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2002-04-22 | 4:19 p.m.

corduroy licorice liked to break wind. whether by tarp or turbine, no breeze breezed past him.

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if the children really are our future, why don't people invest in kid bellies?

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confidential to silly bitch: you're totally right. i am obsessed, but with good reason, no?

***

i saw the french movie time out this weekend. it's gotten great reviews and was heralded as a psychological thriller, so i'm all, like, cool! well, cool if watching ice melt is cool.

i kept thinking, "is this it?" by the final scene, the film had redeemed itself a bit, but overall it was like watching someone slowly break out in a cold sweat over the course of two hours. i guess it was an interesting character study, but the director, laurent cantet, stayed in the study instead of wandering through the rest of the main character's house of personality.

time out is about a man who has been fired from his job, but is too ashamed to tell his wife, kids or parents. instead, he pretends to keep going into the office for a few months and then fabricates an important new job with the UN. to fund his fantasy, he convinces his friends to invest in an "emerging market" scheme he has supposedly brewed up.

the lead actor, aur�lien recoing, was very interesting to watch and gave a measured, subtle performance. i wanted to care about him, but couldn't really work up the sympathy. he wouldn't let anyone in the film care about him either. perhaps that was the point the director was trying to get across. and the subject is "ripped from today's headlines." so many awful stories are broadcast about the desperate measures men will take when they think they're unable to provide financially for their families...even up to murdering their spouse and kids and then committing suicide. this film's protagonist doesn't go to that extreme, although it seems that the director wants to imply that he might.

one review described it as being a treatise on the "soul-sucking" nature of work. i suppose so. that makes the most sense. the last half-hour of the film was the most rewarding as recoing faces his family in the final showdown over his farce. the best scene was the last...a job interview. recoing's reaction as he listens to a new corporate opportunity being described is priceless and at that moment i began to feel for him and his dilemma. just in time for the end credits. not everyone is cut out for the rat race, but sometimes that's the only race in town.

***

this weekend i joined j-girl for a night of RAWK. she works with a guy in a van halen-esque band and she owed him an audience appearance. i wasn't too thrilled about the musical selection, but figured i should see what the other kids are up to once in awhile.

there were two best parts of the evening. one was the people-watching at this rock 'n' roll restaurant/bar we went to post-show. oh my gosh! every decade of rock was represented. there was a blonde bloke with hair so perfectly feathered it could be used as a model of aerodynamic engineering for NASA. appearing live nightly was lots of long, tangled hair, bad-ass leather and over-inflated pamela lee anderson effigies. plus, one axl rose rip-off and a perpeturally pensive fellow in his late 40's. his long, (probably dyed) black tresses were wrapped in a dark scarf as he stood alone in an elegant pose mid-bar, peering dolesomely into the middle distance as if his stevie nicks might walk through the door at any moment.

the other best part of the evening was a fellow in our small circle who was a great afficianado of the wacky weed...and had obviously recently partaken of his product.

about 11:30 he asked, "what time is it? is it midnight yet?"

"why?" j-girl questioned, "is it your birthday?"

"she doesn't get it, man," he laughed conspiratorilly to his guy roommate. "she doesn't get it. it's gonna be 4/20, man. 4/20. the date, man. 4/20, man, it's the nickname for marijuana, man. like my shirt," he snickered, pointing down to a 420 logo across his chest. "i looove weed, man. i looooove it. do you guys smoke? 'cause i've got some indonesian shit, man. it's the chronic, dude. the chrrrrrrrronic."

at the rock 'n' roll restaurant he ordered up clam chowder and spaghetti and mauled a basketful of bread. when the spaghetti didn't come by last call, he got fretful.

"it ain't gonna come in time, man," he whined. "it's gonna get here and they're gonna be, like, too late. get out!"

the waitress tried to reassure him, but no luck. his spaghetti did arrive and when he polished it off, he bolted for the door...leaving the bill with us. one of the other people picked up the tab. we found him outside.

"dude, i paid for your spaghetti. you owe me," said the bill-picker-upper.

"oh, sorry, man. why don't they bring the bill to you outside, man?" he queried to the gods of restaurant etiquette.

another marijuana fan caught sight of dopey's t-shirt and came up to him to give a high-five. "alright, man. 4/20."

"yeah, man."

"dude," the glassy-eyed, spikey-haired new friend announced, "it is 4/20, man. it is 4/20."

"dude, i know! time to get stoned, man. hahaha!"

at the end of the evening, j-girl offered the doobie brother and his roommate a ride home, so the four of us climbed into her sedan. doobie talked my ear off on the way home and threw a couple of compliments my way. working his mack daddy ways, i suppose. i was thinking, "so this works for you, usually? hmmm. sad, really."

we pulled up in front of their apartment and stoney danza said, "i'd invite you guys up, but..."

j-girl assured him we'd be on our way, so he started mulling over which gal pal he could call to come over.

"it's 3 a.m.," announced j-girl. "i'd hate to meet the girl who would come over to your place at 3 a.m., but go find your little black book and do what you have to do."

mr. mary jane giggled up his short sleeves and said, "it may be little, but it is black."

with that, he was up in smoke.

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