Deep questions and a review of The Grey film

LIRR stop overlooking a street in Queens, NY

Me: How’s the spinach and Parmesan omelet?
Her: It’s good, it just smells like a fart.
Me: Thank you for your contribution to this morning’s conversation.

Last week was a major week for me for good and bad reasons. Suppose I’ll get into that at some point in the future.

The heat’s getting to me. Find this odd cause my family’s from a subtropical country. Am pretty sure that, had I been born and raised there I would have gone full-on starkers with the heat. As it stands now, I’m the guy that shows up for work looking as if I just took a shower.

It is not a good look.

What I don’t understand – and I’d really like to know the answer – is how people can run around wearing sweaters in the middle of August? Who are these people? Are they related to the people that finish exams with 90 minutes left on the clock?

While fighting the heat, caught the film The Grey, mainly cause it takes place in the winter. If you’ve seen the film, highlight the below empty white space, which I’ve hidden for those that have (luckily) not seen the film.

This movie is yet another example of Hollywood writers making crap up that make zero sense. Essentially, everyone that listened/followed Lian Neeson’s character, including Lian Neeson character, dies. This should be required viewing for anyone in the wilderness of what not to do as it violates every rule of survival, onea the main ones being stay with your vehicle cause:

  • it’s huge
  • is visible from a distance
  • provides shelter
  • potentially has food and water

This was so egregious to me that I couldn’t enjoy the rest of the film – which compounded the number of mistakes  – such as route selection and leadership selection the latter which begs the question, why pick as leader the suicidal guy with zero survival skills?

Perhaps some questions were meant never to be answered. However, if you’ve ever wondered who’s the guy that wears shorts in the winter? That question I can answer: it’s people like me and my buddy Steel. Cause we’re melting even in the winter.

Cannot wait for Fall. After all, my year starts in September.

Location: my roasting room
Mood: heated
Music: White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight
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Glory Days

I know something you don’t know

Inigo Montoya: I admit it, you are better than I am.
Man in Black: Then why are you smiling?
Inigo Montoya: Because I know something you don’t know.

When you get beat up as often as I did as a kid, you either get all decked out in black and go Columbine, or you just learn how to fight. And for those of you that know me, I never do anything half-assed.

Bryson’s one of my best friends and was a striker like me. He outweighed me by 20-40 pounds but I was fast and flexible. We were always toe-to-toe. Until he started grappling. So I started too.

Then, a little after 9/11, I got injured. A kimura gone horribly wrong. Doc said I could either get surgery and lose 10% of my range of motion or rehab it and lose as little as 2%. Chose the latter. He said it’d take up to four years. It took seven. Stopped watching NHB stuff cause it made me sad. Didn’t wanna be one of those guys that spent his time talking about his glory days.

During those seven years, Bryson worked to the point that he’s a Pan-American Bronze Medalist. And he knew something his opponents didn’t – that as good as he was on the ground, he was even better on his feet. I knew that. My jaw knew that. Me? I stopped. Got fat. Settled down with a girlie.

The only place I’m still better than Bryson’s with a sword. But even then, he’s almost my match. We both know he’s better than me, he’s just too polite to ever say it. Some days, forget that I’m 35. Then my body reminds me. The last time I felt good about my right lead was in the mid-90s.

We spoke recently and he told me that he just got a similar injury. He finds out next week if he can roll again. I understood. Told him that he got seven years on me and he agreed. Small comfort, I know.

After we got off the phone, sat back and remembered when we weren’t old men. Instead, we’re in the muddy backyard of my college house. He’d swing on by, we’d laugh. Then we’d knuckle up and roll.

Man in Black: And what is that?
Inigo Montoya: I…am not left-handed.

Location: my parent’s living room
Mood: nostalgic
Music: hope when I get old I don’t sit around thinking about it

Creepy

Location: my office
Mood: exhausted
Music: so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away

Late Monday night, got the most creepy phone call ever from HeartGirl – or, rather, from her and her hella creepy friend. Wanted to take a shower afterwards.

Speaking of which, I met seven women this long weekend. I’ve been told that the reason I meet so many people is that I’ve got a really low “creepiness factor.” All men people have it; some more than others.

Consider this: HEI had some guy she vaguely knows recently wait on her doorstep unannounced with flowers and wine. He mighta been there for hours. In Hollywood, that’s romantic. In the real world, that’s creepy. Let’s review, shall we?

Standing outside your ex’s home holding a boombox belting out Peter Gabriel.

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and stalkerish)

Meeting a girl for 10 minutes and telling her that you’re her soulmate.

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and pathetic)

Telling someone that they “complete you.”This one I particularly loathe – cause who wants someone that isn’t whole on their own?

Hollywood: Romantic
Real life: Creepy (and lame)

Following a girlie around a bar all night because you spoke to her for five minutes.

Hollywood: Creepy – Look, even Hollywood thinks this is creepy. Don’t do it.
Real life: Creepy (and something I see every week)

Seriously, there is no line you can say to a girlie, no shirt you can wear, no drink you can buy that will change your ability to talk to a girl than lowering your creepy factor. How to do this is a whole ‘nother story.

BTW, HeartGirl called me twice to apologize for her friend; I called her back and we spoke. I think I forgive her. Dunno yet. But I thought it was brave of her to call me back twice to say she was sorry. You get points for being brave in this life.

And because…I know what it’s like to wanna be forgiven for the stupid mistakes we make. For the awful, awful things we say and do to one another.

Man, I know that oh so well.