Dixie Peach: Bits and Pieces

Cooler than the other side of the pillow.

Monday, September 13, 2004

Bits and Pieces

Weekend are movie time 'round these parts and this weekend was no exception. Matchstick Men arrived from the DVD by mail service for this week's viewing and last night we settled in to watch it.

Now ask me how incredibly irked I was that the DVD hung and skipped and in general fucked up all around while I was watching it. The whole last scene of the movie was completely unwatchable.

I'd like to now make an general announcement to all those who use DVD rent-by-mail service. I'll even throw in those who rent DVDs from shops. KEEP YOUR FREAKING FINGERS OFF OF THE DVDS! Christ above us, why can't people slip the DVDs in and out of their cases and in and out of their players without gumming them up with their fingerprints? Don't even get me started about the scratches. What in the hell are people doing with them? Cleaning their grills? Scraping paint off of windows? Playing fetch with the family dog?

Yeah, yeah, yeah...the DVD abusers will say "Oh it's not ME! I'm careful with them! It's my KIDS that muck them up!". To that I say "And shovel me another load of bullshit, Chester. First, if you know your kids are messing them up, don't let them touch them. And second, why are you letting your kids watch something like Matchstick Men anyway? That's not a kid's movie. And any kid who's old enough to watch the movie ought to fucking well know how to handle a CD. If they don't then I weep for our future.".

No, admit it. It's your ignorant, oh-looky-hon-my-fingerprints-show-up-so-clear-on-this-shiny-side ass who's messing them up. You're the same sort of dickhead who can't resist sticking your dumb fingers into a cake to nick off a bit of icing. You're probably a chip double dipper to boot!!

Must remember to write a letter to send back with the DVD so the service won't send out that sorry ass copy of Matchstick Men to another unsuspecting person.

And on to other random things...

Today I was walking over to the bakery and ahead of me in the parking lot were two young people. One was a guy with shaggy blonde hair - a comb seemed to be optional to him this morning - wearing the standard young person uniform of baggy, non-discript clothing. He was talking rather animatedly to another young person - a person with long dreadlocked hair or as dreadlocked at thin, fine, white-folks hair can get - standing astride a beat-up looking bicycle and was attired in the same sort of clothes which was more than adequate to hide this person's form. Honestly, I could not tell the gender of this individual. Not that it mattered so much but it was a bit strange to see a person and to be completely clueless as to who the person might be aside from their scraggy hairdo. As I approached I thought I may hear the person speak but the shaggy haired blonde was still talking at a furious clip.

I spent about five minutes inside the bakery and as I came out the two were still standing there deep in conversation and this time I could see the dreadlocked individual's face. And it was absolutely no help whatsoever. I kid you not, I still couldn't tell the gender of this person. His/her body was very thin and so hidden by the layers of baggy clothes that I couldn't discern any tell-tale body features. And his/her face was so young looking - not childish...more like delicate - that he/she seemed to appear feminine but not quite. Either it was a young woman wearing men's clothing and riding a man's bicycle or it was a guy who doesn't have what it takes to grow facial hair but has seemed to have mastered getting dreadlocks to grow in thin, fine hair.

The whole thing made me feel so I've lost some sort of gender deciphering talent.

Moving on...

Two months from now I'll be back home in the States seeing people I adore. Hugging friends I know so well but have never laid eyes upon before. Tell me technology doesn't bring us closer.


Blogger Freddy said...

So, you don't know how the movie ended then! Well what happens is...........Freddie

11:52 PM  

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