...the San Francisco treat!

It's official... I am going to be spending this weekend in San Francisco.

I leave Friday and come back Sunday. I thought I would be going alone, so I was almost certain that I was not going to end up going. I have two good friends up there, but the prospect of driving up there and back all alone was a deterrent. It all seemed like such a hassle. A 6-hour road trip by myself sounded so boring. I was so tempted to just stay home.

But I just got a text from my Boston friend currently studying in LA saying that he would be able to accept my invitation. So now I won't be going alone, which is great. But the real treat is that it will be a Boston reunion because we'll be meeting up with a another Boston friend who lives in the Bay Area. The three of us lived in the same building during our time in Boston and became very close.

Brandon and I will be driving up to Berkeley on Friday morning. Brandon has heard many a good thing about driving on PCH, so we'll be taking the scenic route up to Nor Cal. Once there, we'll meet up with Bika. We will be spending the day in Berkeley and then seeing American Idiot (the new Green Day musical based on their hit album of the same name) at the Berkeley Rep. The next day we'll be spending it San Francisco with my dear friend Leya. Halloween in San Francisco should be great! Now I just need to come up with a last-minute costume. Any ideas???

And that will be that. A short weekend, but I'm sure it will be a fun one.

I'm so excited!

Cheers,

- R

Dying. Seriously. I'm dying to see this movie!

The Weinstein Co. pushed back the release of Nine to December 18 because they hate me. They did, however, finally release something other than the teaser trailer (which ended up being the actual official trailer) for film adaptation of the movie Nine. I talked all about the upcoming film version and the actual music in a previous post, but I just had to post this video.

To be perfectly honest, it doesn't reveal much of anything new. But it does give a glimpse at the film's opening mixed in with previously shown rehearsal footage. Though I like the instrumentals they use (reminiscent of an orchestral warm-up), I do wish they use the original overture for the opening. It's a unique (as far as I know) overture and a Nine signature because the entire overture is an a capella composition for the women in the cast -- "Overture della Donna."

But enough from me. Enjoy the following video and yearn with me for this movie's release date.

Cheers,

- R



Thanks to Trailer Addict for this video.

You make me feel so young

I'm back, folks!

Forgive the hiatus. I've been busying fulfilling my lifelong dream of climbing Mount Everest and just got back from... er... wherever Mount Everest is.

Ok. So that's a lie. But I have been out living life.

It seems that I have neglected being young and carefree since leaving student life behind me. Back when I was spry and full of youthful vigor, I would go out and be the life of the party. Now I'm 24. I'm practically decrepit.

I recently told a friend that I am past my prime. 2007-2008 were the years I was at my peak. I was the wittiest and most entertaining person people knew. People liked having me around. I felt rather beloved. But that is all over.

The way I put it... for one brief shining moment I was a grape prime for the picking. I had the potential to become a fine wine. But instead I withered on the vine. I shriveled up and became a raisin. And I hate raisins. Next stop: prune. Raisins become prunes, right?

Lately, however, I've been changing. Yes, I work all the time and have started reviewing again. But I am making having some fun a priority.

My co-workers have become my new group of friends. I've been seeing a lot of one girl in particular. She has reintroduced me to the world of debauchery. For example, one night we drove to West Hollywood for a night of bar hopping. We got to The Abbey (one of my favorite bars in LA) around 11pm or so. Drank and danced a while, but then left to find other bars. We left LA around 2:30am and I got home at around 4am. I slept for 3 hours and then got up to get ready for work. It was insane for me to have such a crazy night when I knew I had to open the next day, but I did it anyway. I was half-asleep and still a bit drunk when I arrived at work, but it was all worth it!

My recent escapades, though less wild (and by less wild I mean that we stayed in Orange County), have been just as fun. My activities have ranged from closing down bars to catching a late flick.

It may sound silly to you, but I had seriously forgotten that life can be fun. I am enjoying my life at the moment. It is becoming a healthy (well, arguably healthy) mix of work/responsibility and fun.

