Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me,
When you knooooohhhhh why do you come?
Why do you telephone? And whyhihihihi send me silly notes?
In other news, the library this weekend was a veritable hot bed of hot messes, beginning with a patron calling me an ass because he showed up too late to use the computer to do whatever he wanted to do that was "vitally important". He used those words. "Miss, I need to get on the computer to print something VITALLY IMPORTANT out." I told him that he would have to return the next day to do it. He called me an ass. Then he showed up the next afternoon to take care of his vital business. Do you want to know what it was? He printed a coupon. He had to print a coupon. And the weekend was topped off with a regular patron coming in to ask me to look for "chop-em-ups" on DVD. I lucked out though because he seems to have moved on from requesting debonair vampire films and he seemed to not want to follow up on his request last week that I find a list of indoor pools that are not "gender or age restricted.". I wish I was making any of that up.
|Stop requesting me, sir.|
I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour
but heaven knows I'm miserable nooooooow.
I'm almost through the 18 consecutive working day stretch. Last night as I watched the Oscars with Marianne and Rob, I had a bit of a laughing fit at something Jennifer Lopez said when asked about what she loved the most about the Oscars. She said something about how it is "recognition" for "all the hard work" they do "making movies". At long last, recognition for your toil and trouble. I found the entire ceremony rather laughable, which is pretty much how I always find it but even more so this year was especially odious. (Adam Sandler giving his opinion on films. The man who is responsible for Jack and Jill telling us all what he loves about movies.) Normally I just like looking at the fashion but even that seemed underwhelming this year. The whole red carpet palaver elicited a series of groans, which is never a good thing. Eventually I will fully accept that each year the drawn out, over the top-ness of an increasingly irrelevant cultural event is going to get worse and worse until, like everything in popular culture, it becomes a meta, cringing, whining fraction of what it used to be and irony will creep all over it until there is nothing left to ridicule. There shouldn't be competition in film. I think it feeds into the collective neurotic tendency of creative people to get validation for everything they do. Or maybe I'm just talking about myself when I say that. Please validate me by commenting on this blog post. Hold on, I'll get my Prada gown on first....
Last year I adored Midnight in Paris and Beginners including a whole slew of performances within both of those films that did not even register a blip on the radar of the Oscars (Owen Wilson, Corey Stoll, Marion Cotillard, Ewan McGregor, Melanie Laurent) and I'm glad those performances exist. Even if they made neither that utterly random montage of movies they kept showing throughout last night's ceremony nor Reese Witherspoon's list of favorite films.
In my life why do I smile
at people who I'd much rather kick in the eye?
And lastly, I just noticed that due to the unrelenting sunshine this weekend, I have received my first sun allergic reaction. It is on my left collarbone, a spot exposed on Saturday morning as I drove to work. Apparently I am going to have to leave the house this summer adorned in a burqa style coverall if I have any hope of not charring my skin to blackened pile of ash.
Whoa, I need to listen to other music now.