Ouch Charlie, You Bit EVERYONE

While I may have taken the last month or so off from blogging, Charlie’s story is far from over folks. He’s the gift that keeps on giving…and giving…and giving. In fact, he’s the gift that gives so much that you want to just return it to the gift store but when you do, the cashier tells you it’s past the expiration date and hey, sorry, store policy, and now you’re stuck with it for life.

Things were looking promising after the last Charlie post. He finally worked up the balls to dump Gel (no guys this time it was sooooo totallllyyyy for real, not like the other 20 times, those were just super big fights). We all celebrated, party hats and the likes. Finally, I’d be getting some more sleep, he’d be getting more work done…well, he’d be getting ANY work done for the first time in months. Our room would finally be habitable. Then came the classy Christmas party. That’s the night that my girlfriend Jen and I got together, but we’ll save that story for another time because as usual, Charlie stole the spotlight once again. That night, only a short week after breaking up with Gel, Charlie hooked up with one of MY friends (and one of Jen’s best friends, as a matter of fact). Her name was Reba, and she’s one of my favorite people at this school. I knew what was going to happen—Charlie was going to go all crazy on her like he did to Gel, and I didn’t want that happening to such a sweet girl. As it turns out, I was being paranoid (silly ol’ me) and the two of them were perfect for each other. She kept him in line (finally! Someone else OTHER than me telling him he had to wash between his toes, etc) and kept him busy. He was out of my hair during one of the busiest weeks of the semester (finals week). When he and Reba parted ways, even thought it had only been a week, they agreed to not see anyone else over break. Mind you, they weren’t officially dating or anything guys, and that’s super important to the story you know cause like, it doesn’t count as cheating if you aren’t dating Brennan so it’s not a big deal at all, I don’t know why you and Jen are so pissed at me, we only agreed verbally, it wasn’t a contract or anything and it doesn’t even matter because she’s weird because she likes songs and poems and art and stuff. Yes, Charlie, liking art and songs makes you weird, love that logic.

In case you skipped that ramble, Charlie quickly turned around and sowed his oats elsewhere, elsewhere in this example being good ol’ GEL, less than ONE WEEK after he and Reba agreed to be exclusive. See, Gel was still obsessed with Charlie so she thought it’d be in everyone’s best interests if she went to Chicago to see (stalk?) him. Like a fly drawn to a rotting carcass in the woods, Gel and Charlie found their way back to each other (in the carnal way) MANY times over the break. They even “found each other” in the snow in an alleyway, and once on a rug giving them both rug burns (really makes you rethink the Magic Carpet from Aladdin doesn’t it?).

A Single Man

A Single Man marks a triumphant return to the screen for Colin Firth, whose last few movies (I’m looking at you “Mamma Mia” and “St. Trinians”) have been as fluffy as fluffy can be. In Tom Ford’s devastatingly beautiful debut, Firth rises above the occasionally slogging script to fuel the movie’s fire.

Firth plays George, a recently widowed homosexual grasping to get on with his life as a university professor. He brings to the role the fervor of an actor half his age—it is abundantly clear that this is a project that he felt supremely passionate about. His passion is understood—his lines roll of his tongue as if it was a whip, allowing Firth to disappear into the role. Equal credit must be given to Firth’s supporting lady, Julianne Moore. Her recently divorced Charley is absolutely heartbreaking and Moore, fresh off a poorly received stint on 30 Rock is in fine form here. The way in which her face crumples when she is upset is simultaneously the mark of a brilliant actress and a shattering revelation. Ford’s decision to have Charley love George unrepentantly is a small stroke of genius—their scenes together are marvelous and near breathtaking. Praise should also be set aside for the lovely Ginnifer Goodwin (so good on “Big Love” but so cloying in “He’s Just Not That Into You”) who plays “sixties housewife” with grace and charm. Lee Pace of the now cancelled Pushing Daisies makes a brief but welcome appearance as a fellow professor (might this reviewer be overlooking things in seeing a love come and gone between Firth and Pace’s characters?). Nicholas Hoult, who played the young Marcus opposite Hugh Grant in About a Boy, shows just how much he has grown (following a provocative role in the BBC hit Skins) in his role as a student of George’s who is completely infatuated with his professor.

While the script at times runs into clichés and clunky monologs, Ford masterfully commands the movie, steering it to a crushing conclusion. Ford’s fashion expertise (known primarily as a designer, this is his directorial debut) is abound—the costumes are first rate, as if the characters were born to wear their dazzling clothes, and the sets themselves could walk the runway. The beautiful lighting expertly blends in with the film. Firth, broken and haggard, veers in and out of an unflattering shade of gray, while Goodwin and her onscreen children are always bathed in a cheery glow.

