--
My in-depth review of National
Treasure: Book of Secrets:OK, I guess.
It was big and loud, and featured plenty of car chases and gunfire
and whatnot.And the story is
a fun conspiracy theory, straight off the George Noory radio show.
I was entertained, but have a feeling I won’t remember much about
it in a month’s time.Empty
calories, as they say.But,
at least Nicolas Cage controlled himself and didn’t give his
character an annoying twitch or stutter, and that’s always a plus.
Every time I see that man, I steel myself for yet another novelty
“I am a great actor” personality trait.I fully expect him to spend the next two hours blinking real
fast, jerking his head to one side for no apparent reason, or
displaying some similar irritating and unnecessary quirk.
But he plays it straight in this one, and I appreciate the kindness.
--A guy at work made some
sort of fancy-ass ham for Christmas, and bragged about it at length.He
claims it’s a
brand only available for purchase between Thanksgiving and
Christmas, and is the best freakin’ thing in the world, or whatever.
Just trying to be friendly, I said, “Oh, I’ll have to try that
sometime.”And the man’s
eyes brightened, and he practically shouted, “I’ll bring you
some tomorrow!”Recognizing
my tactical error, I told him it wasn’t necessary.But, of course, it was too little too late; he insisted on
sharing a few pieces with me the next day.
I know I’m probably a touch
more neurotic than the average person…But I have a big problem eating food from somebody else’s
house – especially when I don’t know the person, or how they
live.It’s the reason I try
my hardest to avoid potluck lunches at work, and that sort of thing.The whole concept makes me go blecch.
I always have visions of the stuff being prepared, and they’re
never pleasant or reassuring.Ya
know?I imagine Tom from
accounting making meatballs in a kitchen of filth, or pigs in the
blanket being prepared by Lynnfrom HR,
with her tubercular husband coughing straight into the batter bowl.
And needless to say, my ham buddy didn’t forget his promise.The next day he was standing there smiling and waving around
a sandwich bag loaded, simply loaded,
with pre-cooked pig muscle.One
hunk was the size of a pack of cigarettes!
Then he sat down across from me, to watch me eat it.
Gulp.I could feel sweat
popping out on my forehead as I eyed the foggy meat bag, wondering
if the bag itself had been reused.Perhaps
it had previously served as a transportation vehicle for
chemotherapy drugs?Terrifying
scenarios were playing out in my brain…
But I ate some of the ham.What
else could I do?And it was
pretty good, I must admit.Very
smoky.
After I gave him the thumbs-up, the dude returned to his yuk-yuk buddies
on the other side of the break room (who I expected to start
whisper-yelling, “Did he eat it?Did
he fucking eat it?!”).And
I instantly dumped what remained in the trash, convinced I’d just
ingested the date rape drug, ass hair, or some liver-destroying
bacteria.
I know gestation periods can sometimes last for weeks, but I’m
reasonably sure I’m out of the woods.I haven’t noticed anything unusual happening, so I think I
might be OK.Whew!
Is this hang-up unusual, or what?What’s
your feeling about potlucks and food from semi-strangers’
kitchens?Make me feel
better, won’t you?
--And I have all kinds of
things here to write about, but suddenly lost the will to continue.I’ll leave you now with a Question, then I’m getting the
hell out of this house.I’m
starting to go a little crazy…Perhaps
it’s time for a return to the dive bar, and the big lesbian
matriarch?We’ll see how it
goes.
The Question of the Day:What
will you remember about 2007?What
one event will mark this year in your memory?It’s easy for me, of course.I lost my job of seventeen years, and was unemployed for
eight months.But what about
you?Use the comments link
below.
