Here is the greatest news story I have ever read in my entire life, and it just happens to have taken place less than 5 miles from my home:
(Thanks to Josh, who brought it to my attention)
Police: Man Had Sex With Picnic Table
Anonymous Tip Led Police To Arrest
BELLEVUE -- A Bellevue man was arrested for public indecency for reportedly having sex with a picnic table in his backyard on several occasions near a school.
Art Price Jr., 40, of the 100 block of Brinker Street, was arrested March 20 by the Bellevue Police Department after a confidential source saw Price in the middle of a sexual act using a metal table and reported him to the police.
Price faces four charges of public indecency, which is a fifth-degree felony, because the incidents took place near school grounds. His bond was set at $20,000, and he is currently out on a signature bond by Judge Kenneth Fox.
If convicted, he could receive up to a maximum sentence of four years in prison and a $10,000 fine, according to the Bellevue Municipal Court.
The witness turned over three DVDs that show footage of Price engaging in these sexual acts on four different dates -- Jan. 29, Feb. 2, March 13 and March 14.
According to the police reports, all the videos show Price naked and performing a sexual act in the open doorway of his home while walking out to his backyard deck. He then set the metal table on its side and began another sexual act using the table.
According to the report, Price would clean the deck after each sex act.
Bellevue Detective Capt. Mark Brooks said the video was very clear and showed that Price didn’t attempt to conceal what he was doing.
"My first thought was how?" Brooks said.
The incidents took place across the street from Ridge Elementary School.
Brooks said the sex acts occurred in the late morning and early afternoon hours in a wide-open back yard that had no fence.
"My feeling was that he was looking straight at the playground when he had sex with the table," Brooks said. "It worries you when its that close to a school. I would hate to see something happen (to the kids)."
After an interview with Price at the police station, Brooks said Price admitted that he was having sex with the table and realized what he has been doing was wrong.
"He was so ashamed," Brooks said. "He realized that he had a problem."
During the interview, Price implied that the events have been taking place for quite sometime, Brooks said. He also said that since the acts took place in an open area, he would run inside the home for a passing car and return and finish the act when he thought it was clear.
Price is married and has three children who attend schools in the Bellevue area, Brooks said.
Bellevue City Schools Superintendent Stephen Schumm said no kids ever reported witnessing the acts.
"I was just shocked and amazed at a very unfortunate situation," Schumm said. "I’m concerned about the family and giving them support."
Schumm said the district is ready to help with counseling and do anything to help the kids.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Bastards...
Things I say while in line at SubWay, and what the SubWay Employee hears:
WHAT I SAY: I'd like a foot-long turkey on wheat, no cheese.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: I'd like a foot-long turkey on white, with lots of cheese. Extra, even.
WHAT I SAY: Spicy mustard and lite mayo, please
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: THREE QUARTS of regular yellow mustard and a wad of regular mayonnaise that you can just go ahead and squirt into a ball of ooze in the far right corner of the bun.
WHAT I SAY: Lettuce, tomatoes, banana peppers, onions.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: three tomatoes and ninety seven pounds of raw, red onions, please.
WHAT I SAY: I don't want it heated.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: Put it in that oven thingy and forget about it while you serve the WASP with huge fake tits behind me.
Fuck you, SubWay. Fuck you, Jared. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
WHAT I SAY: I'd like a foot-long turkey on wheat, no cheese.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: I'd like a foot-long turkey on white, with lots of cheese. Extra, even.
WHAT I SAY: Spicy mustard and lite mayo, please
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: THREE QUARTS of regular yellow mustard and a wad of regular mayonnaise that you can just go ahead and squirt into a ball of ooze in the far right corner of the bun.
WHAT I SAY: Lettuce, tomatoes, banana peppers, onions.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: three tomatoes and ninety seven pounds of raw, red onions, please.
WHAT I SAY: I don't want it heated.
WHAT THE GUY HEARS: Put it in that oven thingy and forget about it while you serve the WASP with huge fake tits behind me.
Fuck you, SubWay. Fuck you, Jared. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Diary Of The Dumb
Oh Monday, you always show up so early.
Here are a few stories about my weekend:
Friday I attended the annual Full Moon Horror And Tattoo Convention. This is the same event that gave you my famous Hand Turkey Incident 2 years ago. The venue was DEAD Friday, so I actually had a wonderful time chatting for prolonged periods with the likes of Tony Todd, Dee Wallace Stone, and the absolutely wonderful Adrienne Barbeau. I congratulated Ms. Barbeau on winning the original CANNONBALL RUN, thanked her for walking down the stairs so often in MAUDE, and asked her if I could just call her Billie. There were worse things I could do. That is an awesome series of references. Look it up.
Friday night I stood in a line outside the Belcourt for two hours. It was in order to witness a sneak peak of DIARY OF THE DEAD, the new 'installment' of George Romero's 'Dead' series. Romero himself was on hand to take a bow before the screening and say 'thanks for giving me a living for the last 40 years.' Hence the 2-hour wait time. It wasn't worth it. The movie is terrible. Horrible. Not even in the good way. FAIL!
I went with a few pals, and a few pals of pals as well. We showed up at the event at 9:30pm, even though the screening was at midnight. This was because last October we had sold out by 10:15pm when we showed ROCKY HORROR at the theater, and I expected the same thing to happen this time. It did. By 11 the line was around the block. We got there first and stood at the head.
I mention getting there first and standing at the head because Sean, Josh and I stood there for 90 minutes as the queue formed behind us. The venue has been sold out for a few weeks, but I had an extra ticket and it went to one of Josh's friends: a guy named Adam who is on my friends list and probably reads this and who is kinda cool but kinda a dipstick. He achieved 'dipstick status' by showing up and hopping into line with us at 11pm (not a huge offense: we had his ticket and I am a firm believer in 'cutting' if you are with a group). He was a little drunk and chatty, and he didn't think twice about having the following exchange with a passer-by who knew him:
PASSER-BY: Hey Adam, man what's up?
ADAM: Hey dude!
PASSER-BY: Man, I would have guessed a guy like you'd be at the head of the line!
ADAM: Yeah, well what can I say?
And... scene!
What can you say? I'll tell you what you can say, you twat, you can say "Yeah, I just showed up and cut into line but my friend here have been standing in the cold for 90 minutes waiting for me."
Fortunately, I am a dipstick as well, and so I harbor no anger. Just bitterness. I am like a human root.
Saturday, I was up bright and early at 9am so I could attend the 'town meeting' at Belcourt: in order to discuss renovation ideas, programming issues, and overall suggestions to broaden the aspects of the ONE establishment in Nashville that I support fully and lovingly.