In the end, Ford has created a beautiful piece of art, buoyed by Firth and Moore, the masters of their craft. Though destined to be label an “art house flick,” A Single Man deserves to be seen by so many more.

Charlie's Mad Tea Party

Sometimes I feel like my roommate Charlie's life is a ride plucked straight out of Disney World. At times, it's like the Mad Teacups, those vehicles that spin you around until you reach the point of near-puking. That's how I feel after talking to him a good chunk of the time, which is why I always keep my trash bin handy. The trending topic here is his girlfriend: let's call her Gel (hey, it's actually only one letter off). Gel is out of her mind insane, like insane asylum crazy. She has a complete fixation on Charlie: she's got him wrapped up in her tentacles, and the only way to get him out is to cut them off. I'm not advocating chopping Gel's arms off; rather, I'm talking about the figurative ties that exist between them. Ever tried to strip vines off of a tree? It's like that, only ten times harder. This girl is CLAMPED on. The problem though, is that their relationship is 95% bickering, and 5% sex. How on God's green earth is that in the least bit healthy? Over the past few months, I've noticed that a lot of their conversations are recycled, almost like the two of them are living a real life Groundhog Day. Here's some examples of the beautiful prose the two exchange on a day-to-day basis:
Charlie: "If you ever look at/think about/think about thinking about [insert male's name here] ever again, we're done/I'm done/I'm never talking to you again." Hmm, possessive much?
Gel: "Fuck you. I hate you. We're not even dating. No, don't hang up I love you and I'm pregnant! No, just kidding. Hey, it was a joke! No, we're not even dating anymore, I'm serious this was the last straw. Maybe I'll call up [insert male's name here] and invite him over!"
If I were them, I'd wanna spice things up a bit. Maybe designate certain days (relationship holidays?) to talk about specific topics. I don't know, maybe spend one day talking entirely like pirates. They already have dirty enough mouths and minds.

My Roommate, Oscar the Grouch

When one looks up the term "Grouch" on Muppet Wiki (oh yes, there is such a thing), one will find that "grouches are an eccentric race of pessimistic, argumentative, unhygenic furry creatures who prefer to live wherever there is garbage: trash cans, city dumps, even the occasional landfill." I had absolutely no idea that I was living with a member of this previously mythical,TV-land tribe! Let's run through that definition and compare Charlie and Grouches side by side:
1)Pessimistic. Oh, how that doesn't even begin to cover things. Daily, I get the "I just can't do it anymore" speech, and sometimes, when Charlie gets his drink on, I get the nightime weepies about how awful his life is. I don't think even The Count could rattle off how many times a day I hear frustrated sighs and grunts coming from the other side of the room.
2)Argumentative. Now, when you think of a good, dynamic Muppet team, you think Bert and Ernie. Imagine if Bert had been cloned, and said clone was his roommate in college. How do you think they would get along? I have no problems with being an assertive guy. I'm a New Yorker, it's in my blood. But I thought those MidWesterners were supposed to be kind and friendly. I swear, it's like I'm living with Donald Duck. The muttered complaints and muffled remarks remind me of the blubbering, stuttering of the great Disney Duck.
3)Unhygenic. That's putting it super lightly. He's the Pigpen to my Linus. He doesn't mind leaving some throw up on the floor, because the maid (read: me) will take care of it in the morning. Little did I know, I have my mom's Martha Stewart like obsession with things being clean. I was so used to it at home, that it floored me the first time I found a condom (not used or anything! His girlfriend doesn't even go here!) under my bed. "What would Mom do?" I found myself thinking as I Fabrezed the bejesus out of the floor. And the stench! No, he doesn't ever do laundry. Ever. And guess what that means? It means that rotting pile of laundry develops an infuriating stench. Gross. I can only spend so much money on AirWick products before I go broke.
As for furry? Does it count if he never shaves?

Hopefully in the near future, Charlie the Grouch will go the way of the Cookie Monster when they swapped in the "Veggie Monster." Only this time, I'm hoping for Grover.

Do I even have a last nerve anymore?

The reason I ask that question is because it's been tweaked so many times over the past few months. Here's the latest transgression. My roommate talks on the phone (or videochats) his girlfriend basically every waking minute of the day. Towards the beginning it didn't so much bother me, but now I find myself cringing every time I hear him say "Hello" or "No, you text ME." How about you both pick a time and text each other so I don't have to hear you have the same conversation every half an hour? Perhaps an alternating system, so you'd have an equal share of the texting. Would it be that difficult? Hell, I'll even make up the timetable for you.