I truly believe that that's what has been missing from my life. It is the reason there have been so many gaps between posts on this blog. I had lost my creative muse and found it increasingly harder to write. But these new friends and experiences have refreshed me. In the words of Romeo, I am "new baptized."

Cheers,

- R

Roger Federer????

I'm sure we all get physically compared to someone.

Perhaps it's someone you know like a friend or a family member. For example, I've had friends tell me I look like my friend Brandon. Aside from one picture in which we kinda... sort of... slightly resemble each other, I still cannot see the resemblance between us.

Or to a third party (e.g. "You look just like my friend ________!").

Or you could even be compared to a celebrity. The celebrity comparison can really go both ways; it can be a compliment or an insult. If you're lucky, you are told you look like an attractive celebrity. I've been told on multiple occasions that I look like Wilmer Valderrama, specifically as Fez on That 70s Show. I do not consider this comparison a compliment in the least. Being compared to a douchebag playing a stereotype is not flattering.

Yesterday at work, however, I got a new one. I was helping a family of 5 and one by one they began telling me how I look like Roger Federer.

"You look like someone," says the patriarch.

"Ummm.... I do?" I reply.

"I got it! You look like Roger Federer. Yes, that's it. You look like Roger Federer."

"You do!" says Daughter #1. "You totally look like Federer."

"The tennis player?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah! You look a lot like him," says Daughter #2.

"Well... thank you. I suppose," I say with an awkward smile.


Later that night I told my dad about this alleged resemblance.

"They said I look like Roger Federer. But isn't he Swiss?"

His response: "He is..... but... hmmm... huh..... yeah."

"Yeah what?"

"I guess you do kinda resemble him. I wouldn't say you look just like him, but I could see some similarities."

I looked him up on Google Images and, honestly, I don't see it.



For one thing, my nose is not nearly that big. At least, I hope not. Also, I don't think my eyebrows are that nice. But I suppose this picture bears some slight resemblance to me, particularly when I grow out my hair. We kinda smile the same; our cheeks cause our small eyes to look even smaller.

But women seem to find him very attractive, so I guess I will take the comparison as a big compliment.

And you, dear readers? Have you ever been told you look like someone -- celebrity or otherwise -- and just can't figure how or why?

If so, do tell!

Cheers,

- R

An unwelcome homecoming

Seeing as I finally got some time off from work, I decided to head over to my parents' house for some much needed alone time. My parents wouldn't be coming home until the weekend, so I had two days all to myself.

After an hour-long drive in the heat that won't seem to go away, I pulled up to that oh so familiar driveway. I bid the remote to open the garage door. I begin to slowly drive in. But I stop. Something is wrong.

There is a bit of a mess. Stuff has been knocked down. I drive in an inch more, but once again come to a sudden stop.

I see a shape on the ground. There is something in front of the door leading into the house. My mind races with ideas as to what the shape is, but I can't quite discern its identity. I have a feeling I know what it is, but I really don't want to be right. I take off my sunglasses to get a better look at the unidentified object. Then my suspicions are confirmed.

It's an animal. It had yet to move, but I was still unsure that it was actually dead. I finally turn off the car, but still don't want to get out of the vehicle. Like I said, the animal could just be sleeping.

I eventually get out of my car. The animal blocking the entrance to my house is... er, was an opossum. A juvenile opossum, to be exact. It looked dead. But what to do? I did what any 24 year old man would do in this situation.

"Mom! There's a dead animal in the garage!"
"What? How do you know?"
"I'm looking at it!"
"Well, how did it get in?"
"How should I know? I don't live here."
"Just pick it up with something and dispose of it."
"Are you insane!? I'm not touching it! What if it isn't really dead? What if it's just... umm... playing 'possum?"
"Throw something at it."
"Ok."

I throw some balled up napkins at the opossum. Nothing.

