Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Bump that.

I've got the pre-flu. Have you ever heard anything so great in your entire life? Seriously. Think about it.
Picture it. I'm at work. I'm sitting there and all of the sudden, bam. Hit by a blimp. At first I thought it was a bus, but no. It was a blimp. But unlike Ross, the blimp didn't kill me. I picked up my stuff, got in my car, and went home. So, I'm at home, with the pre-flu. Laying in bed. And it's great.
I get to lie here in bed, watching hours of the Cosby Show and relax. Sure, I wish that my regular routine hadn't been interrupted, but it's a nice change of pace to lay down and do nothing. And after all, it's only the pre-flu. It's not the full blown flu. I don't have time for that. So I am bumpin this from the start.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

Ryan for Secretary for the Arts

So I was watching Grammy recap videos today and I have some thoughts.
So far...so bad.
U2...okay?
Whitney - looks great, put your leg back in your dress.
Come on guys. The Grammys have lower and lower ratings each year (barring this year). I wonder why. Maybe because they get lamer and lamer. You know, there are many people who are making huge impacts on radio and on culture, most of which are very exciting and would draw viewers to the show. You want to do tributes to people? Fine. Have Mariah do it. Have Beyonce sing "At Last" with Etta James, have Christina sing with Justin. Have Britney do anything she wants. Come on Grammys.
And we are back to bad. Kanye West's Cosby Show hair was the main event really. It was until MIA decided to wear polka dots on her boobs.
All of which means nothing until the president of the Grammy people told Obama to create a cabinet position of Secretary for the Arts to ensure that the arts keep going around the world. I would like to nominate myself for that position. I would be fantastic at that job and I would ensure that the arts would be sent out all over the world in a positive way. I would ensure that award shows would no longer be boring. I would make sure that books get better marketing on television by hiring Suzanne Sommers and Kenny Chesney to do commercials. I would make sure the VMAs were a spectacle again. I would make sure the Tonys included more performances of casts from shows that aren't nominated. I would ensure that Kid Rock could no longer make "music." I would do my best to turn the Emmys into something good as opposed to the filth it's been in recent years. I would proudly sit at the head table with Meryl Streep at the Golden Globes. I would do public service announcements with celebrities, speaking out against Paris Hilton. I would bring music back to the Oscars and make them watchable again. (though this year's show was flawless. It's what it would be like every year if you appoint me) I would be in a Jennifer Lopez movie. I would encourage artists to tour more and cut back ticket prices so that more people could enjoy it. I would make sure that Vegas always has headliners, proudly showing off their assets to the world. I would bring Destiny's Child back together. I would bring good music back to the Superbowl halftime shows. I would eat dinner at Faith Hill and Tim McGraw's home. And most importantly, I would make sure that the Grammys don't suck anymore. I'd have Britney and Beyonce on speed dial and together, we would revitalize music on TV. That, and we would make sure that "Sweet Caroline" was sung in a public setting at least once a year. So appoint me.

Friday, February 6, 2009

I'm a Pusher

I have the biggest headache in the entire world, I'm exhausted, and I want to go to bed and not wake up until Monday. And NOW is when you want to complain about something that more than likely doesn't need to be complained about? I can't be "on" all the time. I just can't. And I won't apologize for not being able to listen and be "on" all the time.
Here's my reasoning.
When I go shopping, I usually carry whatever I am looking at around with me for ten minutes. I used to ask myself "Are you going to want this in ten minutes?" But even then I found that had its flaws. So I carry clothes and movies and such around with me for ten minutes to see if I still want it then.
So now I say this to you. Is this still going to be a problem in ten minutes? Is this still going to be an issue tomorrow morning? Better yet...are you reading too deep into something in the first place? I just feel like there are questions we should ask ourselves before we go to others about things. If, after all of the questions, we still are lost in the space sequence from 2001: A Space Odyssey, then, we know it's time to get help.
Have you seen that movie? It's not all it's cracked up to be. Vertigo really isn't either. The more I watch these old movies that are staples of film, the more I am disappointed. I mean, I love old movies and so many of them are so wonderful, so deep, so inspired, and so great. But there are some that are just such extreme letdowns. People talk about Citizen Kane that way. I actually really like Citizen Kane. I'm a total Rosebud junkie.
I saw Push tonight and it was entertaining. It was awkward when little Dakota Fanning of the Dakota Fanning Show (what? Are you 'not familiar?' Watch SNL) grew into a potty mouthed superhuman with bad hair color. But it was enjoyable. Lots of asians and you know that I am such a fan! They had the best powers too. I mean, the best is a subjective term. If you think the best is being able to scream and make people's brains explode like tomatos, they were the best. Anyways, I liked it. So I'm a Pusher now too. I'm a Pusher Cady. I'm a Pusher. I'm a pusher with a headache who likes rosebuds. Reggie?

Thursday, February 5, 2009

A Nugget

So there was a pretty wonderful moment in my day today.
I was sitting in my room, trying to figure out how to write this paper for my class, trying not to have an all out panic attack, and one of my two favorite songs, "Unbreak My Heart," comes on my Pandora station. It was wonderful. So I'm sitting there, listening to my song, being so happy, singing along. The song ends and I go to look at my paper again, when in the other room, I hear my other favorite song playing, "Total Eclipse of the Heart." I just leaned back in my chair and listened. My two favorite songs, played one right after the other. It was wonderful. Can I use that word one more time? Wonderful.
It was an unexpected piece of awesome in my day. Those are always the best though. They are little nuggets of joy that make the day so much better. I still have a very long night and weekend ahead of me with this paper, but it will be a little more bearable now because of my little nugget of awesome.