I am all for public town-meeting style gatherings where anyone can come in and give their opinions on what can be done to better an establishment. There are usually quite a few hearty suggestions regarding ways to make more non-profit-profit and expand entertainment possibilities in a place like this.
BUT...
Having a microphone and a set of open doors ALSO means you are going to end up getting 2 or three lunatics and, to quote Patton Oswalt; 'Raisin Cakes' in the bunch.
My favorite is the dowdy 80-pound woman with Oklahoma Hair who suggested the theater starts showing 'kids movies like that one about The Indian In The Cupboard and the like. More kids needs to see movies!' This is, of course, right after Belcourt has wrapped up their Children's Series a few weeks ago, you know.
She also suggested colorful T-shirts. Which Belcourt has. And 'A western film festival. I know a lot of people like westerns even though I don't."
Ahhh, Agnes... go to the mic 3 more times. Go on. We are all waiting. Glorious.
I was waiting for her to suggest that the movie theater start projecting their movies onto a big, white screen in order to enable people to see the product better.
Sunday Night it was back to the same place (holy shit I LIVED at the Belcourt this weekend!) to see The Greatest Haunted House Movie Ever Made: THE HAUNTING.
So good. So goood. So very, very very GOOD.
Sunday I drank beer and didn't care about Jesus rising from the grave because he's just not that cool a zombie. Oh, and because I have common sense.
And can't eat chocolate.
Oh! which reminds me to give you an update on THE GREAT WILLIAMS WEIGHT LOSS DRIVE OF '08...
In two weeks I have dropped roughly 15 pounds. All from not eating sugar, bread, booze, fruit and fat. I am supposed to be done with 'phase one' and now I should be moving on to 'phase two', where I can re-introduce 'GOOD' carbs and breads into my diet, along with fruit, and the occasional glass of wine.
It ALSO means I can 'cheat'... which I did on Sunday... by ingesting 3 whopping pints of delicious beer at our local brewery.
If you drink as much as I admittedly drink, and you go for as long as I have without one (two weeks is the longest I have been 'off alcohol' since I was 19)... I can't begin to accurately describe to you what it feels like to sniff the top of a glass of freshly-poured Pale Ale. The closest I can come is to say what I said when I was a-sniffin'... "Hello, old friend!"
NUMMERS!
That's all. For lunch today I 're-introduced' wheat bread to my diet by getting a 6-inch from Subway. I didn't want chips so I opted for yogurt. The nice Arab guy who hates me but tries to be polite helped me out by putting a fork in my bag. Thanks for the fork. It's what all of us infidels like to eat a cup of yogurt with.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Social Work
Yesterday we were visited by our social worker. This was the famous "1st Home Visit" that takes place before the adoption. Lindsey comes to our place, sits down, and asks us a bunch of questions about our lives and our preparedness to raise a little Chinese takeout.
Here is a helpful list of things you shouldn't bring up in front of a social worker:
1- Your penchant for meth.
2- How most fights in your home are resolved by a visit from 'Mr. Knuckles'.
3- Your collection of celebrity offal.
4- The 'Real Doll' Room in your basement.
5- How you plan to vote for Nader.
6- The concept that most adoptions from China, or Asia in general, 'go sideways'.
7- When asked about how your sex life is, don't offer to show her.
8- Your obsession with meat sculpture.
9- The word 'pantaloons'.
Just a tip or two from someone who lived it.
Here is a helpful list of things you shouldn't bring up in front of a social worker:
1- Your penchant for meth.
2- How most fights in your home are resolved by a visit from 'Mr. Knuckles'.
3- Your collection of celebrity offal.
4- The 'Real Doll' Room in your basement.
5- How you plan to vote for Nader.
6- The concept that most adoptions from China, or Asia in general, 'go sideways'.
7- When asked about how your sex life is, don't offer to show her.
8- Your obsession with meat sculpture.
9- The word 'pantaloons'.
Just a tip or two from someone who lived it.
Monday, March 17, 2008
"Oh look, an indoor outhouse..."
Strange time for convergences and coincidences, this week. A lot of stuff is coming around full-circle, and I am not trying to be deliberately cryptic. Sorry it is coming out that way. All I can say is that what goes around comes around, and this is NOT a case where that statement is related in any way to revenge, 'getting back at someone', or what-have-you. It's just a strange month so far, that's all.
An example:
The first movie I ever saw in a theater by myself - meaning I went without parents or friends and just wanted to see a movie that I was looking forward to - was BEETLEJUICE. While it played theatrically I saw it no less than 8 times. It is very likely that BEETLEJUICE was the very first movie that I ever saw to the point where I 'studied' it with enthusiasm to the point where I decided I wanted to 'make' movies.
So when I discovered it was playing at my local theater this weekend... well... I was totally up for it. I haven't seen BEETLEJUICE in a looooong time, despite my enjoying it so much when I was in Jr. High.
I looked the movie up on IMDB Saturday evening, before attending, and discovered a neat circular coincidence. Originally BEETLEJUICE was released in March of 1988. That's 20 years, for you kids who can't count. Almost to the day.
Cool!
So while I was driving, by myself, to the theater, I was thinking about how BEETLEJUICE was my first 'by-myself' movie experience. But for the record, the VERY first movie I had ever seen in a theater was THE MUPPET MOVIE.
It was a throwaway thought, until I went into the movie theater and heard the pre-show music that they were piping in while my friend Josh and I got seated.
They were playing 'Can You Picture That' from THE MUPPET MOVIE.
Very Cool!
What's NOT so cool is the fact that BEETLEJUICE has NOT aged well, for me.
When I was 9 or 10, 'Adventure' on the ATARI 2600 was a pretty badass wicked game.
You got a sword... you got to fight dragons and find keys... total coolness for a video game. A few years ago I was lucky enough to find an old 2600 emulator online in order to play those old video games form the era, including 'Adventure'. Naturally, I drooled at the prospect of revisiting such an old friend.
'Adventure' kinda sucks. It's NO 'World Of Warcraft', that's all I am saying.
BEETLEJUICE is the same way. It doesn't hold up, and now it makes sense why my mother and stepfather had that glazed-over look of perplexed confusion on their faces after watching it in our living room, back when it came out on VHS. This was after months of me raving about it and not shutting up about how awesome of a movie it was.
They were kinda right. The movie kinda sucks.
Maybe it's my in-the-last-10-years-acquired disdain for artistic Goth. Maybe it's my appreciation of substance over style. Maybe it's my being-able-to-see-where-Burton-interfered-with-the-script-to-accommodate-his-pretentious 'vision'.
