These words above were plainly and sincerely uttered by my old friend and recent housemate, Rodball, after I introduced him to the pleasure that is Fritos' Jalenpena Cheese Dip. We were watching "Man on Fire", which was far less engaging than the so-called jar of cheese. If you haven't seen it, let me ruin it for you. Tony Scott fucked over a good premise and an excellent lead actor because he apparently went to art school just before he began production and felt the need to inject the entire film with quick-flashing montages of 'symbolic' imagery. When he wasn't doing that or keeping the pace of the film at a crawl, Mr. Scott seemed to have a problem taking his finger off the slow-motion button. Out of the nearly two hours of film, fifteen to twenty minutes deserved more attention than the growing collection of dust bunnies under the couch.
But my life is more than just watching movies. For example, I drove to Royal Oak this past Sunday to watch Ju-On, the Japanese forerunner to our The Grudge. This, I believe will be a weekly ritual for two reasons: I like good, fringe movies and I need to get out of this side of town every so often. Going to Royal Oak serves both purposes.
I set out to discover this new land last weekend after a strange 180. The night before, I'd been out with my housemates and some of their pals. It was going swimmingly. Oh we were a happy bunch. When we got back to the pad to play board games and whatnot, I got weird and decided to hide inside. For the next day and a half, I was not seen or heard. I'm a strange guy, I am.
Slowly, I came out of my funk and it was good but my friends were out doing their own thing when I recovered. Before I left, I managed to break the thing that holds their toliet scrubber. I mean, who the fuck has a porcelin toliet scrubber holder? Please.
Well, leaving a note apologizing for my disappearance and the mysterious breaking of that toliet thing did nothing to make me seem less enigmatic, it seems. That mostly because I didn't get back from the movies until late. Oh, wait. No, I went from the movies to the Trail Bar where I wrote for four hours before going home. And damn that bartender and her delicious whiskey drinks. I thought I was goddamn Ernie Hemingway. I even puffed two cigars while I was there. Man, I'm a sight sometimes.
And this picture of me feels so inaccurate to me now. I've dropped ten pounds since I've been here, my hair is noticeably longer and my facial hair is a half-inch from being a crazy hippie beard. That and I've learned how to button my shirt because it's damn cold, which means I'm usually wearing some jacket of some sort.
If I haven't mentioned this before, the house itself is really cold. My well-intentioned buddies don't run the heat like normal folks so they can limit their dependance on fossil-fuel burning energy or something fruity like that. The thermostat says 65 degrees but I have never ever worn a jacket on a 65 degree day, which is exactly how I walk around the house.
The other day as I toiled away on some laborious but very skilled-intensive project at the shop, an older gentleman with a thick, grey mustache and slicked back hair entered. He was wearing a long, black wool coat and expensive suit. The demeanor in which he entered suggested a man of some importance. When he spoke to my boss, I noticed a level of obsequiousness develope in response. The Godfather continued in this way saying he had another job for us, then called my boss to his 'office' (i.e. outside where the saws are). Left to linger in the mystery but determined to remain loyal to my work, I decided that my boss bet money with this guy and lost and hadn't paid him back so in a few minutes I go out and find his dead and bloodied body with no remaining trace of the Godfather in sight.
As quickly and triumphantly as he'd entered, the Godfather left. Bossman looked all flustered but happy. I sauntered over and asked about our strange guest who I also noticed was driving a black, low-rider Chevy S-10. It turns out all my assumptions were off. This man didn't belong to any mafia or underworld of devious activity. He was simply the head of one of the companies around here that does business with us and the "office" visit was to try to lure him into a position with them.
Oh the intrigue! For a few fleeting moments, I lived a life on the periphery of real heavy shit.
When I actually do something interesting, I'll share it. Until then, take care.
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