Slitting Wrists and Other Hobbies

After yesterday's viewing of Run Fatboy Run, Mario and I were inspired. This morning we headed over (drove) to his aunt's house and ate about sixteen pounds of food a piece. After that motivation session, we feel ready to run a marathon. We have all the requisite characteristics - we're weak, out of shape, and now we're fat. Armed with these superpowers, we will run not one, but two marathons! One for Mario and one for me. The date is Friday, and we've told everyone we know that we're doing it to ensure the most happiness in the event of failure.

Like every year around this time, the world is beset with nagging but unanswerable questions, most of them having to do with Kwanza, such as:

What in the world IS Kwanza?
Is it spelled with a K or a Q? Or perhaps both? Qkwanza? Kqwanza?
What group of people is responsible for K(Q)wanza's existence and what does the event commemorate?
How many candles should there be on the eighth night of Kwanza?

Ok, I will answer some of these, though I guarantee no amount of truth.

First of all, you uncultured ignoramuses (this is the 'you' that no longer includes 'me'), Kwanza is actually spelled Kwanzaa, or so is the humble opinion of Wikipedia. It's a week long, so if we take length as a measure of importance, it's somewhere between Christmas and Hanukkah but closer to the latter. It's celebrated by lighting a candle, which explains why Kwanzaa subscribers are impossible to recognize in the sea of minorahs and Christmas lights.

Umm...ok that's enough for this year. Next year, we'll learn who celebrates Kwanzaa and what they're actually celebrating.

Speaking of depression, Leaving Las Vegas. Do NOT see this movie. It might put your life in perspective, and that's the last thing anyone wants.

The Brits Are Slowly Unclenching Those Well-Dressed Buttocks

Just watched Run Fatboy Run, the relatively recent movie with Simon Pegg's crew (Shaun of the Dead). It was hilarious, but let's give credit where it's due. It's at least half due to the fact that British people have done a great job of representing themselves in movies as reserved, rational, and gentlemanly. In other words, as utter tightasses. The American view of the British film character is one inevitably played by Michael Caine, who is articulate, natural, believable, and also the most quick-acting over-the-counter soporific on the market. It is because of Michael's skill that we have our current view of the Brits.

Enter Simon Pegg and crew. Suddenly we see British people doing all sorts of strange things: grimacing, wearing booty shorts, being fat, walking around naked from the waist down, and doing all sorts of physical comedy that require stuntmen and stunt genitalia. And here you can't help but laugh. The stereotype is so strong that when you break it open, there are hysterical giggles inside. I laughed so hard I needed three separate ribcage replacements.

Now that I've explained the reason this movie's so funny, you should by no means ever watch it. Being conscious of the contrast effect I described will undoubtedly break the spell, and you'll just be seeing another Hollywood slapstick with a cliched plot and stupid jokes.

So, to summarize (just saying those words makes me feel like I'm trying to meet a word count), this movie's pretty lame. It put me to sleep just fine even without Mr. Caine's professional help.

(Franco put up some Christmas and Hanukkah decorations including some uncircumsized reindeer, Mario comes back from work)
Mario: a menorah? I don't think God would approve of that. The God I worship I mean, not your heathen God.
Mark: then we shall have a battle of the Gods.
Mario: or we could sit there and stare at each other until one of our Gods kills one of us.
Mark: or lets one of us starve to death.