Whatever the reason; BEETLEJUICE didn't hold up.
Kinda sad.
An example:
The first movie I ever saw in a theater by myself - meaning I went without parents or friends and just wanted to see a movie that I was looking forward to - was BEETLEJUICE. While it played theatrically I saw it no less than 8 times. It is very likely that BEETLEJUICE was the very first movie that I ever saw to the point where I 'studied' it with enthusiasm to the point where I decided I wanted to 'make' movies.
So when I discovered it was playing at my local theater this weekend... well... I was totally up for it. I haven't seen BEETLEJUICE in a looooong time, despite my enjoying it so much when I was in Jr. High.
I looked the movie up on IMDB Saturday evening, before attending, and discovered a neat circular coincidence. Originally BEETLEJUICE was released in March of 1988. That's 20 years, for you kids who can't count. Almost to the day.
Cool!
So while I was driving, by myself, to the theater, I was thinking about how BEETLEJUICE was my first 'by-myself' movie experience. But for the record, the VERY first movie I had ever seen in a theater was THE MUPPET MOVIE.
It was a throwaway thought, until I went into the movie theater and heard the pre-show music that they were piping in while my friend Josh and I got seated.
They were playing 'Can You Picture That' from THE MUPPET MOVIE.
Very Cool!
What's NOT so cool is the fact that BEETLEJUICE has NOT aged well, for me.
When I was 9 or 10, 'Adventure' on the ATARI 2600 was a pretty badass wicked game.
You got a sword... you got to fight dragons and find keys... total coolness for a video game. A few years ago I was lucky enough to find an old 2600 emulator online in order to play those old video games form the era, including 'Adventure'. Naturally, I drooled at the prospect of revisiting such an old friend.
'Adventure' kinda sucks. It's NO 'World Of Warcraft', that's all I am saying.
BEETLEJUICE is the same way. It doesn't hold up, and now it makes sense why my mother and stepfather had that glazed-over look of perplexed confusion on their faces after watching it in our living room, back when it came out on VHS. This was after months of me raving about it and not shutting up about how awesome of a movie it was.
They were kinda right. The movie kinda sucks.
Maybe it's my in-the-last-10-years-acquired disdain for artistic Goth. Maybe it's my appreciation of substance over style. Maybe it's my being-able-to-see-where-Burton-interfered-with-the-script-to-accommodate-his-pretentious 'vision'.
Whatever the reason; BEETLEJUICE didn't hold up.
Kinda sad.
Friday, March 14, 2008
go!
I don't like the coffee in the break area right next to my work zone. They provide us with a brand called Flavia. You take a little metal pouch that looks like a miniature Capri Sun and you stick it into a slot on top of the coffee maker, then you wait 35 seconds for the pouch/machine to make you a cup of muddy, clotty, coffee-flavored hot water.
Across the building in another break area they still carry the Keurig brand of coffees- these are coffees and teas that come in little salad-dressing-sized cups that you put in the top of a little coffee machine and it brews you a relatively normal-tasting experience.
The price I pay for that is having to walk across my building in order to get a delicious hot beverage. In addition to that- Occasionally I have to submerge myself into the world of The Hens.
The Hens are the flock of cube inhabitants that nest over near the 'good coffee'. If you have ever run through a barnyard and heard the discordant reaction of the poultry on the ground near you, you see why they got their name.
The Hens in question were at full 'BOCK' today, discussing one of the ladies' little girl. Apparently, this gal is graduating this spring from high school, and Mama doesn't want her little chick to go all the way down to Atlanta to go to school.
The overheard dialog was:
"...because I KNOW that if she's in that element, with all those college people, she will get exposed to stuff and be on her own and there's a strong chance she might forget herself and do thangs [yes... THANGS] that people do in college. I want her to stay here at home where she will stay herself."
I got my tea and moved on.
A few thoughts:
I think everyone should go to college, if they can. Having a college education looks good on paper; and depending on what you study, college will prepare you with a delightful plethora of knowledge that helps you achieve your goals. I mean let's face it: high school didn't teach you anything valuable. Anything that WAS valuable for you to know about you re-learned in your core college classes your freshman year. Sad but true.
BUT-
The biggest reason to go to college is BECAUSE of the elements you will become exposed to! Isn't that the whole idea?
I couldn't tell you the names of the classes I took my first semester at Stephens. But I DO remember making out with Regina and tucking her drunk ass in on my couch instead of trying to 'seal the deal'. I remember the dynamic between folks I didn't think I would get along with. I remember sitting on the roof of The Guys House and drinking beers, and I remember about a trillion dates, pranks, comments, rehearsals, and instances where I became a better person because of it.
There is nothing like the feeling of living on your own, and yet still having that tether back to your family when you need help. It's completely different than just striking off on your own after school with NO help from 'home'. And I think it is a completely useful and unique experience.
Let your kids go away to college. Put $50-$75 a week into their bank account and let them blow it on T-shirts, cult movies, 6-packs and the occasional bag of grass. Insist that they get passing grades and that they keep a journal of their time there. They might not remember the names of their professors in ten years, but they will totally remember what it was like to room with a Muslim who's concept of God and right and wrong is slightly different than what they grew up with. And maybe they will become better-rounded individuals because of it.
Allow the poor chick to leave the nest, dammit.
Across the building in another break area they still carry the Keurig brand of coffees- these are coffees and teas that come in little salad-dressing-sized cups that you put in the top of a little coffee machine and it brews you a relatively normal-tasting experience.
The price I pay for that is having to walk across my building in order to get a delicious hot beverage. In addition to that- Occasionally I have to submerge myself into the world of The Hens.
The Hens are the flock of cube inhabitants that nest over near the 'good coffee'. If you have ever run through a barnyard and heard the discordant reaction of the poultry on the ground near you, you see why they got their name.
The Hens in question were at full 'BOCK' today, discussing one of the ladies' little girl. Apparently, this gal is graduating this spring from high school, and Mama doesn't want her little chick to go all the way down to Atlanta to go to school.
The overheard dialog was:
"...because I KNOW that if she's in that element, with all those college people, she will get exposed to stuff and be on her own and there's a strong chance she might forget herself and do thangs [yes... THANGS] that people do in college. I want her to stay here at home where she will stay herself."
I got my tea and moved on.
A few thoughts:
I think everyone should go to college, if they can. Having a college education looks good on paper; and depending on what you study, college will prepare you with a delightful plethora of knowledge that helps you achieve your goals. I mean let's face it: high school didn't teach you anything valuable. Anything that WAS valuable for you to know about you re-learned in your core college classes your freshman year. Sad but true.
