Breaking the Bloggle Hiatus and Remembering Paul Newman Two Years Later

When I awoke this morning, I had a most unusual feeling -- one I hadn't felt in months: I really want to write today.

Considering my short stories from the past few years have all but fallen by the wayside, as I sink ever quickly into the acknowledgment that I may never be a real writer, I figured that maybe I'd unlock the old bloggle and toss some words out into the Interwebs.

But, still, it was curious that I had such a hankering. I've been seeing more movies than ever lately; the past couple of movie weekends have included triple features. First, there was "Machete," "Scott Pilgrim vs. The World," and "The American." Then, "The Town," "Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps," and "Easy A" (couldn't help myself on the last one).

And, a couple weeks ago, I wrote a few film reviews for Bloomberg, my old favorite place of employment. Yet, while I had -- as always -- much to say about the films, I thought maybe I'd outgrown the little bloggle (several of my jerk friends would be relieved!).

As I sat down to tip-tap away about how amazing Danny Trejo is in "Machete" and how I relished director Robert Rodriguez's racist treatment of my people (The Mexicans) -- and treatment of my other people as trigger-happy racists (The Texans); or, how disappointed I was with George Clooney for making me want to stick toothpicks in my eyes to stay awake during "The American"; or, how overrated "The Town" is, just as "Gone Baby Gone" (Affleck's directorial debut) was three years ago -- my Favorite Food Critic signed on and reminded me what today is.

Today is the second anniversary of Paul Newman's death. Crestfallen.

I'd been thinking about this day all month, ever since I visited a friend in Westport, CT for a few days, where Paul Newman lived until his death. As we drove from the train station to my friend's home, he pointed out the window through the trees to the Westport Country Playhouse, where Newman's wife Joanne Woodward was artistic director and where Newman himself was part-owner of the restaurant next door.

It took a dozen swallows to loosen the knot in my throat.

But, somehow I'd forgotten the significance of today this morning, or how I felt two years ago when Brother G called to tell me the news. I was in such a sad place at the time, that the blow of my One True Idol dying made me more depressed than I'd have imagined.

From the morning of Paul Newman's death:

Now. I’m wiping the sleep away from my beady eyes and jolt upright in shock. My lips start to quiver, my jaw starts trembling – and it happened. I cried thankless, shameless tears as I sat there on my little air mattress in my new room (which is finally coming together, by the way).

I’ve joked a thousand times about how I’d cry when PN died. I wrote about it on this silly bloggle (and jinxed it? Believe you me, that was the first reaction I had … Hell hath a place for me now, I’m sure) but I didn’t think I actually would workout the old tear ducts, like some love-stricken fan who wanted to impale themselves after the loss of a Beatle.

It takes some pretty heavy things to make me cry; and it just made me realize how much I really did, and do, admire PN – everything from his early career and movie choices, to his lifestyle, and – perhaps most selfishly – how handsome and righteous his roles most often were. He will be an everlasting love.

Thankfully, I'm much happier than I was two years ago, but as my all-time favorite "Cool Hand Luke" plays in the background -- the beloved scene where Dragline beats poor Paul into a pulp, but he won't stay down ... because he's Luke -- I'm sure I'll cry a few quiet tears throughout the afternoon.

And, for anyone interested, Roger Ebert's article on Newman is amazing. Upon reflecting on his obituary, Ebert writes:

I never really thought of him as an actor. I regarded him more as an embodiment, an evocation, of something. And I think that something was himself. He seemed above all a deeply good man, who freed himself to live life fully and joyfully, and used his success as a way to follow his own path, and to help others.

And, of his third meeting with Newman, he writes:

Never mind what happened in 1969. I'll dig up the old magazine and put it on the web site. Let's move forward to 1995, and listen very carefully. When I walked into his room, he said, "Aw...it's you again." The point is not that he remembered me. The point is how he said "aw..." Imagine it in Paul Newman's voice. It evoked feelings hard to express in words. The "aw" wasn't "oh, no," as it sometimes can be. To me it translated as, "Aw, it's that scared kid, grown up." Whatever it meant, it put me right at home.

