Cross This!
The weather here in Shanghai is getting colder and harsher. Today, after a noble attempt at studying at the Starbucks a 20 minute walk away, I had to slodge (I don't think that's a real word) home in some pretty pregnant rain droplets. I was careful not to step into any puddles, but somehow my eyes were deceiving me today and I landed in quite a few. I had to Urkel my pants so that I could walk without being dragged behind.
Whenever I have to take walks like this by myself, I try to capitalize on the alone-time that I have and think about important things, like my career and my priorities, but I inevitably end up thinking about random things, like today when I thought about what I wanted to eat for lunch and where I can buy Lucky Charms in China. I mixed and matched and came up with four different kinds of dumplings that I could order on my way to the food court, and after 10 minutes of deliberating with myself, what do I do when I get in front of the cashier but stand there with my mouth open, staring blankly at the menu and not having a clue what I feel like eating.
When the weather gets bad, I make like everyone else and stay at home. With only three English-language channels on TV, however, my distraction choices are greatly limited. This is how I ended up watching Britney Spears in "Crossroads" on Friday night. I had been avoiding watching this movie at all costs, but Tyrone, that annoying little voice inside my head that speaks to me when I am at my most embarrassingly vapid moments, always told me that I'd watch it one day. So here I was, watching a terrible movie with terrible acting and a ridiculously dull plot line...and enjoying myself! I even tried going to the bathroom and violently splashing water on my face, yet I could not pull myself away from the television. It was as if Britney had cast a spell on me. What a bitch. I had to take a long hot shower afterwards to watch away the sugary grime that I felt all over myself.
*I am inserting this comment here to indicate that, at this point, I had written a very long and drawn out exploration of how I either loathe myself or love myself, and I realized that this was dramatically divergent from what I normally put in this blog, so I took it out and am leaving this behind. Maybe I'll regret it later, but probably not*
I ended up having a little film festival after Britney. On Sunday, I watched American Wedding, Kill Bill, Gigli, and The Insider. That's nearly 10 hours of movie-digesting, folks. For those of you curious about how bad Gigli truly was, I have to say that I'm not really sure, because I ended up more interested in the plastic coating that this God-awful movie came in than the movie itself.
Kill Bill is the shit. I knew there would be trouble when Uma Thurman got into a big yellow truck with the pink words "Pussy Wagon" on the back. I've missed you, QT.
Just now, I re-watched "My Best Friend's Wedding," which I say is the best romantic comedy in the past 10 years. I mean that. The writing is intelligent, the acting is fresh, and even though the girl doesn't get the guy at the end, you still end up knowing that the right thing happened, and you're pretty damn happy about it. Of course, I had to cry at the scenes where everyone cries. You know what I'm talking about, that scene when Julia Roberts rips her maid-of-honor dress, and when the Rachel Griffiths character has her tongue stuck on the ice sculpture's dick. Those two tragic scenes get me each time; I thought I could hold it back tonight, but no dice. I guess I'm the same Eric, and my crossroads still loom ahead and not behind.
Whenever I have to take walks like this by myself, I try to capitalize on the alone-time that I have and think about important things, like my career and my priorities, but I inevitably end up thinking about random things, like today when I thought about what I wanted to eat for lunch and where I can buy Lucky Charms in China. I mixed and matched and came up with four different kinds of dumplings that I could order on my way to the food court, and after 10 minutes of deliberating with myself, what do I do when I get in front of the cashier but stand there with my mouth open, staring blankly at the menu and not having a clue what I feel like eating.
When the weather gets bad, I make like everyone else and stay at home. With only three English-language channels on TV, however, my distraction choices are greatly limited. This is how I ended up watching Britney Spears in "Crossroads" on Friday night. I had been avoiding watching this movie at all costs, but Tyrone, that annoying little voice inside my head that speaks to me when I am at my most embarrassingly vapid moments, always told me that I'd watch it one day. So here I was, watching a terrible movie with terrible acting and a ridiculously dull plot line...and enjoying myself! I even tried going to the bathroom and violently splashing water on my face, yet I could not pull myself away from the television. It was as if Britney had cast a spell on me. What a bitch. I had to take a long hot shower afterwards to watch away the sugary grime that I felt all over myself.
*I am inserting this comment here to indicate that, at this point, I had written a very long and drawn out exploration of how I either loathe myself or love myself, and I realized that this was dramatically divergent from what I normally put in this blog, so I took it out and am leaving this behind. Maybe I'll regret it later, but probably not*
I ended up having a little film festival after Britney. On Sunday, I watched American Wedding, Kill Bill, Gigli, and The Insider. That's nearly 10 hours of movie-digesting, folks. For those of you curious about how bad Gigli truly was, I have to say that I'm not really sure, because I ended up more interested in the plastic coating that this God-awful movie came in than the movie itself.
Kill Bill is the shit. I knew there would be trouble when Uma Thurman got into a big yellow truck with the pink words "Pussy Wagon" on the back. I've missed you, QT.
Just now, I re-watched "My Best Friend's Wedding," which I say is the best romantic comedy in the past 10 years. I mean that. The writing is intelligent, the acting is fresh, and even though the girl doesn't get the guy at the end, you still end up knowing that the right thing happened, and you're pretty damn happy about it. Of course, I had to cry at the scenes where everyone cries. You know what I'm talking about, that scene when Julia Roberts rips her maid-of-honor dress, and when the Rachel Griffiths character has her tongue stuck on the ice sculpture's dick. Those two tragic scenes get me each time; I thought I could hold it back tonight, but no dice. I guess I'm the same Eric, and my crossroads still loom ahead and not behind.
posted by sushipanda at 4:00 PM
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