BUT-
The biggest reason to go to college is BECAUSE of the elements you will become exposed to! Isn't that the whole idea?
I couldn't tell you the names of the classes I took my first semester at Stephens. But I DO remember making out with Regina and tucking her drunk ass in on my couch instead of trying to 'seal the deal'. I remember the dynamic between folks I didn't think I would get along with. I remember sitting on the roof of The Guys House and drinking beers, and I remember about a trillion dates, pranks, comments, rehearsals, and instances where I became a better person because of it.
There is nothing like the feeling of living on your own, and yet still having that tether back to your family when you need help. It's completely different than just striking off on your own after school with NO help from 'home'. And I think it is a completely useful and unique experience.
Let your kids go away to college. Put $50-$75 a week into their bank account and let them blow it on T-shirts, cult movies, 6-packs and the occasional bag of grass. Insist that they get passing grades and that they keep a journal of their time there. They might not remember the names of their professors in ten years, but they will totally remember what it was like to room with a Muslim who's concept of God and right and wrong is slightly different than what they grew up with. And maybe they will become better-rounded individuals because of it.
Allow the poor chick to leave the nest, dammit.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Day 3
Having 30 pounds of excess weight on you isn't pleasant at all. So we are trying the South Beach Diet. I am vehemently against fads and crap like this, but I am more against the expanding chunk of stomach that I seem to be cultivating.
The diet breaks down like this: don't eat gross stuff, don't eat bread, no potatoes, no pasta. If it looks 'carby', you can't eat it for the first two weeks. At all. No meatballs. No sausage. No ice cream. No bacon. NO SUGAR. No.
You CAN eat as much as you want of the other stuff. Eat 'till you are full. Stuff yourself with grilled chicken. And green veggies. And 'good' carbs, like cauliflower.
Worst of all... no booze.
So it's day three, over here in Losesomepoundagevania. I have consumed roughly 6 chicken breasts in 3 days. 6 hard-boiled eggs (dear GOD am I starting to loathe them). seven handfulls of nuts. 10 cherry tomatoes, and a garden of bunny food. I swear I have whiskers by now.
And water. 190 gallons of water.
The only thing I can really complain about is that today I feel tired and my head aches.
And dear fucking lord do I want a beer.
The diet breaks down like this: don't eat gross stuff, don't eat bread, no potatoes, no pasta. If it looks 'carby', you can't eat it for the first two weeks. At all. No meatballs. No sausage. No ice cream. No bacon. NO SUGAR. No.
You CAN eat as much as you want of the other stuff. Eat 'till you are full. Stuff yourself with grilled chicken. And green veggies. And 'good' carbs, like cauliflower.
Worst of all... no booze.
So it's day three, over here in Losesomepoundagevania. I have consumed roughly 6 chicken breasts in 3 days. 6 hard-boiled eggs (dear GOD am I starting to loathe them). seven handfulls of nuts. 10 cherry tomatoes, and a garden of bunny food. I swear I have whiskers by now.
And water. 190 gallons of water.
The only thing I can really complain about is that today I feel tired and my head aches.
And dear fucking lord do I want a beer.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
What a boat costume perties?
In these crazy, busy, get-it-done NOW times, bright young video production artists such as myself have trouble making movies for the masses.
Thank GOD that Fred & Sharon are here to pick up the slack for all of us who cannot 'do' any more...
What a boat animation?
What a boat costume perties?
Thank GOD that Fred & Sharon are here to pick up the slack for all of us who cannot 'do' any more...
What a boat animation?
What a boat costume perties?
Monday, March 10, 2008
DAY ONE... AGAIN...
MONDAY!
This weekend I saw Alfred Hitchcock's ROPE.
10 cuts, 80 minutes, tons and tons of homosexual innuendo.
ROPE was damn good. Watch it.
------------------------------------
My Lovely Wife-- has decided to put me on the South Beach Diet. Well, SHE is going on it, and I live with her... so...
Today is the first day. The gist of the diet, as far as I can tell, is that you can eat as much as you want for this first two weeks as long is it's not sugar or carbs. I did 2 eggs, green salad, a V-8, and an unsweetened iced tea for breakfast and lunch. My mid-afternoon snack consisted of two slices of turkey rolled up with strips of green pepper. I think I am getting a can of tuna on my dinner's salad.
I am not hungry, but I am grumpy anyway. I want a Coke.
------------------------------------
I just left a social worker's office, where I talked for 70 minutes about why I would be a fit parent, because of this upcoming adoption.
All I can say is that I need a drink.
Oh yeah... I can't have any of THAT for 2 weeks, either.
This weekend I saw Alfred Hitchcock's ROPE.
10 cuts, 80 minutes, tons and tons of homosexual innuendo.
ROPE was damn good. Watch it.
------------------------------------
My Lovely Wife-- has decided to put me on the South Beach Diet. Well, SHE is going on it, and I live with her... so...
Today is the first day. The gist of the diet, as far as I can tell, is that you can eat as much as you want for this first two weeks as long is it's not sugar or carbs. I did 2 eggs, green salad, a V-8, and an unsweetened iced tea for breakfast and lunch. My mid-afternoon snack consisted of two slices of turkey rolled up with strips of green pepper. I think I am getting a can of tuna on my dinner's salad.
I am not hungry, but I am grumpy anyway. I want a Coke.
------------------------------------
I just left a social worker's office, where I talked for 70 minutes about why I would be a fit parent, because of this upcoming adoption.
All I can say is that I need a drink.
Oh yeah... I can't have any of THAT for 2 weeks, either.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Josh, and TAXI DRIVER
I have a very good friend of mine named Josh. He's a raging cinephile, like myself, and although he is a TON more 'forgiving' of mainstream movies than I can ever hope to be, I still tend to respect his opinion on movie and film above several of my other movie-lovin' comrades.
Last week we saw MEAN STREETS and TAXI DRIVER in a soul-crushing 4-hour marathon at our local movie theater. They are two of my favorite movies of all time, and it had been a while since I saw both of them, particularly on a big screen.
Anyhow, Josh wrote an absolutely fantastic essay on TAXI DRIVER. He posted it here on his website, but I am gonna reprint it here because the bastard thinks it's cool to print more than 20 words in BRIGHT PINK TEXT on a black background. My eyeballs are still screaming from reading it myself.
Here's Josh's take on a movie that is so good that you need to be watching it RIGHT NOW.
