Nope. That’s none of my business either. Was it kind of me to say that the guys of my generation comprise a stereotype that supports the sentiment of said t-shirt? No. It is simply none of my business. So, I’m sorry, Smoking T-Shirt Squeegee Operating Man. I shouldn’t judge you any more than you should judge me for all the things you could judge me for, which are numerous and too depressing and wordy to list here.
I don’t want to be a cynic, or bitter, or jaded. I used to be a person who was full of wonder and believed the best about everybody, even when they proved me wrong a hundred times. I need to find the balance between nativity and kindness. Keeping the kindness whilst ceasing to be a sucker. Because since there’s one of THOSE born every minute, I think I’ll drop out of the ranks.
**incidentally, it’s the Hubs’ birthday today, so even though he never reads my blog, Happy Birthday, Hubs. I wish I could buy you a boat.
***also, the other night, for some unexplained reason, I went back and read a bunch of myspace messages from 2004. boy, was that a mistake. I thought about making that a whole post, but realized that I’d have to go into detail, and I don’t really want to because it wouldn’t really accomplish anything and I’m already depressed about the messages I read, so why make myself even more depressed? It just sucks to remember that at one time you had a friend who, though professing to love you and think you were great, was also willing to believe the very worst about you, because that person pretty much believed you were delusional and a big fat liar. So. That lends credence to that whole idea that I might be a jerk, but based on my late night past myspace message research, apparently this jerk thing is not a new development, so I shouldn’t be too surprised.
**Also, I don’t want a lot of comments about how you don’t think I’m a jerk, or how you’re so glad that I wrote this, because you’ve been meaning to tell me what a jerk you think I am. I mean, if you feel super compelled to leave one, leave one, but nothing to stroke my ego because I’m really not looking for validation here, I just had a deep thought to share and thought I’d share it. Maybe you have thoughts sometimes about your generation and think “Hey, does that make me a a traitor?” Or maybe you really wanted to watch that Halls commercial again, and you got to just now. So you’re welcome for that.
**Also, in the suggested tags for this post, “role playing” and “video games” were suggested, so who is profiling now, hmm?
I don’t want this website to become all about Jeremy Sisto, but I accidentally bought a movie with him in it yesterday (ignoring the questions about why, if I’m broke – and I am – I’m still so totally seduced by the 4 for $20 Previously Viewed section at Blockbuster) called The Thirst. It had lots of people in it, but I mainly bought it because it had Clare Kramer in it, and I loved her on Buffy. There are spoilers in this review. Beware.
So, the cover of the move says that it’s “Requiem for a Dream meets Near Dark.” That is the biggest load of crap I have ever heard. It’s got the blood spurts of Sweeny Todd, the melodrama of a Lifetime Original Movie (and not even a 2008-on one – BECAUSE THOSE ARE BETTER), the chemistry between the characters is non-existent and I found my finger itching to hit the “stop” button on the remote, but, like any horrifying situation, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Clare Kramer plays Lisa, a twinkle-toed stripper who dates Maxx. They are both former users. Maxx thinks Lisa is using again, because she smells like throw up all the time, but we find out that she actually has some sort of cancer, and when that lady who played Faith’s new watcher in the third season of Buffy but then it turned out she just wanted that glove thing and they had to kill her shows up she can save her from dying from cancer so she turns her into a vampire. Maxx sees Lisa at some goth club that his friends drag him to, where we meet Tom Lenk (Andrew from Buffy) in a delightful goth/sub cameo and it all goes downhill from there.
Matt Kesslar plays Maxx, and while I loved him in The Middleman, I thought he was wooden and silly in this movie.
Jeremy Sisto plays Darius, head of the vampire “family” and his accent ranges between a bad Russian accent to a bad southern accent. I realize it’s on purpose to show how well-traveled and split-personalityish and everything he is, but it’s not even a good performance and it’s like he’s not even trying. I told him about hanging out with Heather Graham…
I don’t even know if this is the right picture. The movie was all shady and shadowy, and she didn’t look exactly like Gwendolyn Post, so who knows?
Tom Lenk plays Kronos. He gets his throat ripped out.
It’s not even a fun movie. It’s predictable and uninterestingly gory. Lisa and Maxx go after the vampire family, kill them all, and meet the sun together in what is supposed to be a touching scene, but because of the complete lack of chemistry between the actors, it falls flat. As does the “detox” scene earlier in the movie with its jerky camera work and crappy soundtrack.
And yay, I own this movie.
i can't really tell you what this blog is about, but I can tell you what it's not about. monkeys. at least not all the time.