Until They're Cancelled
Two TV characters that I'd marry right now: Veronica Mars, and Kate from Lost. Yes, slow day at the office. And maybe Karen from The Office.
edit: How the hell did I forget Summer Roberts?
Dearly Departed
I went and watched The Departed last night. Having been a big fan of Infernal Affairs, I've been looking forward to the remake for a long time. However, remakes, just like cover songs, should always bring something new to the table, and take nothing away. Other than the Hollywood touch, The Departed doesn't bring anything new to the table, and other than the Hollywood touch, it doesn't take anything away from it either. That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed the movie.
As good as it is, however, I don't think Scorsese will win Best Director for it. I know this because of my extensive training in film and media studies. (Hey, if the Pop Candy chick can pretend she's an expert, why can't I?) A remake has the advantage over the original because the director/writer/producer can improve the plot holes and logic leaps (see: Abre Los Ojos vs Vanilla Sky), but they're not tasked to do anything new or innovating. And that's true of The Departed, the direction didn't stand out from any other movie, and there are a lot of upcoming films that could be considered legitimate Best Director candidates.
This movie does have a lot of Best Actor and Best Supporting Actor candidates though. DiCaprio and Damon both put in star efforts, and veterans Nicholson and Sheen are no slouches either. My guess is that one out of those four will take home the hardware. Also, Vera Farmiga is hot in that horsefaced kind of way.
Ultimately, it was a great movie that I would've liked more had I not seen the original. And that's the problem with Hollywood today, every edgy exciting new movie (and some that aren't) that's out is probably a remade version of an older or foreign film, or a movie version of a book. Maybe that's why the more critically acclaimed films are helmed by foreign directors like Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, whose Babel comes out this week. Or Borat.
Leaving Las Vegas (Part 2 of 2)
I awoke the next morning (really, just 4 hours later) with a massive headache and a sprained ankle that I must have sustained during our long walk home. It's amazing what a human can and can't do in moments of complete drunkenness. I found my shirt, blazer, and jeans neatly on hangers, with camera, phone and wallet intact, but I forgot to take my socks off or contacts out. The rest of our party stumbled their way in from the other hotel room, and we began to laugh about what had happened mere hours ago. Kent was still in shock at spending over 6000 dollars at the strip club. Seeing as how we all participated, and because we're all gentlemen, we all agreed to send him a check. Worth it.
But before I can do that, I had to win my money back. "Let's go out there and win me some money!" I whined, like only a Jew Hollywood agent can do. (I had CK load the Vegas Entourage episode on his mp3 player, and literally watched it four times on the flight, back to back.) Kent regaled us with stories of his morning, how he spent 45 minutes on the phone with his credit card company, seeing if he went over his limit, and then how, still in shock, he dropped another 100 dollars at the blackjack tables, with a side of Red Bull, Tylenol, and pit boss sanctioned potato chips. Irritated at the rest of the guys refusal to sack up and head down to the casino floors, I went alone.
First things first. Gotta get revenge at the Pai Gow table. They have an option where you can buy a bonus hand, and if you hit something ridiculous like a straight flush, then you can win 50 times your bonus bet. Which is exactly what happened. Spades, 4 through 8, turned 1 dollar into 50. Percentage-wise, that's huge. And that's when I knew my luck was about to change for the better.
After a dollar menu breakfast (not my idea, I voted for the breakfast buffet at the Bellagio) I headed across the street to the Mirage, where I discovered I had a knack for rolling 2's and 12's at the craps table. Some guy tipped me 50 bucks for winning him 450 (hi/lo, parlayed twice). Also, I've learned the key to finding a hot table in craps is finding a group of bros at the table having a good time and ride the karma. Thanks to a group of Florida country club golf pros, I turned 200 into just south of 500.
It's a little unsettling how fast time flies in Vegas, and how they structure the casinos to keep you there as long as possible. After four hours on my feet, ten Heinekens, three bottles of water, and no bathroom visits, it was time to take a little break. I met up with the rest of the crew for a buffet (finally) where we told more stripper stories that trickled back into our collective memories throughout the day. Apparently I got a little spank-happy in the VIP room. Ah, Vegas.
We decide to walk down the Strip and go to the Bellagio, to see the fountain shows, and to see if I can press my luck at the craps tables here. Here's the thing about walking down the Strip. You get a bunch of people handing you cards for female entertainment, with special prices and promises of arriving at your hotel room in 20 minutes or less. I amassed quite a collection of these by the time the trip was over.
