On An Escapade...Baby

For any of you who really know me (and by that I mean have been reading this drivel for two years or more), you know that I like to take my boys for a test drive to make sure they'll stick for the long term. And by test drive, I mean I travel with them to somewhere far away from here for an extended period of time. B-rock's getting off easy...we're just hopping over to Europe to visit some friends and attend a wedding, but it's still going to be two weeks of non-stop togetherness. No soccer matches or True Blood girls nights or ultimate frisbee to give us our "apart" time. It could be interesting as we fight CONSTANTLY.

An example of which is below:

(3:57:08 PM) kara: jesus, it's 4:00
(3:59:02 PM) Brendan: yeah
(4:17:15 PM) kara: i'ma make porkchops
(4:18:19 PM) Brendan: really? I was going to make dinner, but I will not object if you want to
(4:18:52 PM) kara: what nonsense were you going to make?
(4:19:40 PM) Brendan: I don't know.
(4:19:51 PM) kara: well then you lose.
(4:19:54 PM) Brendan: I was going to rummage around until something came out
(4:20:02 PM) kara: ew
(4:20:13 PM) Brendan: and then you would eat it. delicious.
(4:20:27 PM) kara: YOU LOSE

I won that fight. How do you think we'll do?

Anyways, we're gonna be in London for a few days doing whatever. I hope to knock back some pints London-style (which means until 11:00pm when all the shit closes) and maybe take in something cultural like a wagamama. Or a wax museum.

Then it's off to Denmark where one of my high schools friends is getting married. I'm excited to be going back as my last visit was 6 years ago...though my Danish is painfully rusty. Oh well, it's better than brendan's.

And THEN we're weekending in Paris because b's never been there and I really want a gyro.

So yeah, that's what's up. I imagine I won't totally disappear for the whole two weeks. If I could manage to blog from Romania and Morocco, I can probably post a little something from a public place in the EU. Unless they don't have free wi-fi. Assholes. But, you know, it will only be if I feel like it.

I think you should know that I'm watching The Big Lebowski on TV for perhaps the millionth time. This movie, Dr. Zhivago and Beastmaster, are the only movies I absolutely can't bring my self to turn off if I happen upon them. Lebowski is my security blanket...like elliot smith and gummy worms. However, watching it on TV does have its, *ahem*, quirks. Like this little gem:

Walter: See what happens when you find(fuck) a stranger in the alps(ass)?!?!

I wonder who's job it is to re-write scenes such as this for the general audiences. I also wonder how I might take their job from them and make it my own.

One time on a plane they showed There's Something About Mary. Normally I hate that movie, but it felt like Christmas when Ben Stiller yelled "you're such a froggin' ashpole!" at someone.

Anyway, in other Lebowski-related news, thanks these label things we give our posts, I am reminded that I wrote a half-assed Lebowski movie review back before I was calling them that. Oh memories...of earlier this year. And now you can share in them too. Because I give.

As to that travel business, we don't leave until Saturday so I may still have stuff to say about nothing. Or I'll get busy throwing things at the cat or working or something and you'll get nothing. It all depends.

Until then - see ya, you human paraquats.

What Condition My Condition Was In

It is my opinion that Kenny Rogers wakes up in the morning. Has a pee. Dons a robe. Gets the paper. French presses the coffee. Has a seat at the kitchen table. And takes a moment to thank Ethan and Joel Coen for allowing him to be significant.

The fact is, it's a symbiotic relationship. The Dude and the song, the song and the dude. There are several of those living in what still is the proudest moment of 1998 besides my graduation from high school...the release of The Big Lebowski. Since that day, language would never be the same. Nor would living room accents. For we all know that a rug is not worthy if it doesn't tie the room together, don't we. It's not a question.

But really, the movie isn't about The Dude. Of course it IS, but we all know it isn't. The shining beacons of perfection do not lie in the milk mustached, Eagles-hating, anti-hero. Oh no. It's Walter.

I fucking love the character of Walter.

It is my true belief that nobody can get John Goodman to act but the Coen brothers. This is based on several examples that I am too inebriated to mention here, but you all know what I am talking about. Barton Fink, Oh Brother and The Big Lebowski are all excellent. And they are all excellent because of John Goodman (John Turturro not withstanding). But John Goodman, without the Coen brothers, well, let's not go there. In these instances, well there's no one better. And I'm reminded of it every time I refuse to roll on shomer shabbas, leave without finishing my coffee or follow a statement with "am I wrong?".

Maybe you can tell that we just drank heavily went to see it in the theater. Well maybe you can't. But this isn't 'Nam, Smokey. This is bowling, and there are rules.