The Benefits of Roadkill

(THIS IS A PICTURE OF SOME BELOVED ROADKILL AND ME AND MY FRIEND LISA IN CLACKAMAS, OREGON. I AM UNOPPOSED TO KILLING R.O.U.S.s)
Driving home at 1 AM from Garden Grove singing along with Bradley Nowell who "can play the guitar like a mother fucking riot." I see a cat running across Ward. I am going to miss it by a few yards, then it suddenly jerks back and runs directly under my wheels. I hear (and feel) two distinct thuds. I immediately turned off the radio and began sobbing. First of all, just feeling the furry body under my wheels was enough to startle me. Also, that's someone's cat I just killed. I've never killed anything with my car before. I kill bugs. And I've fished. But no one owns those animals. I drove for a few minutes crying hysterically and being awfully dramatic, then decided if I feel this bad about the thing I should probably go back and check on it. I drove back but couldn't see any guts or fur or body through my blurry vision. So I went back to Jon's and he got in the car to help me look for it.
Went back and couldn't find it. That's good. Except I know I hit the thing, with the front and back tires. So that cat, although miraculously on its feet again, is definitely damaged. Then Jon reminded me that it could be a stray. At least no human beings are involved in this catastrophe. There's just some cat limping around somewhere who's got an awful, patchy coat now and the other cats will probably make it an outcast. But the cat could just as likely be someone's beloved pet who will now have to undergo surgery and get one of those plastic cone things that look rather obnoxious and only make the animal grateful for its peripheral vision. I was sad for the sad person who will hate the driver of the car who hit the little black and white animal. But I was able to console myself because there is some gain in this situation. I have just given the veterinarian some prodigious business in these troubled times. The owner of the cat probably needed to take the cat to the vet for something minor and has been avoiding it until now, having a perfectly legitimate reason for spending hard-earned money on such luxuries as animal restoration. And this will all come back to me (and you) in the end when the veterinarian comes to Mother's Market (the vet probably shops at Mother's because of all the animal-friendliness dogma) with that money from the cat owner. I will have more customers to serve and then more likely to keep my job. I don't know how I can revert everything to helping the economy or some glorious demonstration of the virtue of capitalism, but I just did it and it made me feel much better. Another small thing that made me more at ease with smashing the bones of the cat was the fact that I don't eat animals...so it pretty much evens out.

Stay Tuned This Christmas!

It is difficult for me to be upset at the commercialism of Christmas. Sure, I hate working during the holidays, dealing with the crowds, parking lots, and upset housewives who have to cook for thirty. But when it all comes down to it, that's the spirit of Christmas, nowadays at least. As most learned people know, Christmas was originally a pagan holiday, specifically a Roman solar holiday. It has since evolved into the day we are to celebrate Christ's birth. And with the rush of materialism that has inevitably engulfed society, the holiday called Christmas is now a tool used by hundreds of industries to promote themselves and their profits, an evil commercialistic scheme that has depleted the "true meaning" of Christmas. Wow. Apparently peoples' faiths can be pretty easily smashed by lines at the mall and electric talking Santa Clauses that repeat "ho ho ho have a merry christmas" from Thanksgiving until New Year's Day. It happens. People can be pretty greedy. But faith in the real spirit of Christmas, if we're going to talk about origins, is really worshipping a Roman sun god, not the Christian God and his son. Once people become aware of this, the nativity scene manufacturers are going to run out of business.
But the holiday has changed, just like most ancient holidays that have managed to stick around this long. It changed into what is supposed to be a birthday party for Jesus into a gift exchange between friends and family. "The First Noel" isn't the most fitting song, but "Santa Baby" is what most shoppers are singing in their heads while buying gifts for others. I was unfortunately at the cash register the other day (on the side where you collect totals and give change, not the side where you have money and purchase things that you want and/or need) and a customer starts complaining about the commercialism of Christmas. She was evidently upset about the craziness of the holidays, the greed, materialism, and the deviation from the "true meaning" of Christmas (I think she'd just been hanging out with Linus). She was saying all this while loading onto my counter free-range organic turkeys, christmas cards, pancake mix, and knic-knacs from our plethora of the hard goods section. Eight hours scanning barcodes can make me talkative and more willing to express my opinion to these strangers, whether I am opposed or in favor of their quibbles.
"Well, I think Christmas couldn't have come at a better time," I said, rather politely I might add.
"Maybe for you. Do you have to cook for three families and buy gifts for greedy children?"
"No. I'm busy working the register while people buy all the things they need. I'm just glad people are forced to spend their money."
"Why?"
"Well, so I have a job, for one thing. With all these crazy lines I was able to pick up more shifts so I could have money to pay for the gifts I have to buy. But on a larger scale, tons of companies are getting money again. Which will just come right back around to you and me."
I'm not sure if she knew where I was going with it because at this point I was finished ringing her up and another angry christmaser was ready to give me money in exchange for his products and proof of purchase, so she left the store to prepare for the ominous 25th.
That's just what Christmas is right now. Buying things for people and receiving gifts from others. That's what it all comes down to. Of course those who wish to are more than likely to celebrate Christ's birth on this day, because it has been intended for such worship and recognition for some time now, not always though. Things change. This year I personally didn't actual get excited about Christmas until I faced the insanity at the mall. So I not only concede the "commercialism of Christmas", but I endorse it. Without offering my arguments supporting capitalism, I will say that Christmas without presents isn't really Christmas at all. If we are allowing the change of the holiday from pagan to Christian, then we can accept the modification of Christian to commercial, especially if it's going to keep hundreds of industries' heads above water.
(And something that I think is rather obvious but I think should be made clear: people like giving and getting gifts. Why some complain about ripping paper open to discover an item they've been wanting but would never buy themselves is beyond me.)