I found a hot craps table at the Bellagio and was doing pretty well, until an old Jewish guy asked me to guess his age. I guessed 60. He said he was 78. And then he guessed that I was 35. And then he asked if all Asian people are predisposed to gambling. And then he told me that he was down six thousand dollars for the day. This old Jew cooled the shit out of me. I'm already averse to people touching me while I'm gambling (something I developed after watching Intacto) but this I had no defense for. Plus my Dr. Kelso attitude towards all casino workers wasn't helping, calling everyone sport or sweetheart, and staring down the dresses of the cocktail waitresses. The Bellagio was not built by the money of winners.
Five hundred dollars lighter (and now broke) I walked further down the Strip to meet CK and the guys on a street corner. They had commandeered a series of sidewalk benches, camped out with a case of beer and started harassing people. CK owes me a 40 dollar hooker because of all the money I won him at craps, and after getting cleaned out, now would be a good time as any to capitalize. I sort through my stack of naked lady cards and I find Briana, a very cute looking brunette with a $35 dollar special. The call went more or less like this:
Me: Hi, I'd like to order Briana, please.
Lady on phone: Ok, no problem, where are you staying, I can have her up to your room in 20 minutes.
Me: It's 35 dollars, right?
Lady: Actually sir, its 165, the normal price is 200 dollars, but the 35 dollar special means we take off 35 dollars from the price.
Me: Oh. We'll can I fuck her at least?
Lady: Sir, prostitution is illegal in Clark County, but I'm sure two consenting adults can work out an agreement.
Creepy Khoa, grabbing the phone: HEY HOW MUCH FOR AN ANAL TRAIN?
Lady: Sir, I'm sure consenting adults can work out an agreement.
I hung up the phone after that. It's good to know that some people have worse jobs than I do.
We head over to the MGM Grand to play blackjack. I borrowed 100 bucks from DYW (who I already owe money for the hotel room, and who is up around two thousand for the trip at this point) and try to make it last five more hours until I have to get to the airport. Fifteen minutes later, I'm down to 40 dollars. This is not good. At the next table, I hear a commotion. Someone just bet two thousand on a single hand of blackjack, won, and left. You always want to take over a hot seat in Vegas. Forty dollars quickly turns into two hundred, and after paying back DYW, I'm faced with a decision. "'Ladies, don't you always double down on eleven?' 'Always. No matter what. Like splitting aces.'" Well not fucking always, I split my damn aces and got hit with a 2 on each of them. Can't stay hot forever, even if Turtle can. I cash out 50 bucks and walk back to Treasure Island, fully intent on grabbing a shower and a 3 hour nap before my flight.
I see the Mirage on the way back. Remembering the past successes I had there, I felt that I owed it to myself to try again. I found a table where a group of frat guys had taken over, one of which insisted on talking like a carnival barker for the entire duration of his roll. He was followed by the guy who gave high fives (I broke my no touching rule for this one), and succeeded by two older Asians who seem to have mastered the art of throwing sixes and eights. Fifty dollars turned into three hundred, and I had just enough time after that to grab a shower, pack up, and go. Not a bad way to end a Vegas weekend.
Viva Las Vegas (Part 1 of 2)
We left on Friday the 13th. Sitting on my wallet stuffed with cash was making my right leg fall asleep. CK had to check his luggage because of an extra 0.8 fluid ounces of hair product. McCarran International was closed due to the rain, and since we didn't have enough fuel to circle the airport for an hour (Die Hard 2, anyone?) our flight got diverted to Phoenix, where CK and I languished for an inordinate amount of time getting back up in the air. My new shirt, in it's inaugural performance, was chafing the shit out of my neck due to the starch that they put in the collar back at the factory. And as of 11PM Pacific time, I still hadn't eaten anything since lunch. Despite all these harbingers of disaster, CK and I made promises to each other that we'd both be up five hundy by midnight.
It didn't happen.
Our Pai Gow dealer (a bankroll building tradition that we have), sweet as she was, might as well have been channeling William H. Macy's character in The Cooler. My stomach is eating itself, and the waitress hasn't brought me anything cold that I can ice my chafed neck with. Next thing I know, I lose the first of many Benjamins to come. Fuck it, I say. This game is for pussies, I sour graped. As I made my way over to the craps table, where fortunes for real men are made, and memories of Epps and me tearing it up in Shreveport playing in my head, I had a feeling that my luck was about to change.
It didn't happen.
The phrase "casinos weren't built by winners" floats through my head as I wait in the Pho restaurant of Treasure Island. I briefly commandeer a bachelorette party patron to take a picture of our group looking defeated. We are, however, dressed to the nines. Just look the part, a rich man doesn't have to tell you that he's rich. However, a rich man actually has money in his wallet. The pho arrives, overpriced and undercooked. The only thing that can get this bad taste out of my mouth are naked ladies, and lots of them.
It happens. And how.
