dj paul is a dog, one you do not trust
If you're like me, you're still reeling from the sight of Three Six Mafia on the friggin Oscars. I kept waiting for the camera to pan to Helena Bonham Carter or Paul Giamatti awkwardly head-bobbing along. I felt pretty out of touch when Crash won best picture. I thought that was the movie where Linda Fiorentino could only get off in car crashes. No? Apparently I am wrong on this. Should I see this movie? I also havent seen ANY of the foreign language nominees. Oops.
On Friday I went for a much needed checkup with Drs. Pearls and Brass. I really needed to rage, and rage I did. After the show we got high in the van and went to a 4 am bar, where I briefly slipped out of consciousness, walked out the door of the bar and directly into a lamppost. Ouch. I felt pretty terrible afterward, not because of the swelling shiner near my eyebrow, but because this is not the type of behavior suitable to a father-to-be. No more late night van sessions for me.
Jean helped me kill the hangover at Bed Bath and Beyond, where we set up our registry. Lots of nice pans and glasses and a humidifier that looks like a frog. If you are interested, you can access this online by searching my name.
Saturday night we watched this awful, seriously dreadful movie about the Manson Family. While masquerading as a documentary, it was actually a "dramatization" of the helter skelter days as performed by this bad cyberpunkish acting troupe. The mockumentary aspects were decent, with the different characters talking to the camera somewhere off in the incarcerated future beyond the killings, but the action itself was awful. I dont know if I ever need to watch NYU film sophomores have a dog blood-orgy ever, ever again. Blood and nipples: ne'er the twain shall meet.
On Friday I went for a much needed checkup with Drs. Pearls and Brass. I really needed to rage, and rage I did. After the show we got high in the van and went to a 4 am bar, where I briefly slipped out of consciousness, walked out the door of the bar and directly into a lamppost. Ouch. I felt pretty terrible afterward, not because of the swelling shiner near my eyebrow, but because this is not the type of behavior suitable to a father-to-be. No more late night van sessions for me.
Jean helped me kill the hangover at Bed Bath and Beyond, where we set up our registry. Lots of nice pans and glasses and a humidifier that looks like a frog. If you are interested, you can access this online by searching my name.
Saturday night we watched this awful, seriously dreadful movie about the Manson Family. While masquerading as a documentary, it was actually a "dramatization" of the helter skelter days as performed by this bad cyberpunkish acting troupe. The mockumentary aspects were decent, with the different characters talking to the camera somewhere off in the incarcerated future beyond the killings, but the action itself was awful. I dont know if I ever need to watch NYU film sophomores have a dog blood-orgy ever, ever again. Blood and nipples: ne'er the twain shall meet.