Burn After Laughing So Hard You Might Make Weird Noises

Burn After Reading wasn't the best Coen Bros movie, but it certainly made me laugh, and scream, and, squeal, and shrink in my chair, and stare wide-eyed at the screen desperately wishing the scene to pass but hoping I can watch John Malkovich continue articulating his tautology of "What the fuck" at the idiocy of every human being in film. The plot is too ridiculous and nugatory to explain in detail, only because we learn in the end that the jaw dropping turn of events have no real meaning at all. Of course, you must pay attention when someone tells you not to pay attention.

The movie is more than just a "Man Who Knew Too Much," first of all because the man, and woman, know nothing at all, and second of all because there is nothing to know in the first place. Linda Litzke tries her hardest to be in control of the situation, never keeping her mouth shut or turning away pretending she didn't find a disc with "secret spy shit". She has to take it to the Russians, of course, because only they will have interest in the numbers and dates and dates and numbers. She probably didn't get the memo that the looming war some have called cold is over. And similarly, Harry Pfarrer seems in complete control throughout the movie, despite the suspicious looks and cars that follow him around. He sleeps with whomever he pleases, but tells his wife that he's crazy about her because he has the keep that constant in his life, whichever type of wood the floor he is standing on might be made of. His paranoia about the food he eats is always false; he never has an allergic reaction to any of it, to the cheese or shell fish. But when he accidentally kills the unidentified man in the closet, he suddenly becomes paranoid to the point of accusing poor little flabby-armed Linda Litzkey of being in on it. All of this lunacy happens in the nation's capital, which has become a sort of panopticon, while the CIA has strict orders to "watch them and see what they do and report back when it makes sense," turning Harry around in a 360 to see people watching him from every angle.

Linda Litzke is fully aware of her sought-after position at Hardbodies as a face to the public, so she has dedicated her life to getting enough money to get 4 extensive plastic surgeries. The filming and lighting through the movie is completely unflattering to everyone. I find almost myself endorsing Linda's taking drastic measures to become the iconic beauty so she can find that special someone with whom to laugh at "Coming Up Daisies". But then I realize she's crazy, and liposuction will only make her as fake as the smiling heads on television and will do nothing for her spastic personality. I want her so badly to stop noticing the strangers that are watching her, but look into the glass office at Hardbodies to find the ex-Greek Orthodox priest who's been pining after her while she internet dates and complains about her loneliness. She doesn't see the his previous position in the church as a fulfilled way of life, but merely points out that "that's a good job." She recognizes the importance of security and stability, but still becomes entangled in a chaotic blackmail attempt, putting her best friend in danger. Osbourne Cox kills the next idiotic person he sees, with drink in hand, because he has been surrounded by morons and is just sick of it. I'm sorry to say that I condone Cox in his drunken decision.

As far as performances go, this is the first movie I have seen with John Malkovich and now understand why he rubs some people the wrong way. But I loved him and his arrogance and his careful pronunciations while castigating the most moronic people in DC. George Clooney is always a charmer and a fine actor. Frances McDormand's was by the far the most memorable performance. I don't know what to say about her besides commenting on her commitment and seemingly perfect fit for this role, and nearly every other role in which I've seen her. Tilda Swinton was great because I hated her so much in the film. And I'm sorry to say, but Brad Pitt was more distracting than anything. His comedy was the type of church Youth Group skit comedy, formulated and preplanned. I felt like I was being told when to laugh. I did not find the way he drank his water bottle funny however. But I guess it was nice to see Brad do a less smoldering role.

This movie was one of the funniest I've seen in a long time, but I didn't know why I was laughing at such horrifically true situations. Even though the audience was small at the 2 dollar theater, it was a good one. There was one lady in the front who kept snorting she was laughing so hard. So every punch line got two sets of laughter, one for the joke and one for the lady's ridiculous snort. It was a wonderful dynamic. A good audience is sure to make the movie better, as long as you aren't too concerned about who's watching you.