With hearts set on bottle service (and, we didn't know it at the time, but VIP treatment also), we rolled up to Sapphire in our complimentary limo. Buying a bottle/table at a strip club, if you can afford it, is like being ushered into naked lady mecca. Waves upon waves of strippers descended on our three bottle table, like sharks to chum. Inevitably, we all get sold on the VIP room treatment by their flowery words and intoxicating smell (not to mention the three bottles of top shelf liquor split amongst six guys), where we're greeted by a Tiki Barber lookalike who lays down some ground rules that no one heeds.
And this is the part of the story where my memory gets a little hazy. My version of the events blurred into everyone elses as we shared memories after the fact. While trying to figure out how exactly Kent got charged six thousand dollars.
I remember thinking, first things first, I need to drop a deuce before I can do anything else. I remember getting lapdances left and right. I don't remember antagonizing strippers about their chosen profession, and how they sell their souls for six figures a year. I don't remember [doing something else] to make another one walk away. According to Kent, a couple of them wanted to charge extra for the things I requested. Requiem For A Dream enactment, possibly? Who knows. Apparently one of our guys fell asleep mid-lapdance. Apparently Creepy Khoa contracted hepatitis B and still refuses to wash his stinkfinger. Apparently DYW fell in love with a stripper, and is willing to get professionals to see if they can undelete the photos I took at the club at the not so gentle urging of Tiki. And apparently at 7AM, broke, drunk, exhausted, disgusting, and convulsing with laughter, we walked home.
Vegas Baby, Vegas
I'm leaving tonight for Las Vegas. I've been looking forward to this day like a six year old does Christmas. Yesterday for at least two hours I pulled a Dwight and thought it was Friday. Vegas anticipation will do that to you.
And so I'm off, mentally checked out since Monday, with just north of $700 dollars in my pocket and lofty ideas on how I'm going to spend the millions that I bring home from Vegas. Bonus points if I get to beat up Seth Green.
Setting Goals
I decided last night to run in this year's Turkey Trot, an annual 8 mile race held in Dallas on Thanksgiving Day. Never mind the fact that I've never run more than 5 miles at a time in my life, or that I'm still playing my way back in shape via Team Creep. I've got exactly six weeks to train for this. Seeing as how I'm someone who rarely follows through on things they set out to do, I myself am a little skeptical, but it'll be a real self-confidence boost if I can pull this off. Plus, it's an excuse to keep not drinking.
Symptoms of a Dream Job
According to Wikipedia, John Mayer coined the term "quarter-life crisis" in 2001. I'll buy into Wikiality as much as the next guy, but that just seems a little ridiculous. However, since I am experiencing "disappointment with one's job", I'll go ahead and assume that the rest of the entry is correct.
So while I wait for new assignments to do instead of reading random blogs and TV show reviews all day (btw, two chicks that I want to make out with right now are the USA Today Pop Candy chick, and the girl from Heroes that used to be the little girl from Remember The Titans) I've compiled a list of what I want my dream job to be like. This too raises another red flag for me, that I'm not really certain what it is specifically that I want to do with my life. Luckily, according to Wikipedia, this is normal also.
- I find it entertaining, and I'm always trying to get better at it.
- I can't wait to get there in the morning, I'm reluctant to leave at the end of the day,
- But I never take it home with me.
- My office is in an alpha world city,
- Where I make things that people either read, watch, or talk about.
I think that's it. All I have to do is go and get it. No more waiting around. He who hesitates, masturbates.
Veronica Mars With A Twist
I just had this dream, it's about this high school/college aged kid who is an uncontrollable pyromaniac/arsonist, but also happens to be an amateur detective in training. Each week, he sets a building on fire, but he only sets fire to the buildings that currently have people committing crimes in them, forcing them to run out and be caught by the police. Supporting characters include the haggard detective that's been on his case for three fruitless years, and the Dr. Melfi-esque character that he confesses all his secrets to. This has some CW potential, or at least a half-season run on Fox.
iPods and Bodogs
I spent two and a half hours last night fixing my iPod. Apparently, the 6GB iPod Mini doesn't like iTunes 7. (I couldn't add or delete songs from my library. A more than minor inconvenience.) After a bit of crying and searching Apple forums, I decided, fuck it. I'll make a list of the songs I have, format/restore the iPod, uninstall iTunes 7, reinstall iTunes 6, and then put my music back on there. Yes, all this actually took 150 minutes.
I never realized how fun sports betting can be. Last Thursday, I opened an account on Bodog.com, deposited the minimum amount ($20), placed four minimum bets ($5), and including my 10% bonus, I now have north of 36 dollars. Not a bad way to entertain yourself, vice-wise. Feel free to start placing bets on when my gambling addiction cuts into my actual life. We'll put the spread at three weeks.
Five random Wikipedias that I've been reading:
Reductio ad absurdum
Les Miserables
Hobson's Choice
Morton's Fork
Kobayashi Maru
Alright, I'll admit they're not "random".