Oh, no, the tears. At least it gave me a reason to write. Silver-linings.

Dallas Cowboys, District 9, Robin Williams -- Nothing in Common

Like a little angel, my Favorite Food Critic, and former-colleague (and one of the few fine folks I miss from Up North), sent me a note sometime last week to the effect of:

"Lady Grice, big news: your old employer ["The Blerg"] has sprung for a big trip down your way for my column. Any interest in going to the opening Dallas Cowboys game on Sunday? See the new stadium?"

"I'm sorry, I just read that aloud to my brother," I began in response, "I believe he must've swallowed some mosquitoes just now -- he hasn't picked up his jaw from the floor. Are you serious?"

"Tell Brother Grice he's welcome to come, too."

So, Brother and Sister Grice took another trip, flying past little tiny Texas towns until we came upon that snobby city 4 1/2 hours to our north. Dallas.

Food Critic had to be driven to an anonymous-looking building to get the tickets; we drank cocktails from glass cowboy boots. It was an unforgettable trip.

(Thank you, again.)

I won't lie and say I'm the hugest football fan; every Friday night growing up was spent at my high school stadium, but the moment I'd sit down, I'd swing my feet around the bleachers in an about-face to talk to my buds -- always ignoring the game in full.

But even I knew how big a deal this whole Dallas event was, and how Bro G would appreciate the weekend. So, we went, we ate, we saw, we cheered, we swam, we toured, we ate...and ate, and ate.

And then we saw those old Cowboys let the Giants shame them.

Dawson wouldn't have wanted Tony Romo's life this weekend, I'm sure.

A whole month (to the day) since the last post. I don't even remember how to write on this old bloggle.

Leeeeettt's see. I was bogged down with a bunch of editing (I know so much about Texas teaching standards these days ... fun stuff, she says, lying through her teeth.), but I've managed to keep up the movie watching.

"District 9" -- I was so late in the game on that one. Mama Grice saw it and told me that she didn't care for it because the aliens were "ugly"; for some reason that deterred my better judgment for some time, delaying my viewing for well too long.

I really, really enjoyed that film. It felt a lot like the "28 Days Later"/"28 Months Later" movies, which I liked perhaps too much. It had the same sort of realistic-feeling special effects, not ruined by slap-you-in-the-face CGI bologna that's wrecked so many could-be/would-be good movies. The social allegories were also welcome, and a fun twist on traditional sci-fi fare.

And I really adored the South African government agent Wikus Van De Merwe (Sharlto Copley), who hopefully has more up his sleeve.

Importantly, for the past several weeks, that movie has inspired me to speak in clicks and twitches (a la the alien "Prawns") -- something that might've been frowned upon before this film's arrival.

My Friend and I were at a movie loss recently and decided to head to the Houston Angelika to see a more indie-trendy film and stumbled upon Robin Williams' recent "World's Greatest Dad" ... hmmm.

Williams plays Lance Clayton (great name for this role), a somewhat depressing yokel of a man who's a creative writing teacher -- who's never published a thing. He's the single dad of a jerk teenager whose ... "extra curricular activities" are rather unsavory; his teacher-girlfriend toys with his heart. Etc. When a tragic (ahem) event takes his son's life, Lance is suddenly thrust into the public eye -- which leads to some counter-intuitive outcomes.

It's good, but not great. It feels as though writer-director Bobcat Goldthwait needed just a few more months of tweaking to make it a little funnier, poignant, dark ... something. And, perhaps a few more months to find a better actor to play the son's character (Daryl Sabara).

Advice on Jobs, Many Movie References ... Of the Three Suggestions, I'd be Harold Crick

Lord, have Mercy.