It's gotten to the point where I find myself wondering "What could possibly be left for these two dimwits to talk about?" Here's what I've come up with:
1)Zoo animals
2)Staplers
3)Intelligent movies (no, Charlie, G.I. Joe doesn't count)
4)Anything pertaining to schoolwork (it's like the institution doesn't exist for either of them)

Can you think of any other obscure things for them to talk about? I'm thinking as a Christmas present, I'll make a list of talking points for them. Oh, and I'll also invest in a new pair of earplugs.

The Circus in Cheverus

I've decided I want this blog to take on a new purpose. Over the past two months, I've had to deal with some pretty ridiculous goings on in my dorm. Looking back on these moments, I think most of them are hysterical and the world deserves to hear about them. So, starting today, I'll be writing about my life here at college. To protect the individuals involved I won't be using their real names and I won't be giving away any personal information about them. With that, please enjoy The Circus in Cheverus.

About a month before I entered my freshman year at college, I found out that I would be living in a forced triple much to my chagrin. For those who don’t know, a forced triple is a room built for two people that is actually occupied by three. Right off the bat I knew the room would be cramped. I worried about the dreaded “roommate alliance”, the idea that two roommates formed a strong friendship while the third was basically left in the dust. As every teenager does, I hit Facebook immediately to search for both of my future roommates. The first, who I’ll call Joe Smith, seemed…interesting. We had a lot of the same likes (a few television shows, etc) but at the same time something was a little funky. His religious views said Islamic, which would be a new experience for me seeing as I had spent the last thirteen years in Catholic school. That wasn’t what was out of the ordinary however. It struck me as odd that he had an album full of pictures that he had so cleverly named “GOodnight u fucking rapists”…

“Ok, that’s a little weird” I thought to myself but I didn’t give it any other thought. In retrospect, I really should have. It’s not really the most normal thing to throw the word rapist around (even though it’s not uncommon to hear kids say “Yo, I totally raped that test man!”)

I couldn’t really get a feel for my second roommate (let’s call him Charlie MacAvoy) except that everyone who saw his profile picture kept telling me “You have a bro for a roommate!” What an interesting expression: bro. I wasn’t really sure what it meant for him to be a “bro” but my friend was all too happy to explain: “You know, like lax bros and like, bro-ing out. Basically, very douchey and they’re obsessed with themselves.” I wasn’t really sure how they were getting that impression just from one picture, but nonetheless up until I met Charlie I was convinced I was going to be rooming with a bro and was already trying to think up sitcom names for the room (my personal favorite was “Pinky and the Bro”).

We started up a thread for the three of us to talk about concerns, who was bringing what, and to get to know each other. Charlie’s idea was for each of us to talk about ourselves in general so we could get a feel for each other before we got to school. Red flags went up when Joe sent his reply: “I was born in Alexandria, Egypt and I am islamic. Ive had to deal with racism a lot in my life, and I got into [our college] partially because of that.” I read the first sentence and kind of said “oh that’s interesting” and THEN I hit the second sentence. “What does that even mean?” my mom said when I read it aloud to her. I understood the fact that he had to deal with racism all his life “But what does it mean that he got into your school because of that?” I didn’t know and neither did anyone I ask. Was it a prerequisite I missed out on? I’m sure my school was interested in having a larger group of Muslims attending the school, but I am also willing to bet that if he had put on his Common App essay “I’ve dealt with racism all my life” that the reader would jump up and proclaim “I’ve read enough! He’s dealt with racism all his life, so he’s in!”

My aunt, one of the smartest and funniest people I know, called it: “You’re going to have a hard time living with him. He’s already playing the race card” I scoffed and told her she was being ridiculous. When I had to rush home two weeks into college with Charlie, I was greeted with the biggest “Oh I SO called this shit” face. Good call, Zia.

Rihanna - The Wait Is Ova - NOV.23.09

Sending music lovers into a tizzy, pop-icon Rihanna released new information about her upcoming album, entitled "Rated R. This morning at 11:23, her new single called "Russian Roulette" debuted and after listening to it a couple of times, I decided that I wouldn't ever listen to it again. It's not that it's an awful song, but I had extremely high expectations that Rihanna's song did NOT meet. She had been hyping the release of the single with a promo video touting a snippet of her second single "The Wait is Ova" (good promotion, Def Jam) that actually had me excited. "Roulette" is a ballad, not the typical first-single off of albums, a slow burner that showcases Rihanna's more than adequate vocals but fails to excite. I, for one, can't wait until "Ova" drops. Until then, enjoy a both songs: