Funerals

Yes, I have more rants. Why is technology more important than good storytelling and good performances? There's one for you. And where does that leave the future of everything that I know and love? Is it gone forever? I am somewhat unencouraged by what I saw today. But there is nothing I can do about that.

For some reason, I found myself thinking about what would happen if I were to die tomorrow. Who would come to my funeral. I started thinking about all the people that seem to care about me; that pay attention to me when I need it; that help me up when I'm down. Those are the people that would be at my funeral. My family and my work colleagues. And that's pretty much it. Maybe there would be other people, but they would be irrelevant. They are the ones that say that they care, say that they know me, but when it comes down to it, they don't. They can't spare five minutes to call me, email me, write a letter, or even think about me. They are the ones that might mourn, but don't really belong. They are pretenders. They are hangers-on. It's easy to care about someone who is dead. It is harder to care about someone who is actually alive. You always think: I will call tomorrow. I am busy today. I have things to do. I'll call this weekend. I'll call next week. I'll call on the next holiday. I'll call on her birthday. And then it trickles down to nothing. Until death. And then suddenly, everyone is my new best friend. But as they say, too little, too late. The friends I count are the friends that are there for me in life, not in death. And how many can say they have seen or even talked with me since Thanksgiving? That's two months. Two months in which I went through another semester of school, dated someone, and even visited a foreign country. Who calls? No one, that's who. I have one friend who has visited me from the other side of the country, and as sad as it is, I have missed her since she has been gone. Because once she left, there was no one else. There is no one else to talk to, to hang out with, or even to call. I am alone with my work and nothing else. What will happen when my work is done in a few months? How will I make the time pass? I am hoping for another foreign trip, but that is not likely. I find it interesting that my best friends end up being people I barely know. So much for intimacy. I have traded that for the hope that I can just connect with someone who has just one thing in common with me. Because the people I thought cared don't.

Time is always the thing. It passes, and you see. You see who cares, you see who doesn't. You see who has five minutes, you see who won't give you a second. It's funny: it only takes a little bit. Time is so valuable, a person doesn't have to spend a lot of it to show they care. Especially these days. An email takes 5. A letter takes 20. A phone call takes an hour. A text takes 10 seconds. It sounds so simple, and yet so many people find it to difficult. Difficult to reach out, to make an expression, to connect. When you think about it, it's fucking pathetic. Pathetic that someone can't take 10 seconds out of their life to show that they care about you.

But rest assured, as soon as you are dead, they will wail and cry and pretend that they gave a fuck. But that's just to save face; for posterity. The truth is, you're only worth something once you're dead to the people who never really cared about you.

So die already. Then maybe someone will care about you.

Carl's Jr.

I think it's time for a rant. I haven't indulged in one for a while

I hate Carl's Jr. I think I've eaten at one exactly once in my life, when I had just gotten off a red-eye in Los Angeles, and it was about 2 in the morning. I was with someone who used to be my friend (we've since lost touch) and my brother came to see us. I hadn't seen him in quite a while. Anyway, that's about all I remember about the meal. Being tired.

But I don't hate them for their food. I hate them for their ad campaigns. I am completely grossed out every time I see their ads featuring skinny, often scantily clad women devouring a giant burger, salad, taco, or something oozing some sort of disgusting looking sauce. It makes my stomach turn. There are some people who believe that the messier a food is, the better it tastes. Wrong. Think goulash. Think sloppy joes. Not even a fork will save you. Unless you stab yourself in the neck, that is.

But I recently saw the ad that pushed me over the edge. I endured the one of the chick in the gold bikini with giant tits smearing a burger bigger than her tits all over her face and lapping her tongue against a dangling pineapple while some sort of gross looking beef juice ran down her chin. I'm sure the "actress" enjoyed mixing beef juice and sand.

I bristled at the one of the trucker chick devouring food like a vulture in the cab of an 18 wheeler, as if her 95 pounds couldn't possibly go another second without eating, and dangerously compromising the structural integrity of her tiny, tight jeans. But she had messy hair so she may have been a tranny. So I let it slide.

