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Had some trouble sleeping last night and found myself watching on old classic movie. The late John Candy starring as "Uncle Buck", the lovable family charity case whose gambling addiction is matched only by the sheer size of his heart. I got to thinking: Buck represents everything we love about ourselves. Clearly Buck had his share of vices, but beneath the mammoth layer of epidermis there lie a caring soul. Throughout the movie, we see Buck struggling to keep his niece Tia in check. All the while Buck is struggling with his own morality. And all of the zany escapades that ensue. Buck, I think, represents an integral part in all of us as Americans. We all have our own vices; our own struggles with morality. Deep down, I'd like to think we all have a heart the size of Buck's. Buck didn't have much money, he drove the world's shittiest automobile... but he knew right from wrong. And he legitimately cared. By that stretch, Uncle Buck had everything in the world that truly matters. What is it about us that makes us root for the Uncle Bucks of the world? The underdogs. Why do Americans openly root for the recovering alcoholic, and shun the one who has never picked up a bottle? It's not a rhetorical question, and I am not prepared to offer any answers out of my ass. All I can say is thank you, John Candy... wherever you may be. I have found myself on the verge of crying lately more than at most other times. I'm not necessarily talking about the saddest or proudest moments of my life. Oddly, I'm thinking more along the lines of minor parts in movies. As I was watching Reservoir Dogs last night (hey, sleep is hard to come by), I found myself recognizing the pinnacle of artistic expression. It really hit me like a freight train. And this has happened a couple of other times lately, but the tears never physically form. It's not that I'm sad or anything, perhaps it's more of the subconscious way of recognizing life's moments of zen. I went on-line last night and looked up the history of the olympic games, because I wanted to know where the games have been held ever since their re-emergence. I have the entire list compiled, and if I really gave a single fuck I'd probably type it out here. But, I'll save my energy and your time and opt out of that one. I will highlight one key area of interest, however. In 1994, this was the first year the winter and summer olympics were staggered. Instead of taking place in the same year ever four years, the winter olympics went two years after the last time through. In 1992, Barcelona, Spain hosted the summer games while the winter games were in Albertville, France. The 1994 games took place in my personal favorite of olympic cities, Lillehammer, Norway. Today was the Girard Multi-Generational Center's party commemorating the welcoming of their 500th member. Beth and I helped set up some tables and speakers and shit yesterday. Her parents put a lot of work into making things look right and planned well for everyone to come and have a good time. Her mother has been going through some serious shit at work lately, because her co-workers seem to have teamed up against her. It all started when the custodian was fired. The Administrative Director took it upon herself to assume the duties of Personnel Director; self-proclaiming herself the say all end all on the matter. In sheer ignorance to the board of directors, that Administrative Director then decided to hire the husband of the only other employee without any interviewing or vetting process. When called on her inherent ignorance, said Director then interviewed four applicants at the behest of many Multi-Generational Center officials, including myself. She still insisted upon hiring the husband, and this has made matters both complicated and progressively worse. For a final blow, the custodian who had been terminated has informed the Administrative Director that unless he gets a formal hearing resulting in his reinstatement, he will be filing a cause of action against the Girard Multi-Generational Center. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, everyone is treating Beth's mom like a second class citizen. Fuckers. The last thing I want to touch upon today is my hatred of the anti-smoking sentiment that has become so prevalent in today's world. So many of the brainless masses listen to anti-smoking commercials on the radio each day and infer that smoking is worse than gunshots. The government has stepped in and said that smokers can't smoke in public places. In most states, you can't smoke anywhere. What the fuck? Quit acting like a bunch of pussies. We're fighting a fucking ridiculous war... and we don't even have a reason for it... and our concern is "Oh no, I can smell smoke within 100 yards... I think I'm going to sue!" Deal with it, panzies. You want to go to a bar? Deal with the smoke. What are we going to do next? Ban drinking in a bar? Might as well, because afterall that's unhealthy and you'll burn in hell for it. How about the yuppies don't go to bars at all, and then whoever wants to smoke in the bar doesn't have to be bothered by prude, boring people? Let's ban them from the bars, and see how they feel. Let's ban them from going to certain places in public, because I don't like them. Isn't that what is being done, only the other way around? Sure it is. If secondhand smoke is that bad, then why don't we start charging smokers for murder each and every day? Come on, it'll be fun. Put your money where your mouth is. Oh, I almost forgot. There are police in, I believe Virginia, who have been paying for and receiving blow jobs in order to bust prostitutes. I'm a Criminal Justice major and will be a police officer very soon, and that apalls me. The prostitution must not be that bad of a problem if the only way to bust it is to go in, get sucked off in private and then arrest the hooker. If it's such a big problem, you can find ways to arrest prostitutes and their patrons without paying policemen to blow loads in strippers' faces on the taxpayer's dollar. And no, it's not the same thing as buying drugs. When officers buy drugs, they don't have to do them in order to make the arrest. Well that's enough for me, but I'll be back soon. Take care and Matty loves ya. P.S. Beth came up with the title; catchy, huh? Post a comment in response: |
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