***
Talking movies at one point with my father, he was discussing Apocalypse Now. "It's a great movie to watch at midnight," he said, "because afterward, all you feel like doing is going to bed. Most of the life is gone out of you at that point."
I agreed with him at that time, but it's been a while since I was as forcefully reminded of that quote as when I watched Taxi Driver at the midnight show the other night.
It had been a long time since I saw Taxi Driver - it's quite possible, I think, that I had not even seen it since the first time I saw it, back in high school. I remembered the basics of the story - what film fan doesn't know the basics, even if they haven't seen it? But somehow, I had forgotten the power of the storytelling, the pure brilliance and visceral power of the film.
It's remarkable how much Scorsese grew between Mean Streets and this. I liked Mean Streets a lot, but it's a meandering film, more of a "slice of hometown life" than a true film. It's enjoyable, and it has a raw power to it, but it doesn't even compare to the control over the medium that Scorsese shows here - a control that he uses to devastating effect.
Re-watching this, it occurred to me that, in some ways, Travis Bickle is a predecessor to John Doe from Se7en. Both are men obsessed with what they perceive to be a filthy, horrible world filled with sin, and both men choose to fight that evil. To be fair, Doe is far more methodical and intelligent than Bickle, who is simplistic, but it's still a thought. (At one point, Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro apparently discussed doing a follow-up to Taxi Driver, showing where Travis Bickle would be today. It's rare that a sequel would be so captivating and fascinating, but god, would I love to see that film.)
The Se7en comparison works on a lot of levels, in fact. Like Fincher's serial killer film, Taxi Driver creates a world that disgusts and horrifies, and does nothing so much as make me want to get away from it, as soon as humanly possible. Mean Streets showed that Scorsese was a master at giving you a sense of time and place, but Taxi Driver let him immerse you in a world that resembled nothing so much as a modern-day Bosch painting.
That, in the end, is what makes Taxi Driver so effective - its subjectivity. I had forgotten just how plunged into Travis's mind you are in the film. Between the fact that he is in almost every single scene, his monologues that grow and grow as the film progresses, and the way we view so much of the world from behind his cab windshield, we find ourselves more and more immersed into the deranged, violent mind of Bickle. Ironically, the film tells us little about it. It implies that he was in Vietnam, and we get the sense that he might have seen or done some horrible things over there, but we don't really know. When we meet him, he's a blank slate, making it all the easier for us to step into his shoes...and find the dark heart and soul there waiting for us.
It's a testament to the film's quality that by the time it reaches its violent climax, we actually understand why Travis is doing this - and it makes leaving the film all the more uncomfortable. How could we have empathized with this violent psychopath? And yet, Scorsese and Schrader pull off that feat handily.
They, of course, couldn't do it without De Niro. Watching this, it's a reminder of how incredible he once was, and it almost erases my ill will towards him after drek like Meet the Fockers. De Niro's performance is haunting and unsettling; he plays Bickle like a live wire, seething inwardly, taking in all the world has to offer, judging it, and finding the world wanting. That famous scene where he's talking to the mirror should feel iconic; instead, it feels queasy. We're watching Bickle portray himself as a hero, but we know who he is, and we know that whatever's to come, it's not going to be heroic.
Of course, the film is packed with incredible performances. Albert Brooks adds some much needed comic relief to the film's first half, but fades into the background as his protector figure is supplanted by Keitel's pimp. (One of the many fascinating things about the film is the shift in Bickle's attention from one duo to another: at the film's beginning, it's Shepherd, protected by Brooks; by the end, it's Foster, protected by Keitel. Only the latter allows him to feel like the hero, someone who will accept him for what he is; after all, she's a prostitute, and she has to? But in his deranged mind, she wants him for who he is.) Peter Boyle makes the most of a supporting role, creating an interesting character with minimal screen time. Shepherd has rarely been better, but it's Foster who really makes an impression and haunts the film; wise beyond her years, hardened by the streets, she leaves us with the same impression she leaves Travis: a child whose innocence has been taken, and who needs help.
[Spoilers follow.]
All of these paths, of course, lead inexorably to the film's ending. Is it real? Is it a dream? Does Travis actually do what he sets out to, but die in the process? It's hard to say. To be sure, the violent showdown is what shocks the viewer; even years later, the film is remembered as being far more violent than it is, and that's due in no small part to the intensity of the violence on display. But is it real? Or is Travis dreaming? And does he survive?
There's no doubt that the ending doesn't feel real. A hero? Re-hired by the taxi company with no questions? These seem at odds with the dangerous man we've lived with. And yet, for the hellish world we've seen depicted for the last hour and a half, Bickle is a hero - and that says far more about our world than anything Bickle does. If these are our heroes, Scorsese asks, what does that say about us, that such violent, dangerous men are people to idolize, to invite to dinner, to honor?
It's that awkward reunion with Shepherd, though, that sticks. After the trip to the porno theater, after the violence, after the stalking, she returns? Maybe. Maybe she's convinced by his hero act. Maybe she gives him a second chance.
But for a moment, after she leaves, there's that jarring burst of music, that strange shot of the mirror, and we know that the world has misjudged. This is no hero. This is a monster...and we're looking at him in the mirror.
End film.
Is it any wonder that we all left so quietly and uncomfortable? For an hour and a half, we're plunged into the mind of madness, subjected to painful attempts to reach out, watch as brutal violence is doled out and acclaimed, and made to question the nature of our own world.
It's a hard watch, by any standards, and the fact that it's held up so well over the years is almost disturbing. We should have grown away from this cynicism; the Times Square of Taxi Driver is gone, we would hope.
But inwardly, we're just not sure.
***
Last week we saw MEAN STREETS and TAXI DRIVER in a soul-crushing 4-hour marathon at our local movie theater. They are two of my favorite movies of all time, and it had been a while since I saw both of them, particularly on a big screen.
Anyhow, Josh wrote an absolutely fantastic essay on TAXI DRIVER. He posted it here on his website, but I am gonna reprint it here because the bastard thinks it's cool to print more than 20 words in BRIGHT PINK TEXT on a black background. My eyeballs are still screaming from reading it myself.
Here's Josh's take on a movie that is so good that you need to be watching it RIGHT NOW.
***
Talking movies at one point with my father, he was discussing Apocalypse Now. "It's a great movie to watch at midnight," he said, "because afterward, all you feel like doing is going to bed. Most of the life is gone out of you at that point."
I agreed with him at that time, but it's been a while since I was as forcefully reminded of that quote as when I watched Taxi Driver at the midnight show the other night.
