1) I'll start, as I do with alarming frequency lately, with the obligatory "Hey-it's-been-awhile" comment. Last month I posted seven pieces in this space. Nothing like when I used to write here every day, but more than one a week. We're halfway through this month, and I'm just now getting around to putting up some new content. And not even interesting content--just a time-killing Random Thoughts post.
Has inspiration dried up? Have I run out of things to say? Have I had more interesting things to do? Possibly, possibly and dear God, no.
2) But of course, I was pulled back to writing in order to comment on the momentous news that Russell Crowe and his wife are separating. I think I speak for everyone when I say, "What? Seriously? Did we start caring about Russell Crowe again?"
The Associated Press story on this treats it as a tragedy on the level of the Kennedy assassination, but what can you expect from a news-gathering organization that continues to give us updates on Pete Wentz's doings, continuing to tease us with the possibility (or, more accurately, threat) of a Fall-Out Boy reunion?
3) So I'm driving down the Interstate the other day, and I'm passed by a vehicle with vanity plates that read LIVNWEL. Seeing something like that, I immediately think of KENWINS from Breaking Bad. But at least Ken was driving a BMW. LIVNWEL had a Chevy Equinox.
Granted, it's certainly newer than my car, and perhaps fully paid for, so in that sense this clown could be said to be LIVN better than me. But again, he's driving a fucking Chevy--a relatively high-end model, sure, but I'm not sure that constitutes LIVN all that WEL. Certainly not WEL enough to brag about.
After all, if you were truly LIVNWEL, you wouldn't need to brag about it--your status would be obvious. Driving an Equinox is strictly a middle-management guy's idea of the good life. In that sense, this poor guy's pathetic boast kind of made me feel better. My job sucks, but at least it doesn't give me delusions of importance.
4) I saw Argo over the weekend, and I enjoyed it, but I feel the need to point out that it concludes with a "Where Are They Now?" crawl which unfolds over a series of shots of Star Wars action figures. This does tie in, rather obliquely, with the true-life story Argo has to tell, but let's face it, what it really tells us is that director Ben Affleck is a child of the seventies.
If you were, I dunno, fifteen or under (I was twelve) in the summer of '77, your life can be neatly divided into before or after you saw Star Wars. It was the center of your universe, at least for awhile, and even though you moved on, it still meant something, in the same way that baby boomers were influenced by the annual TV broadcasts of The Wizard Of Oz. Doesn't mean you think it's the greatest movie ever, but it was important to you, it's cultural impact ran deep, and if you make a "These are not the droids you're looking for" reference, you can reasonably expect that whoever you're talking to will get it.
All this is to say, no matter what most people who know me seem to think, I'm not obsessed with Star Wars.
5) Two mornings in a row, I woke up with fresh, deep scratches on my arm. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live in a world without a terrifying psychotic cat. But then I'd live in a world without Delmar, and I'd never want that.
