Well, dear readers, what can you say about a twenty-five year old girl who died? Where did that come from? What are these notes, Love Story all of a sudden? What am I, Erich Segal or Ryan O’Neal all of a sudden? Or is it some insidious plan to have these notes comprised of nothing but classic opening sentences of novels? Well, all I can say is, someone must have been telling lies about Joseph K., for without having done anything wrong he was arrested one fine morning. Say what? What am I, Franz Kafka all of a sudden. I tell you The Trial that these here notes are becoming. Well, all I can say is, Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. Now wait just a darned minute – what am I, Vladimir Nabokov all of a sudden? Have I done a Humbert Humbert in these here notes? Oh, well, maybe I should just talk about that it was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Okay, hold the phone, stop the presses – what is it, Nineteen Eighty-Four all of a sudden? That was the only year I recall the clocks striking thirteen, even though thirteen hadn’t done anything to antagonize the clocks, nor had it been turned into a musical. I gotta tell you. But you what, Norman Bates heard the noise and a shock went through him. And I think we all know how that turned out – have I gone Psycho with these here notes? Frankly whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. These notes are the dickens, I tell you. But here’s something you’ll want to know: Elmer Gantry was drunk. Smoke on your pipe and put that in, baby. Oh, well, just call me Ishmael and we’ll be done with it. What the HELL am I talking about? But before I move on let me just say they’d found him. Him, of course, being our very own Benjamin Kritzer.
Well, that was very literary, wasn’t it? I believe we’ve got us some literary notes here. The fact that I can even type, let alone write anything coherent is amazing in and of itself due to the fact that I believe I slept a whopping ninety minutes, and then, later, an additional two hours. I was in a fog of a haze of a bog of a daze all daze long. I could not tell if I was coming or going or even going or coming. There was a lot of drama in the morning that was silly but interesting and which worked out fine, and then I went and had a sandwich with no fries or onion rings. Then I came home and literally could not function like a normal human being. I had some telephonic calls, brief ones, because I really didn’t know what the HELL I was talking about. Finally, I just sat on my damn couch like so much damn fish.
Yesterday, I finished watching an interesting documentary about the Jerry Sandusky case – very well done, and as shocking as HIS story is, naturally the most disgusting people in the documentary are – wait for it – the media. Oh, and all the Penn State mob – I have never understood this college football mania, and to watch these mobs is pretty nauseating. It’s like their whole lives, like they never actually got out of school. I then watched another documentary entitled Hot Girls Wanted, about newly turned eighteen year olds going into the porn industry, where their shelf life is anywhere from a month to about six months. It’s really shocking and disgusting seeing these girls being treated like meat. Some people would have you believe that anything a young woman does that’s empowering or where she’s in control of what she does with her own body is a good thing. Um, no, not this. These young ladies have vile things done to them and as long as there is a dollar sign in view they’re fine with it. It’s painful to watch at times, and it makes you want to scream at the TV screen, but it’s very well done and certainly makes its points. The gals who go into this stuff are degraded over and over again so that people who are excited by seeing sickening things can get their jollies. And to listen to these gals, to even look at them, is just, well, you wonder where this world is heading. And guess where they’re recruited? Craig’s List, where apparently you can find whatever base and sick thing you may be looking for.
After that, I needed something completely mindless, so I tried a 2013 “thriller” on the Flix of Net entitled Breaking the Girls, a title so meaningless to what’s on view that it is mind boggling. The film is a sort of female Strangers on a Train – kind of shamelessly so, with a bunch of “twists” so ripped off from other better films that one sits there and wonders who gives these people the money to make these awful movies – this one being an obviously low-budget affair. And it ends with a completely random image that has no meaning to the film whatsoever, at least one I could figure out. The acting was quite poor, although they did involve a couple of pros like John Stockwell (one two-minute scene), Melanie Mayron (one less than two-minute scene) and Sam Anderson (several two-minute scenes). Strictly from hunger.
I also went to Gelson’s and got a little thing of Chinese chicken salad and came home and ate that and some melon balls for my evening snack. And that was about it.
Today, I shall hopefully arise after a good night’s beauty sleep. I’ll choose songs, continue casting (we’ve cast one of our women and two of our younger people, so one more or two more women, two men, and a guest star are still needed), I’ll eat something light but amusing (kind of craving a roast beef sandwich – I cannot remember the last time I had a roast beef sandwich, but certainly it’s been over two decades, hopefully I’ll pick up some packages, and then I’ll relax.
Tomorrow there’s a House of Pies breakfast happening, then it’s just the Kritzerland show stuff, meetings and meals and seeing a show or a movie or something.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, cast, choose, eat, hopefully pick up packages, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s Ask BK Day, the day in which you get to ask me or any dear reader any old question you like and we get to give any old answer we like. So, let’s have loads of lovely questions and loads of lovely answers and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, where I shall fall asleep thinking you can never tell what a drunken Irishman will do. Holy smokes, I got literary again – you’d think I was a Screaming Mimi or something.