I Hate Andie MacDowell

I want to throw a brick at my television every time I see Andie MacDowell's face. I hate her. But I love my TV, so I keep my bricks for when I finally get a chance to see her in real life.

Why do you have Ms. MacDowell so much, chaz? She's never done anything to you!

No she hasn't, but that doesn't mean I don't have reasons to hate her. Just writing about her makes me want to punch something. She's so friggin' annoying. And she's a terrible actor. Have you seen her in "Hudson Hawk" or "Groundhog Day" or "Michael"? OH. MY. GOD. It's like she's searching for the right emotion the entire time or talking to a little child. Why would anyone cast her in a speaking role? And "Green Card"? UGH. Put her together with Gérard Depardieu and that's just recipe for disaster. But the true reason I hate Andie MacDowell is because of the role she played in "St. Elmo's Fire."

SHE BROKE EMILIO ESTEVEZ'S HEART INTO A MILLION PIECES.

And for that I will never forgive her. Ever.

Emilio's character, Kirby, is in love with her character Dale. He is infatuated by her. She is his everything. She agrees to go to dinner with him and he even gets to the restaurant early to make sure everything is perfect for the date. But she gets called away to the hospital she works at. Sure she was. I bet that was just an excuse. A few days later he follows her IN THE RAIN to a party and professes his love to her. She could have easily shot him down at that point, but she doesn't. Or she doesn't do a very good job of it. She just makes him believe that if he makes more money she'll go out with him. Kirby throws a party at his new boss's house to impress Dale but she vanishes almost as soon as she gets there. When he finally tracks her down her boyfriend answers the door. HER BOYFRIEND. She had a boyfriend this whole time?? And she didn't feel the need to mention this to poor ol' Kirby? What. A. Bitch.

So you can understand my frustration now, right? She's evil. Just look at her:

My skin just crawls looking at her. Eww.

While Watching "Singles"

I'm twenty minutes into one of the greatest period pieces about the 1990s. This has always been one of my favorite movies.

When I first saw it, I rushed home and decided to move to Seattle. I wanted to meet the characters that Cameron Crowe created. I wanted to be the characters he created. I loved the U-shaped apartment building with the fountain in the middle. I loved the conversations and connections that were made in cafes and underground rock clubs. And I loved the soundtrack. God, I wanted to be there then. It was like a city full of clubs like The Icon. (If you don't know/remember this Buffalo staple, you are missing out!)

But that was twenty years ago.

I never did move to Seattle. I never moved into a U-shaped apartment building. Instead I lived in Rochester and Buffalo. I lived in houses converted into apartments. But I did make connections and have conversations in cafes. Life gets in the way. Things don't work out the way you plan. Plans get ruined.

And I just realized something: these characters are all in their twenties. I am a thirty-something. My twenties have come and gone. Does that mean I'm past my prime? Have my best years already happened? Does Seattle even look like that anymore?

This movie makes me want a time machine.

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Where's My Bat?

I swore I wouldn't do this. I swore I wouldn't use this blog as a place to vent and complain and be annoying. I hate complaining. I rarely complain outloud. But things have been going off kilter a bit as of late and I need somewhere I can get this off my chest. If I don't get this out, I may punch a baby. Or worse.



I hate money. With a passion. I wish I didn't have to rely on money, but I do. It's the necessary evil that makes this world go 'round. But I despise it. But I need it. And I wish I didn't.
My winter jacket has a goddamn paper clip on it so I can zip it open and closed. My shoes are slowly falling apart. My couch at home needs some repairs. My phone is starting to work against me because it's over due for an upgrade. But I can't do anything about any of these things. I have bills and car payments hanging over my head.
I applied for a few jobs over the past couple months and a couple of them actually called me for an interview. But did I hear anything back after that? OF COURSE NOT. Why would anyone actually call me after the interview to let me know if I got the position or not? That would be the nice thing to do. No, instead I sit here waiting and waiting for something-- anything-- to happen. I send thank you emails and I get no response. I follow up an interview with a phone call and I hear nothing back. JUST HIRE ME. You will not be sorry. I am a hard worker and a good worker. I can do this! I don't care if it's a job as a teacher or a cashier or a farm hand at this point. I swear to God I will shovel manure for money.

People ask me what's wrong and I say "Nothing. I'm good." Nice lie, chaz. Yeah, I know. But I don't like bothering people with my problems. They don't want to hear about so-and-so who is getting on my nerves or what happened in class the other day that really ticked me off. They want to vent out their own problems. They want to get their issues off their chest. And I am more than willing to listen. But when I listen, I want to fix the problems. Nine times out of ten the person complaining to me doesn't want me to give them a solution, they want me to empathize. But I can't do that. It's physically impossible for me to just sit and say, "I understand how you feel. I'm sorry." I want to tell them what they should do or what I would do in their shoes. And recently, since I have had all this other stuff bottled up, all I can picture is taking a baseball bat to whoever is giving my friends or family a hard time.

Don't get me wrong: I'm not talking about killing anyone. Just one good shot to the kneecap will do me good. It's been a while since I've been able to physically take my aggression out on someone or something. I'm too old to fight, so I just drive really fast in my car or turn my music up loud or drink too many beers or go over to my creative outlet and write something biting. In my younger days I would take my anger out on someone else. I can't really get away with that anymore.

Writing helps. Having a beer or three to calm my nerves and get my mind off things would help too. But right now I'm a responsible adult. Right now I'm working this job that doesn't pay me enough. Right now I'm trying my hardest to just stay on my two feet.