I'd really meant to write this post a couple days ago ... when I got the old canning, I received so much advice. Mama G first brought up the idea of me teaching for a bit while I figured out my sh!t (quality rye, that spelling is a throwback to the dreary days at The Bl'erg) - I then thought of applying to Nursing School, since I have a lot of "patience" with people and have volunteered at many medical establishments since the ripe age of 12.

Papa Grice, with whom I share very few e-mail or other New Age oral transactions, emailed saying I should consider teaching as a "Stop-Gap" job while I figgered things out ... I'd be a "hit" in public school placements due to my "patience" and commiseration with public school folks -- perhaps it's my downfall! Both self-realized, and parentally-realized.

I took both suggestions lightly at first, then obviously delved into the Interwebs and tried to find out the logistics of such fare. I studied for hours how to become a teacher, a nurse, a tutor, a struggling writer. SOOOOOOO, this meant all these considerations drudged up some good movie scenes.

I was assured by my favorite Food Critic that being fired (we both decided that "laid off" is only something that happens when you're post-50, with an ample pot-belly, and trying to hold on to your job -- wiiiiiiishful thinking) is ultimately nothing to be ashamed of (lies), and that it was good that I was "liberated" (thank you, SueW, for that forever memorable naming of it).

So, I decided to look up my favorite movie scenes of the vocational replacements for the job I hated.

We'll start with teacher ... good ol' Ben Stein and the Bueller, Bueller, Bueller scene: I memorized Simone's lines when I was, Lord, 9? 8? I would rewind my VHS burnt-out tape and write down the lines. Which are:

Economics Teacher: Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?
Simone: Um, he's sick. My best friend's sister's boyfriend's brother's girlfriend heard from this guy who knows this kid who's going with the girl who saw Ferris pass out at 31 Flavors last night. I guess it's pretty serious.
Economics Teacher: Thank you, Simone
Simone: No problem whatsoever.

Now we'll move to the Nurse position: I've ref'd it before, but Good god(s), Nurse Ratched is the best bad female character ... the last time I posted about her, Jack Nicholson was strangling her, so this is a step up?

And, we can do a favorite writer movie clip ... all things that are in my Unemployed checklist of future options. Wowsa. "Have you met anyone recently that might loathe the very core of you?" Goodness, so great.

Brother and Sister Grice Go to L.A., Birthday Week, "To Live and Die in L.A."

Day 6: Depression

Nooooo, not really - but there's something a bit saddening about approaching your birthday (Feb. 14 -- gifts, well-wishes, and handouts are currently being accepted) and your mid-late Twenties without the security of a job you hate. Where do I direct all that negative energy??

So far it's been confined to the sterile streets of Cambridge. This crippled lady has taken to jogging (!!) in this upper-middle class suburbia dreamland; I've cooked more food than I thought possible; I've drawn cartoons, reaching back into my 6th-grade bag of hobbies, which I'm going to hang on my wall with a little placard that reads: "What happens when you try to pass time due to Unemployment."

There's been a couple good developments, however.

Sister and Brother Grice are using Bl'erg severance to go wander around Los Angeles! We're doing it - the tickets have been bought, the e-mails have been sent, the tentative interviews with movie-industry jobs are in the works. It should be grand.

I've also begun planning my usual Morgan's Birthday Week festivities, which begin on Wednesday with another Grice dinner party. On the menu so far are Texas Hold-Ums chipotle hamburgers, chicken rice pots with avocado/sour cream dip, some variety of cookies -- and, as usual, a lot of Grice stress.

Oh, unemployment.

Of course, my Cantabrigian host has been a dear friend and has facilitated much movie-watching to get me through my trying time of sloth and gluttony. My favorite film was the well-timed (considering my very possible Westward move) "To Live and Die in L.A." Man, oh, man -- it features a young Willem Dafoe as a rotten counterfeiter, a cuh-razily young John Turturro, and William Petersen (looks like his only other big thing he's done is CSI, meh) as a Secret Service agent who's going after Dafoe. Wang Chung does the original score for the film ... I mean, you can't get more 80s than this flick. I knew I was going to love it when a money-carrier character goes into a train station, walks up to the Amtrak counter and receives a note that just says "Hello Asshole."