Monday, February 2, 2009

She disgusts me

Its Groundhogs day. Fantastic. Does anyone still care about that rodent? Is it a rodent? I don't know. Does anyone care about its shadow? No one cares about my shadow. I wish my shadow could predict the weather. What does your shadow do? Does it stop time or make grass grow? Mine is just stuck to me, much like Peter Pan's.
There are so many things wrong with that part of that story. First, the dumb boy tries soap. I'm sorry, but I was a little boy once and I can tell you that soap was good for only two things: washing my body and washing my mouth out when I said something wrong. Now, of course, that borders on child abuse. But if it was good enough for A Christmas Story, it was good enough for my momma. That movie came out the year I was born, and now it holds a special place in my heart. I spend nearly 24 hours of my life watching it each Christmas.
But the other part of the sadistic Peter Pan story is when Peter has Wendy, a little girl, sew his shadow on with a needle and thread. Okay. I don't even know what to say about that. Its obnoxious to me. When I was a little boy, if a girl stabbed me with a needle in an effort to attach a dark black object that would forever follow me, I'd have punched her in the neck with an open fist. But no. Its beautiful and wonderful when Wendy does it. She disgusts me.
And don't get me started on the pedophile with the hook. You know, he was almost lovable when Dustin Hoffman brought him back and you didn't really want Robin Williams to kill him. It was almost poetic when the croc swallowed him and Peter didn't have to kill him. Strange isn't it? Peter never kills Hook. He is always chased away by a crocodile.
In conclusion. Peter is a pansy, a wuss, a neo-sadist with a fetish for pain. Hook is a pedophile that should be on an episode of CSI as a victim of the MGM lions need for blood. Wendy is a hussy that took on an entire group of boys as her own. Harlot. And the dumb groundhog is only good to be used as a movie title. Or for lunch. Have you ever had groundhog kabobs? Tastes like chicken. As do alligator tails.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Hammer.

The absence of blogging as of late has been due to the fact that I have TBD. I know. It's a very widespread epidemic during the spring. TBD. Too Busy Disorder. But don't worry. I'm on the patch. Really, reading for my classes has taken up the time that blogging used to consume.
Being consumed with something isn't such a bad thing. I mean, every great discovery in history was made because someone was consumed with the desire to figure something out. Either that or it was a complete mistake. I've made mistakes. Too many to list. None of them changed history. I mean, they might have changed things for me, but not really for all of humanity. I like to think that time will come, when I can change all of humanity. Hopefully not through a mistake, but it could be I guess.
Someone told me they were impressed with me. I don't really know how to take that. By that I mean that I don't really know what to do with compliments. I wish I had a pocket I could just put them into so I wouldn't have that awkward moment of not knowing how to react. Isn't that such a problem? There is a fine line between being thankful and being arrogant. I just wish I had a pocket. Or a hammer. Cuz if I had a hammer, I'd hammer in the morning, I'd hammer in the noontime, I'd hammer all across this land. That still doesn't help me with my compliment problem.
I guess I just don't think that highly of myself. Sometimes, I know I did something good and then the compliments aren't awkward because I'm aware that what I did was great. See. There's that line again of thankful and arrogant. This is why a story like this always comes across sounding bad.
Moral of the story, someone was impressed with me, for whatever reason, and the compliment meant so much to me that two days later, I am blogging about it instead of reading for class. And I really do wish I could hammer all across this land. Maybe that will be my contribution to humanity. But who really needs to hammer like that? And the more I say hammer, the dirtier it sounds. So I should probably stop. I do want to change the world though. With what still stands to be determined.

For good.

Something tells me I'm into something good.
That's a song, in case you didn't know. But I have found myself singing it lately. I mean, I love old music and so it would make sense that I would be singing it, but I have been singing it recently for a variety of other reasons.
I am a part of something. I am a part of something special. It has a name. It's not really important what the name of it is. That's just for us. But I am a part of it and no one can take that away from me. I mean, I really feel kinda blessed.
You know, life hasn't been perfect in the past few months. I have had some issues, I have had some heartache, I had a relationship or two fall apart, I had some uncertainty...okay...I've had a lot of uncertainty, but it's okay. It's all okay. Because I am a part of something. Something good. No. Something great. And that is fantastic.
I feel fantastic because I am a part of something. Isn't that what we want in life? We all want to be a part of something. I have been blessed to be a part of something that is beyond what I could have ever dreamt for myself. I have the support of five people that love me despite the fact that they know everything about me. In spite of the ridiculous things I've done in my past, in spite of my obnoxious tendencies, in spite of my seemingly rancid inability to self-censor, in spite of my disproportionate mood swings, and in spite of my frailties, they support me.
I've always been in awe of this, but just within the past week, I've come to realize just how special it is to me.
They are the laptop to my Carrie, they are the Jack to my Karen, they are the Piggy to my Kermit, they are the Sophia to my Dorothy. They are the Chandler to my Monica, they are the Blair to my Chuck, they are the Justine to my Theo, they are the Nigel to my Mary. Really, the Rembrandts said it best. I don't need to elaborate.