But the most recent one is just plain stupid and I have to say, I took offense to it when I saw it. A girl is laying on her bed, wearing a negligee, eating a salad WITH HER HANDS. Who does that? I'll tell you: nobody. Unless you are 3, you don't eat salads with your hands. It's not interesting, it's not sexy, it's just gross. I don't want oily salad dressing running down my fingers, do you? I thought not. And neither does that sex pot who is eagerly waiting for you to come home. And even if you have some crack whore eating with her hands because you were too cheap to buy her a fucking fork, she's not going to eat it in bed. Crouton crumbs, anyone? Yeah, those are really sexy when they're grinding into your backside. Almost sexy as the oil spots she left by wiping her salad dressing drenched hands on the sheets. Gross.

So yes, I hate you, Carl's Jr. Maybe your food is good. I don't know. But your commercials turn my stomach and make me want to puke if that's the sort of person who is eating it. Seriously, get with the friggin program.

Pat Roberston needs to go somewhere that no one will ever see or hear from him again. He is a vile, racist, misogynist, hateful sonofabitch. He's not even human. I'd rather hang out with Michael Vick and OJ than him.

Twits

So I'm thinking about doing this twitter thing. I signed up for an account several months ago when I was stalking someone, but I have never once sent out a single message. And yet, there are a few people following me. People I don't even know. Random people. There's a part of me that feels that I shouldn't disappoint the people. I feel like I should give them something. But what? I have strong feelings about twitter. I think it's a stupid way for people to feel like anything they say matters even a little bit. It doesn't. That sense of self-importance bleeds out into their everyday lives and transforms them into idiot douchebags just because they are living with the thought in the back of their heads that someone somewhere gives a shit what they are thinking or doing.

I follow about three people. Stephen Colbert and I can't remember who else. Because it's really not that important to me. So why would anything I have to say matter? So what do I talk about? Movies? Art? School? Oh wait, I know.

Dudes.

I know plenty about that. And then some.

So we'll see. Stay tuned.

New Decade

Some people are just lame. And they always will be, no matter how un-lame they try to be. Just sayin'.

My job sounds simple. Watch almost 600 movies in 3 months, and pick about 150 that don't suck, aren't too expensive, have starts in them, and are the right length. It is simple compared to a lot of jobs. Except that sometimes it stresses me out. Mostly because I have a hard time saying no to people. When filmmakers start calling me and asking me questions about their films, it makes me feel obligated to accept their work. Even when I know it sucks. So I'm learning to distance myself from the whole process. Deep down I know which movies are worthy, and I just have to stick to it. I always imagine some disgruntled filmmaker calling me and chewing me out and wanting to know what's wrong with their film. And in my imagination, I can't even remember their film. So that's my biggest fear: that I'll decline a film that I haven't even watched. Maybe that's lame, but that's how it is.

My boss today made a joke about how our administrative/hr person is learning skills that will help her later in life, and I'm learning nothing. For a second I was a little offended, and then I realized that he was right. None of the skills I have are translatable to another job. They aren't universal. They are highly specific, rare skills that aren't in high demand. Thanks, master's degree. I love you too. Sigh.

So now it's a new decade, and I have high hopes for the future. All the astrologists say that this is my year. Especially financially. We'll see, I guess. And some of them say that I'll meet the love of my life this year. Sounds dubious. I did meet a boy on NYE, and he has my number, but hasn't called. Wow, big surprise. As always, it's par for the course. Nothing new.

I'm hoping to do some traveling this year. Go home, go visit my friends in Austin, go to Spain (for work), and Havana again. New York City is a possibility, but we'll see. And if this financial thing actually comes through, I'd like to visit my friends around the world: Cairo, London, Berlin. I would visit North Carolina, but I'm not sure I have friends there any more....

This year I want to buy a new TV. I want to have a BF that lasts longer than 3 months. I'd like to make enough money to have disposable income. I'd like to do more creative work, and get noticed for it. That's the plan. And I want to do more sewing. And other crafty stuff.

I guess that's about it.