The only thing that comes close was another Friend movie suggestion, "Thief," which I watched a couple months ago. Same synthesizer-loaded music soundtrack, lots of crazy car chases and bad explosions ... It turns out William Petersen was in that oldie as well. Some of these 80s dudes really suited their decade.

The "To Live and Die in L.A." trailer, below.

God, in another life, please make me a cool Secret Service Agent ... or, rather, maybe a cool counterfeiter who is described as Armed and Extremely Dangerous. Don't let me be a laid off movie critic! A second-rate movie critic at that, SIGH!

Fired! (Or, Laid Off, as Mama G Is Making Me Say -- Semantics)

For all the naysayers out there, it happened. The above man was me, yesterday. I got the axe. I was lopped off and placed into the Land of Unemployment. Just two dear days after I was offered a DVD/movie column.

The treatment was quite classic. I walked in to the building, ready to hobble over to my little perch on the third floor. My daily dungeon. Boxes and hugs abounded, but I breathed deep and put one foot in front of another (with a little crippled swagger, sure).

"There's so much carnage, sorry for the weird face I made at you when you came in," said the first message I read in my work inbox.

The next message was a stately communique that read: "Employees: Watch this video before you do anything else."

Eerie in its coldness, eerier in its candor. The video was a little man who was hired some months ago -- round, balding and crude-looking -- telling us of the Restructuring. Some would be affected, but don't worry, They will be taken care of.

I was part of the They.

I wanted to post some great movie clip of someone walking the plank or getting their head chopped off; alas, I'm on the bus to Boston and they've blocked YouTube. JERKS!

Sooooooo, anyway, I cried some thankless tears as the HR lady told us of our fate; blubbered a bit, hugged my big coworker Ken, who made the days bearable, then shoved my hand in the face of my boss when he came over and said: "Really??! I DON'T want to talk to you right now." ME! It was a shock to the ol' system.

I even cut off the Bossman's Bosslady by saying, "You know what!?? You know WHAT!? I've been f*cking [no star in the actual convo] doing TWO jobs for this company. I should've spoken up sooner. I f*cking [see above] went to Harvard -- I don't know what I've been doing here."

Whoa, who knew this little Grice had the gall to say something like that -- or the arrogance.

C'est la vie.

PS: I think it's time for LA, though Brother Grice is now pushing for Austin. Hmmm, times, they're a-changing.

New Bloomberg DVD/Movie Column!! Errrrr, Maybe Not? Maybe Unemployment?

After a relaxing, awesome four-day long weekend and a pretty impromptu trip up to old Cambridge, I dragged my depressed bones out of bed yesterday as I realized that fun time was over and work was upon me. Oh, how I didn't foresee the roller-coaster that was coming.

I arrived to an email from the executive editor of Bloomberg Muse (arts) -- an intimidating lady -- asking me to come see her; she wanted to know if I'd be interested in doing a DVD column. (!!!) I'd still get to do my regular reviews whenever Main Reviewer throws them my way, but they had to get rid of their freelancers due to budget cutbacks, so she was asking me to fill the DVD Dude's role. ME! I'd get to choose to review big movies, obscure ones, re-releases -- all up to me.

I accepted (obvz) and I'm to be replacing Peter Rainer, who is a pretty prolific movie critic. I was so excited; shortly thereafter, the Main Movie Reviewer sent a message inviting me to lunches next week with head publicists at Warner's, the Int'l House of Publicity and Universal Pictures. My little Grice heart was a-thumping and I felt so ... so ... Successful!

I drafted my email to all of Rainer's contacts, as told, telling them I was the new columnist; oh, the responses were so enthusiastic: "New Blood! This is great - can't wait to work with you!!" [Me neither, faceless PR-person!!!] "Here's the pipeline, let me know which you might be interested in reviewing - or which you just want for yourself! Welcome to DVD-land! " [I'm to be receiving the new Friday the 13th 3-D Deluxe Edition tomorrow from this dear ... Happy early birthday, Grice! ] Etc.