It had been a long time since I saw Taxi Driver - it's quite possible, I think, that I had not even seen it since the first time I saw it, back in high school. I remembered the basics of the story - what film fan doesn't know the basics, even if they haven't seen it? But somehow, I had forgotten the power of the storytelling, the pure brilliance and visceral power of the film.
It's remarkable how much Scorsese grew between Mean Streets and this. I liked Mean Streets a lot, but it's a meandering film, more of a "slice of hometown life" than a true film. It's enjoyable, and it has a raw power to it, but it doesn't even compare to the control over the medium that Scorsese shows here - a control that he uses to devastating effect.
Re-watching this, it occurred to me that, in some ways, Travis Bickle is a predecessor to John Doe from Se7en. Both are men obsessed with what they perceive to be a filthy, horrible world filled with sin, and both men choose to fight that evil. To be fair, Doe is far more methodical and intelligent than Bickle, who is simplistic, but it's still a thought. (At one point, Martin Scorsese and Robert De Niro apparently discussed doing a follow-up to Taxi Driver, showing where Travis Bickle would be today. It's rare that a sequel would be so captivating and fascinating, but god, would I love to see that film.)
The Se7en comparison works on a lot of levels, in fact. Like Fincher's serial killer film, Taxi Driver creates a world that disgusts and horrifies, and does nothing so much as make me want to get away from it, as soon as humanly possible. Mean Streets showed that Scorsese was a master at giving you a sense of time and place, but Taxi Driver let him immerse you in a world that resembled nothing so much as a modern-day Bosch painting.
That, in the end, is what makes Taxi Driver so effective - its subjectivity. I had forgotten just how plunged into Travis's mind you are in the film. Between the fact that he is in almost every single scene, his monologues that grow and grow as the film progresses, and the way we view so much of the world from behind his cab windshield, we find ourselves more and more immersed into the deranged, violent mind of Bickle. Ironically, the film tells us little about it. It implies that he was in Vietnam, and we get the sense that he might have seen or done some horrible things over there, but we don't really know. When we meet him, he's a blank slate, making it all the easier for us to step into his shoes...and find the dark heart and soul there waiting for us.
It's a testament to the film's quality that by the time it reaches its violent climax, we actually understand why Travis is doing this - and it makes leaving the film all the more uncomfortable. How could we have empathized with this violent psychopath? And yet, Scorsese and Schrader pull off that feat handily.
They, of course, couldn't do it without De Niro. Watching this, it's a reminder of how incredible he once was, and it almost erases my ill will towards him after drek like Meet the Fockers. De Niro's performance is haunting and unsettling; he plays Bickle like a live wire, seething inwardly, taking in all the world has to offer, judging it, and finding the world wanting. That famous scene where he's talking to the mirror should feel iconic; instead, it feels queasy. We're watching Bickle portray himself as a hero, but we know who he is, and we know that whatever's to come, it's not going to be heroic.
Of course, the film is packed with incredible performances. Albert Brooks adds some much needed comic relief to the film's first half, but fades into the background as his protector figure is supplanted by Keitel's pimp. (One of the many fascinating things about the film is the shift in Bickle's attention from one duo to another: at the film's beginning, it's Shepherd, protected by Brooks; by the end, it's Foster, protected by Keitel. Only the latter allows him to feel like the hero, someone who will accept him for what he is; after all, she's a prostitute, and she has to? But in his deranged mind, she wants him for who he is.) Peter Boyle makes the most of a supporting role, creating an interesting character with minimal screen time. Shepherd has rarely been better, but it's Foster who really makes an impression and haunts the film; wise beyond her years, hardened by the streets, she leaves us with the same impression she leaves Travis: a child whose innocence has been taken, and who needs help.
[Spoilers follow.]
All of these paths, of course, lead inexorably to the film's ending. Is it real? Is it a dream? Does Travis actually do what he sets out to, but die in the process? It's hard to say. To be sure, the violent showdown is what shocks the viewer; even years later, the film is remembered as being far more violent than it is, and that's due in no small part to the intensity of the violence on display. But is it real? Or is Travis dreaming? And does he survive?
There's no doubt that the ending doesn't feel real. A hero? Re-hired by the taxi company with no questions? These seem at odds with the dangerous man we've lived with. And yet, for the hellish world we've seen depicted for the last hour and a half, Bickle is a hero - and that says far more about our world than anything Bickle does. If these are our heroes, Scorsese asks, what does that say about us, that such violent, dangerous men are people to idolize, to invite to dinner, to honor?
It's that awkward reunion with Shepherd, though, that sticks. After the trip to the porno theater, after the violence, after the stalking, she returns? Maybe. Maybe she's convinced by his hero act. Maybe she gives him a second chance.
But for a moment, after she leaves, there's that jarring burst of music, that strange shot of the mirror, and we know that the world has misjudged. This is no hero. This is a monster...and we're looking at him in the mirror.
End film.
Is it any wonder that we all left so quietly and uncomfortable? For an hour and a half, we're plunged into the mind of madness, subjected to painful attempts to reach out, watch as brutal violence is doled out and acclaimed, and made to question the nature of our own world.
It's a hard watch, by any standards, and the fact that it's held up so well over the years is almost disturbing. We should have grown away from this cynicism; the Times Square of Taxi Driver is gone, we would hope.
But inwardly, we're just not sure.
***
The War
My mother-in-law ordered me a copy of The War for Christmas. It's the FIFTEEN hour documentary on WWII that Ken Burns did for PBS last year. So far we are 2 hours in and already I am a jittery mess half of the time. The sheer NUMBER of lives that we lost in this conflict is staggering. The lengths to which these soldiers were willing to go- even to JOIN the conflict willingly and to serve this country... it's just mind-numbing.
My generation was never thrown into a war. My father's generation was. And the generation before that, and before that, and before that. Anyone can sign up and fight, but something about the idea of being DRAFTED... being TOLD that you are going to be forced to serve your country... that's so damned interesting to me.
I think that part of the reason why my generation doesn't value things as much as we should stems from that. I think there is a pretty strong number of 'rebels' out there who don't really know what they are rebelling against- they are just doing it because they think it's what they are supposed to do. It's hip to be disaffected.
All I am saying, and saying rather poorly, is that there is something sociological about all of this: about how we are a nation that is at war, and yet we are not as united in the cause as we were in 1941. And I really DO think that it has something to do with the fact that we are not being drafted to serve in the effort.
I'm not saying, for even a moment, that I advocate a draft. What I think that I AM saying is that I understand it when old codgers complain about 'you young people got it easy! And you don't appreciate how hard it was when I was a kid.'