"It didn't move."
"Then it's dead."
"But what if it's really good at pretending it's dead?"
"Oh just pick it up with a broom or something and get rid of it."
"Can't I just leave it here for you to dispose of it?"
"You are NOT leaving that carcass in my garage! Now man up and dispose of the giant rat."

I hang up the phone and stare at the dead body before me. I must have stood there for at least 10 minutes before actually doing something. Finally, testosterone returns to me and I take action. I grab a broom and prepare to transport the dead animal to the garbage. But first I poke it a few times just to make sure it is really dead.

After several pokes I conclude that the opossum is definitely not going to suddenly rise to its feet and viciously attack me. I take the broom and carefully try to slide it under the body. Unfortunately, it doesn't go as smoothly as I would have liked. I continuously drop the opossum and toss it around. I find myself apologizing incessantly to the dead body.

"So sorry."
"Oops! Sorry!"
"Oh god, I'm sorry."
"Ack! Sorry."

After what seemed like an eternity I manage to dump the body into our garbage. My dark deed was at last complete and I could put it behind me.

I confess that a large part of me was tempted to merely back out of the garage, walk into the house through the front door, and pretend that there was not a rotting corpse in my garage. I could easily have left the body for my parents deal with. I was certainly tempted.

At least now I have an interesting story to tell my co-workers.....

Cheers,

- R

Things I overheard #13

The following overheard conversation requires no introduction or conclusion. I think it speaks for itself.

Customer: "These shoes are great. I'll take this pair."

Customer's daughter: "Mom, can you buy me these shoes?"

Customer: "No. I've already bought you shoes."

Customer's daughter: "You suck!"

Customer: "Only your daddy."

Me: ......................

In which I borrow a heading style from a fellow blogger

Because I could not come up with a sufficiently pithy title for this particular post, I decided to take a page from my blogging buddy over at Badass Geek. So thank you, my good man.

The other day I actually locked myself out of the house.

I grabbed my things and made my way out to the car. But wait... where were my keys? Oh shit, I thought to myself. I checked my pockets several times as though the fifth pocket pat would reveal that familiar metallic jingling. But no. I had indeed left my keys inside the house.

As my luck would have it, this was also the one time I closed all the windows before exiting the house. I could not even ask the neighbors to let me go through their backyards so that i could climb in through a window. I called my work and let them know that I was standing on my driveway trying to figure out a way to get to my keys.

There I stood. Cursing the heavens and any name I could think of.

"Shit. Crap. Fuck. Damn. Bitch. Cock. Ass."

I was like a sailor with Tourette's.

The only people with keys where my parents, but they were merrily on their way to a 2-week vacation in Cancun. Figures. "Who else? Who else? " I kept repeating to myself. I vaguely remembered that an aunt and uncle had an extra key.

I called up my uncle. "No. Sorry. Don't have a copy of the key. Try your aunt."

"I'm sorry, honey. I don't have one either. I lent it to your uncle Pepe for some reason and never got it back."

There was no way in hell that I was going to call him. I would either pay an arm and a leg for a locksmith or try to break a window before I would ever call him. Why, you ask? The story surrounding this particular uncle is long and drama-filled.

Let me put it like this.... This uncle of mine and his venomous snake of a wife are the most greedy, egotistical, vindictive people I know. Their daughter is even worse. The girl is most likely to become a sociopath. I despise them. I would never ask them for the slightest bit of help because they would never let me live it down. They would have me be in their debt for the rest of my life. You are probably thinking that I am exaggerating, but I most certainly am not.

Like I said, calling that uncle was not an option.

Eventually it came to me. My neighbor. I think she was given a key in case of emergencies. Luckily, she was home. And she was given a key for emergencies. Turns out that she would be out golfing, but was waiting for a new toilet to arrive. Thank god for that toilet. I used her spare key to retrieve mine and even made it to work on time. Barely, but I made it.

So really this post should be titled thusly (and I'm still borrowing from Badass Geek on this one):

In which a toilet comes to my rescue.

Cheers,

- R