So, imagine my dismay to come into work today to find the whole office consumed in panic.

The cuts, they've begun.

One of our big anchors was let go, show cancelled, today, as TVNewser picked up. Several others have fallen, and tomorrow seems to be the real day of reckoning. The rumors and compulsive talking about it have me fearing that I'll be axed before I get the chance to start my first regular column. I take back my prayers to the gods to be fired. I take them back!!

I suppose the only recourse is to think of something as brilliant as Ed Norton/Tyler Durden in Fight Club, as seen below.

There are a bunch of movies (Frost/Nixon ... boo) I planned to write on yesterday/today, but it's been too crazy. Maybe tomorrow -- from my couch, after they send us packing.

"I don't even have to come into the office, I can do this job from home." -- Msr. Norton




And, just for sh!ts, the Friday the 13th trailer from 1980. ("ch-ch-ch... ah-ah-ah")

`Pls Describe a D0nkey Punch,' Work Meeting of Death, Saw III/IV

What. A. Day. (W.A.D.) I had on Thursday.

First, my editor -- darling man -- asked me to explain what a "Donkey Punch" is, as he was editing my review of the movie by the same name; the stress of trying to type something coherent to him did as much damage to my health as my Momofuku fried pork and egg bun that morning.

Something along the lines of this was written, as my face pulsed in embarrassment: "donkey punch ... oy. well, two people are - ahem - and the male of the situation strikes the woman. in this case, he accidentally strikes her so that she hits her head and breaks her neck. it's really awful. i won't be offended if you cut it (!)"

Sigh. He didn't cut it, and I'll perhaps post the reviews later.

Just as I was getting over this sweet discussion, we were all summoned to the "Ottawa" room -- me and the other useless grunts I work with, that is. So much pain and suffering can be stuffed into one little, longest hour of your life!

We were warned -- for all intents and purposes -- that we could all be fired at any time; well, no, not directly, but Bossman and Bossman's Bosslady, had clearly been told from somewhere on high something that made them shake in their boots. While the panic amongst workmates was palpable, this was the only part of the meeting that I didn't find depressing. In fact, my ears perked up a bit, as getting the old axe would mean L.A. here I come. The decision would be made for me!

What was depressing was the rest of it. Usually, we're spared in-person meetings, each of us dialing in to some conference room in the sky, (so I can continue typing and sighing in PEACE -- and on mute). Not this time.

"Things are going to change around here," he/she/they intoned (so many times that, at one point, I actually thought they almost believed themselves!). "We have a new Vision for The Group."

What followed was simply an incoherent, depressing load of bunk, the likes of which I hadn't seen or heard in a long time.

This neverending meeting reminded me just how awful and boring and mind-numbing the non-movie reviewing part of my job is. Or, maybe it was how seriously the Bosses have to take what we do for their own dignity when, deep down (not that far deep), they've got to know we could any day be replaced by computers -- and it sounds like we might be!

Upon returning to my desk, I'd received two great correspondences from two of my favorite work friends -- two people who make it so that each day is a little funny and so that each day I'm not found splattered on the 58th-street sidewalk.

Summation 1:

worst

meeting

ever.

60 minutes. 20 people. 4 chairs. it's like a scenario out of Saw III or something. felt like i was a guard at tomb of the unknown solider. standing motionless at various statuesque poses. not showing any sign of fatigue. but trying to convey respect. except this wasn't the tomb of the unknown solider, rather it was a waste of our time. (let's spend 10 minutes on how to click on a link in media master, then wc starts to complain about how to search for MULTIPLE FLOODS IN ONE DAY) ha. so there. said my piece. whew. that felt good. `r

Summation 2:

[Redacted]: ummmm

that call made me want to kill myself

2:51 PM it's just unbelievable

me: UNBELIEVABLE

thank you.
[Redacted]: i just don't know what to say

me: CAN this day get worse?