There needs to be less emo-kid manure out there; and less 'I have been through some seriously hard shit, man' when the worst the person who says that has had to endure was the breakup of their parents or having to live in 3 cities through high school.
And while I am complaining... there needs to be less sheep-like behavior when it comes to opinions and worldly points-of-view. I work with a guy... let's call him P. P is fantastic about spouting out some sort of heard-it-on-the-radio doctrine or opinion when the topic comes up in conversation. The guy is in his 20's. Every opinion or world view he has decided to share with people around him is still largely based on what he has heard his parents say, or has heard spouted on TV shows or 'hip' magazines and Web-groups. He is echoing dogma that he hasn't had a chance to savor, yet.
There is a lot of that going around. Everyone drinks the Kool-Aid once and a while. If they didn't, then NOBODY would go to Ben Stiller movies.
It just annoys me that anyone in America with a middle-class upbringing thinks they have overcome some incredibly insurmountable odds, and carries a chip on their shoulder about our government, or our American Way Of Life, then they can go watch My Name Is Earle and be satisfied that they are well-rounded and accomplished.
Go tromp through a jungle-island for 2 years and get shot at by Japanese soldiers while your supply lines have been cut off and you are surviving on coconuts and rice-soup. Do it against your will because you'd rather be home watching Billy Wilder movies. Then you can feel free to listen to all the Linkin Park you want.
My generation was never thrown into a war. My father's generation was. And the generation before that, and before that, and before that. Anyone can sign up and fight, but something about the idea of being DRAFTED... being TOLD that you are going to be forced to serve your country... that's so damned interesting to me.
I think that part of the reason why my generation doesn't value things as much as we should stems from that. I think there is a pretty strong number of 'rebels' out there who don't really know what they are rebelling against- they are just doing it because they think it's what they are supposed to do. It's hip to be disaffected.
All I am saying, and saying rather poorly, is that there is something sociological about all of this: about how we are a nation that is at war, and yet we are not as united in the cause as we were in 1941. And I really DO think that it has something to do with the fact that we are not being drafted to serve in the effort.
I'm not saying, for even a moment, that I advocate a draft. What I think that I AM saying is that I understand it when old codgers complain about 'you young people got it easy! And you don't appreciate how hard it was when I was a kid.'
There needs to be less emo-kid manure out there; and less 'I have been through some seriously hard shit, man' when the worst the person who says that has had to endure was the breakup of their parents or having to live in 3 cities through high school.
And while I am complaining... there needs to be less sheep-like behavior when it comes to opinions and worldly points-of-view. I work with a guy... let's call him P. P is fantastic about spouting out some sort of heard-it-on-the-radio doctrine or opinion when the topic comes up in conversation. The guy is in his 20's. Every opinion or world view he has decided to share with people around him is still largely based on what he has heard his parents say, or has heard spouted on TV shows or 'hip' magazines and Web-groups. He is echoing dogma that he hasn't had a chance to savor, yet.
There is a lot of that going around. Everyone drinks the Kool-Aid once and a while. If they didn't, then NOBODY would go to Ben Stiller movies.
It just annoys me that anyone in America with a middle-class upbringing thinks they have overcome some incredibly insurmountable odds, and carries a chip on their shoulder about our government, or our American Way Of Life, then they can go watch My Name Is Earle and be satisfied that they are well-rounded and accomplished.
Go tromp through a jungle-island for 2 years and get shot at by Japanese soldiers while your supply lines have been cut off and you are surviving on coconuts and rice-soup. Do it against your will because you'd rather be home watching Billy Wilder movies. Then you can feel free to listen to all the Linkin Park you want.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
D & Dead
Gary Gygax, creator of Dungeons & Dragons, has died.
My brother Tom was a hardcore D&D fan. 90% of my memories of him while we were growing up consist of Tommy sitting behind a huge double-desk covered with graph paper, character sheets, 20-sided dice and pewter figurines that I wasn't allowed to touch upon pain of death.
When Tom moved out, he left a pretty hefty cache of D&D books, supplies, and unfinished campaigns for me to pilfer and exploit. I only had 2 or 3 friends who were willing to play, and we never got as hardcore into it as my brother and his pals, but I liked me some AD&D.
Somewhere in my miasma of old books, stacks of Trapper Keepers, and piles of loose-leaf paper, there is a level 12 Half-Elf Magic User named Lelendri who mourns your loss, Mr. Gygax.
AND NOW, THE JOKES!
-Somewhere in Minnesota, a Magic The Gathering Fanatic is steepling his fingers and muttering "this is all going according to plan!"
-Gygax's widow heard the news and immediately rolled a Human Chaotic Warrior with 15 strength and 2 wisdom... Too soon?
My brother Tom was a hardcore D&D fan. 90% of my memories of him while we were growing up consist of Tommy sitting behind a huge double-desk covered with graph paper, character sheets, 20-sided dice and pewter figurines that I wasn't allowed to touch upon pain of death.
When Tom moved out, he left a pretty hefty cache of D&D books, supplies, and unfinished campaigns for me to pilfer and exploit. I only had 2 or 3 friends who were willing to play, and we never got as hardcore into it as my brother and his pals, but I liked me some AD&D.
Somewhere in my miasma of old books, stacks of Trapper Keepers, and piles of loose-leaf paper, there is a level 12 Half-Elf Magic User named Lelendri who mourns your loss, Mr. Gygax.
AND NOW, THE JOKES!
-Somewhere in Minnesota, a Magic The Gathering Fanatic is steepling his fingers and muttering "this is all going according to plan!"
-Gygax's widow heard the news and immediately rolled a Human Chaotic Warrior with 15 strength and 2 wisdom... Too soon?
Marty
Last night My Lovely Wife™ wanted to watch 'something old but good'. That's not a tall order in The Williams Household. Well, 'good' is a relative term. What she meant was: I want to watch something that displays characters and settings that allude to a bygone era but NOT something with monsters in rubber suits, silly acting, or guys who's dialog came out of a Raymond Chandler novel.
So once again, we watched MARTY.
I love this damn movie.
MARTY is just about the best movie ever made. Ernest Borgnine plays the title character: a 34 year-old butcher who's 5 brothers and sisters have all gotten married and moved away. He still lives in The Bronx with his mother in a big old house, where he is constantly harangued by his family and neighborhood 'hens' for being single. Marty's still a bachelor for obvious reasons(to him): he is a fat, ugly man. And even though he has a huge heart, it doesn't seem to matter.