[Redacted]: it's just frightening how bad the leadership of this team is

One descriptive, one brief -- both of the same sentiment. Oh. How. Sad.

Ah, just as I was about to post, Redacted popped into my G-Chatland

[Redacted]: kill me

Another day at the Factory!

In light of my coworker's mentioning of Saw III, I had to peruse through the multiple scenes and trailers online, of course. So much about the Saw IV trailer reminds me of my job. Those taglines--so fitting! And that mummy-looking fellow at the end there, that's how I'm going to look at the end of 2009 if Things Do Not Change.

Chasing After the Carrot Stick, New Reviews Next Week ... Bon Weekend

Well, that's how I feel (the above image).

I was getting ready to go off and have a proper lunch, like a human, instead of indulging in a plethora of free work snacks and ramen [read: salt]. I decided I ought to check my messages before I left, like an employee, instead of a freeloading resource-drain [read: me].

"Please stop by my desk when you have a moment," writes Bloomberg Movie Critic the Elder.

Thankfully, I've been dressing "nicely" the past few days, my second-hand sweaters and one pair of dress pants having been unearthed from the bowels of my bedroom. (I'm awaiting my performance review.)

I smoothed down the tresses, winced at my reflection and sauntered over.

Maybe I'd forgotten to produce some of his movie trailers? Maybe one of the editors mentioned I'd been a couple hours late on my deadline during the last round of reviews?!? Maybe he was going to say: Look, kid, we're in a recession and they're nixing the Arts department. We rarely have in-person rendezvous.

He was flustered and scatterbrained when I got there.

"Aaahhh, uubb, oofff, umm, GOD, I'm in such movie disaster! Did you SEE my reviews this week??? [Umm, yes, why, yes I did. And my jealousy was palpable.] I had to do 7 for one day! I could only write capsules!!! [Oh, you poor dear.] I have a proposition for you ... can you ... umm, I have some movies for next week -- are you available for ..."

"The answer is YES!" I blurted out, uncontrollably and embarrassingly. (Who's lazy now, punk?) He was taken aback, but pleased.

So, crisis: averted; my paranoia: in check.

Of course, as I walked away, I realized that since I started doing movie reviews, they have me do them juuuuuuuust frequently enough that I'm the hopeless little horse chasing after the elusive carrot stick.

In my case, I sit at my desk all day long like the man featured in the picture above, but then the moment something good happens, the clouds part and ... sunshine. Suddenly, I'm happier at my workplace and L.A. lingers further in the backdrop. Sigh-o-rama.

The first two I'm seeing are "The Tale of Despereaux" and "Yes Man." Anything will do.

It just so happens that my roommate and I watched "Liar, Liar" recently; it was an active decision, not just something we stumbled upon on TV. It'll be interesting to see what Mr. Carrey brings to the screen in "Yes Man."



"Yes Man"

Bankruptcy Class for Suckers, Dreamless Fields, and Double Feature Night

Don't know what "prepackaged bankruptcy" is or how to write about it properly? Oh, really? Neither do/did I.

To remind myself that there are a few marbles rolling around upstairs, I signed up for a class on PB at work. It was taught by a small, squirrelly old man, who was dropping colloquialisms like "cotton-pickin" left and right; he was a bankruptcy lawyer, a brilliant one, or so was said in his introduction. And he spoke like folks from home! Fantastic.

So, should GM, Chrysler and Ford fold? Consolidation? What are the ramifications? Outlook?

I awaited elucidation. Good thing I wasn't holding my breath.

He was certainly brilliant, explaining exactly why the media is misusing "prepacks," and I was following. That was out of the way, what's more, Old Man?

Oh, they HAVE to file bankruptcy. He explained the domino effect, how suppliers, workers, so many auxiliary industries will just be wiped out if they don't! Taxpayers, saddled with debt! It all made sense (sort of, let's be honest).

Then people started asking questions.

Oh, sure, he was biased-- admittedly: "A surgeon's always going to believe your best bet is to cut out the disease." But he held his ground.

Until he didn't. People pushed him a little further, and then it came out: "Well...well...uh... [yes?] Well, ok I agree the government should just foot the bill ... I agree with that too." [Too?]

You could see this brilliant man standing there fighting with himself after he'd just waxed brilliant, confident. Finally, he just said "Well, you know what? F*ck all ... there's going to be so much blood. I don't know what to tell you. Except, you could run a plow over the whole Midwest."

The only thing I could think of was Kevin Costner and his beautiful corn fields and home and family being plowed over. Run over one by one by cars that are indirectly responsible for their demise.

Below, a clip with the great James Earl Jones in "Field of Dreams."

Despite the depressing discourse on the outlook for our fair nation, one thing to be optimistic about: Tonight is DOUBLE FEATURE night! Finally seeing "Slumdog Millionaire," and we're supposed to see "Milk," post-slumming it.

New Reviews and Zomg, Spielberg May Remake `Old Boy'

I don't even care about my witless little reviews that I slaved over this past week; Steven Spielberg is in talks to remake "Old Boy." The clouds have parted and the gods are smiling down on us (me). Says Variety:

Steven Spielberg and Will Smith are in early discussions to collaborate on a remake of Chan Wook-park's "Oldboy." DreamWorks is in the process of securing the remake rights, and the new pic will be distributed by Universal.

In the 2003 Korean original, a man gets kidnapped and held in a shabby cell for 15 years without explanation. Suddenly, he's released and given money, a cell phone and clothes and is set on a path to discover who destroyed his life so he can take revenge.

I wrote about my experience with "Old Boy" here. Happy Friday.

My Bloomberg reviews of "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas," "Role Models," and "The Guitar" are here. Meh.

New Bloomberg Reviews, Halloween, Selfishness

Oh, dear Bloggle, why have I forsaken thee? So much to say.

First, I feel I've made a great decision living with the new boys I'm to be living with come Saturday. Calm, cool and collected ... that's the sense I get. Check.

Second. Two nights ago, I went to coffee (err, hot chocolate ... no stomach for coffee) with an old friend of mine. Spoke of ills of life, the outlook for better things, how to deal. One of those convos. Oh, how great I was feeling on my way back to my now-former apartment.

Got home -- this was Wednesday night -- and knew I had a deadline the next morning. I had to turn in three reviews.

Now.

I'd not gone out, not done a thing for over a week at this point. Dedicated my life to inundation of moving pictures and criticism and the researching of it all. Each night, post-work cum post-movie, I got home and got to work. I'd stay up til 4am, or later, figuring out what I wanted to say. Or how I wanted to say it in some grander context...

Well, post-hot chocolate, my eyelids were magnetized. They wanted each other. Sooooo badly. I decided that I'd put on a little Seinfeld to "rest my eyes" for juuuuust a minute. (Thankfully, I remember college so clearly that I caught myself from that easy trap and set my alarm for 3 a.m.)

I awoke to the worst sounding alarm, some ridiculous little jingle irritating my ear with its simultaneous vibration. Have I no tact? Clearly, no.

I couldn't get up.

I finally did, round 6 a.m. (maybe more like 4 a.m., I'm lying so I can disclaim the quality) and worked til I went into work and turned in the reviews.

I'll write what I wrote on another "wall," as it were.

"Shill-anthropy. Btw, I'm going to blog about this, but the editor I worked on these with skinned them like you would a poisonous snake. She gutted me. Cut the fat, and made me an anorexic critic. They're all still my words, but sheesh, for "space" we had to cut it down ... good lord. I will never work with her again. That's my disclaimer."

http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601088&sid=aNT5Y2FPnFL8&refer=muse

I know that a couple of work friends want to hear about how I stood up for myself (that's thrice, Grice) today ... and I'll write more on that later. For now, I'm speeeeeeent. And it's effing Halloween! My favorite of all holidays.

(Don't know why this didn't post yesterday.)