One night he gives in to his own ego and decides to go to a big dance hall with his pal, Angie. They are wallflowers, and Marty is miserable. He's approached by a slick jerk who wants to dump his blind date because "she's a dog, a real dog," and he offers Marty $5 to pretend to be his army buddy and "take her off my hands." Marty is appalled at the guy's behavior, and he refuses. The slickster propositions another wallflower who goes for the idea, and Marty watches as the setup falls apart by an embarrassed Clara, who eventually stands up and walks out onto a balcony to escape the humiliation of not fitting in. Marty goes out there to ask her to dance, and she cries on his shoulder.
Perfect. Fucking. Movie.
I only described the first act. The rest of the movie is all about the rest of the evening and the next day, when Marty has top cope with the fact that, for the first time in his life, he's got himself a prospect. I'm telling you... this movie will blow you away. I'm such a damn fanboy.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Taco-Bot
Need proof that America is getting dumber? Read on:
I made a January resolution to not eat at Taco Bell or McDonald's for a year. Both are close to work, and both make me feel terrible after I indulge.
So far, avoiding The Bastard Scottish Clown hasn't been that difficult. I crave a McNugget once and a while, but I am able to stave it off. But the flesh is weak, and Chicken Ranchero Soft Tacos with Fire sauce is strong.
What the hell. I went to Taco Bell, thinking about how it's not so bad to give in to temptation once and a while, as long as I don't make a pig out of myself.
Picture the following scene: I drive up to the drive-thru 25 minutes ago. I am behind another car. they order and move on. My turn.
"Hello, welcome to blahdie blah, can I blah your blah"
"Hi." (this is me...) "Can I have a number two with a Pepsi?"
I always order a number two, because that's what Taco Bell gives me anyway.
They give me a total and I pull around.
Now keep in mind that I haven't been to The Border in a few months. So for a second or two after what happens actually transpires, I am thinking that things might be different... that what I am experiencing might be 'normal'.
I pull up to the window, hand them my card, and they give me my drink. Then they hand my card back to me.
"Want any hot or mild sauce?" Asks the sleepy-eyed, slightly slack-jawed minimum-wage-earning Slipknot Fan in the window.
I ask for hot sauce. A moment later they give it to me.
On a tray.
The dude hands me a plastic Taco Bell tray, complete with paper placemat. My items are placed side-by-side next to three packs of hot sauce (in a new, purple packet).
So I take the tray and look puzzled. Nickleback says "Thank you" and I drive away from the window.
WITH A TACO BELL TRAY IN MY HAND.
Now like I said, because I haven't been doing The Bell for a while, for a moment or two I was thinking that maybe this is normal. I seem to recall seeing a few commercials for new 'platter' meals from La Casa Del Taco.
But no... this is an actual 'for here' tray. In my lap. From the drive-through. Something is wrong.
I parked and walked inside. "Keri"... the manager on duty, asks me if she can help me when I approach the counter with my TRAY of food.
"Yeah, Hi. Um... is this normal? I got this tray in the drive-thru."
"They gave you a tray?"
"Yeah. I mean... um..."
"Yeah, sorry, I will take that."
She put my food in a bag and told me to have a good day. My mind continues to be blown.
Then, a few moments ago, it all made perfect sense to me.
See, when they hand me my card back... when ANYONE hands me my card back, I put it in my wallet, and I fold my receipt and put THAT in there, too. Just for kicks, I pulled out the receipt.
It says 'DINE-IN' on the top, instead of 'TO-GO' or 'DRIVE-THRU'.
So for all I can figure, what we have here is a case of a guy who was just following orders. He was following them EXACTLY as written. When a customer is DINING IN... give 'em a tray.
Unbelievable.
I made a January resolution to not eat at Taco Bell or McDonald's for a year. Both are close to work, and both make me feel terrible after I indulge.
So far, avoiding The Bastard Scottish Clown hasn't been that difficult. I crave a McNugget once and a while, but I am able to stave it off. But the flesh is weak, and Chicken Ranchero Soft Tacos with Fire sauce is strong.
What the hell. I went to Taco Bell, thinking about how it's not so bad to give in to temptation once and a while, as long as I don't make a pig out of myself.
Picture the following scene: I drive up to the drive-thru 25 minutes ago. I am behind another car. they order and move on. My turn.
"Hello, welcome to blahdie blah, can I blah your blah"
"Hi." (this is me...) "Can I have a number two with a Pepsi?"
I always order a number two, because that's what Taco Bell gives me anyway.
They give me a total and I pull around.
Now keep in mind that I haven't been to The Border in a few months. So for a second or two after what happens actually transpires, I am thinking that things might be different... that what I am experiencing might be 'normal'.
I pull up to the window, hand them my card, and they give me my drink. Then they hand my card back to me.
"Want any hot or mild sauce?" Asks the sleepy-eyed, slightly slack-jawed minimum-wage-earning Slipknot Fan in the window.
I ask for hot sauce. A moment later they give it to me.
On a tray.
The dude hands me a plastic Taco Bell tray, complete with paper placemat. My items are placed side-by-side next to three packs of hot sauce (in a new, purple packet).
So I take the tray and look puzzled. Nickleback says "Thank you" and I drive away from the window.
WITH A TACO BELL TRAY IN MY HAND.
Now like I said, because I haven't been doing The Bell for a while, for a moment or two I was thinking that maybe this is normal. I seem to recall seeing a few commercials for new 'platter' meals from La Casa Del Taco.
But no... this is an actual 'for here' tray. In my lap. From the drive-through. Something is wrong.
I parked and walked inside. "Keri"... the manager on duty, asks me if she can help me when I approach the counter with my TRAY of food.
"Yeah, Hi. Um... is this normal? I got this tray in the drive-thru."
"They gave you a tray?"
"Yeah. I mean... um..."
"Yeah, sorry, I will take that."
She put my food in a bag and told me to have a good day. My mind continues to be blown.
Then, a few moments ago, it all made perfect sense to me.
See, when they hand me my card back... when ANYONE hands me my card back, I put it in my wallet, and I fold my receipt and put THAT in there, too. Just for kicks, I pulled out the receipt.
It says 'DINE-IN' on the top, instead of 'TO-GO' or 'DRIVE-THRU'.
So for all I can figure, what we have here is a case of a guy who was just following orders. He was following them EXACTLY as written. When a customer is DINING IN... give 'em a tray.
Unbelievable.
The switch...
I get bitched at for posting my blog entirely on MySpace, and I can understand that. So I have shopped around and adopted Blogger as a reasonable alternative. Hello. This account started up 4 years ago and I have just re-adopted it. You lucky twits.
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