Forgive me, those people that bother to read my nonsense. It has been almost a month since I last blogged.
That is a crazy introduction to a blog post for me, for a couple of reasons. The first reason is, my wife called me out last week. "You haven't posted anything in a long time." I didn't know how to respond, except to say, "I know. I just haven't known what to write."
I could have written about #Scandal. I could have written about #AgentsOfShield. I could have written about the last movie I saw in the theatre, #CaptainAmerica. A great idea was to write about the new faces of late night television since David Letterman announced his retirement. But honestly, it all sounded boring and repetitive to me.
The second reason, is because a friend of mine said almost the same thing in an introduction to her blog, about three weeks ago. Check her's out, she's #CooleyO. I hope she doesn't mind the reference. If she does, oops, too late. http://thecoollife101.blogspot.com/
The real reason it felt like a crazy introduction to my blog is because it's Easter Sunday. Today was my first Easter Sunday as a Catholic.
Over the last year, I've been participating in something called RCIA, the Rites of Christian Initiation for Adults. It's the way grown ups join the Catholic Church. It's kind of like CCD, which is what usually young adults or teenagers went through for Christian/Catholic education before confirmation. I'm not going to proselytize or convert you or anything, but this is better to write about for me than anything else. In no particular order, here are my thoughts on joining the Catholic Church.
Mass was long as "Hell". I imagine. Now that I'm Catholic I'm not going to hell, so I guess I'll never know. (Yes that's a joke.)
My wife, and anyone around me, can tell you I was shaking and sweating like a hooker in church. Pun intended. I don't like doing new stuff, life changing stuff especially. I was sweating like a fool when I got married. When I picked up my son for the first time, I was shaking so badly the nurses were nervous I might drop him. When I first took the cup for Communion, I was sure I would drop the cup and and ruin everyone in the church's Easter. Somehow, I didn't screw up any of them.
I can't remember the last time I saw some get baptized. Very holy, very cool, and at 32 years old I think I'd have peed in the pool of holy water. I'm sure it helped the elect for baptism that the deacon performing looked as nervous as they did.
I wish I was sitting on the end of the aisle for this hand holding prayer. Then only my wife would know how badly my palms were sweating.
Don't drop the cup. Don't drop the cup. Don't drop the cup. Oh my God, I'm going to drop the cup. I didn't drop the cup. What do I do now?
Seeing these people, I've gotten to know, get baptized is really cool. But the sound of the flowing water makes me want to pee. How long until we're done?
Where's my son? Is he happy with his grandma and grandpa? Why isn't he with grandma??!! I'm interrupting service now. There he is.
I was telling Kate that I'm not thrilled with drinking from a cup that a bunch of strangers drink from. What if there is a new pimply, hormonal, thirteen year old, just into puberty, that takes from the cup right before I am supposed to? Oh? We go first today, and can always pass on the cup? Ok, I can handle that.
I'm not exaggerating when I say these are only some of the thoughts that raced through my mind. I could list a lot more funny and less funny examples.
So now I am confirmed into the Catholic Church. I'm thrilled, terrified, and awed to be a member. If you'd have told me 6 years ago, I'd be married, with a child, and a dog, and a member of the Church, I'd have laughed in your face.
The Future is a crazy thing.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Monday, March 31, 2014
How I Met Your Mother - Series Finale
How I Met Your Mother
#SpoilerAlert
I'm thinking that perhaps they should have gone with a different title. How I Met Your Mother and Then She Died is more appropriate.
It was a fun finale. #NeilPatrickHarris is always a scene stealer, but never more so than during this final episode.Barney Stinson in the present is always ridiculous entertainment. Barney in the near future, and then the farther future was absolutely priceless. If I were to meet Neil on the street one day, I'd ask him if I could buy him a beer. Then I'd remember how much money he has, and ask him to buy ME a beer.
#CobieSmulders was also brilliant. Robin, as a character, was always a little bit all over the place. True to the storyline, she stayed crazy all the way into 2020. As an actress, I don't know how she was able to maintain her character. As a fictional character, I don't know how Robin could be so crazy for so long.
And now for my review of the episode.
Rubbish.
Finally, Ted met the mother, and then they flashed forward to her on her death bed. Really? 9 seasons of the yellow umbrella, so she can be dying in the future. And then, it's revealed that the entire story was being told to his kids because he wanted their permission to ask out 'Aunt Robin'. Of course, they gave permission. Thanks, #LyndsyFonseca for that. What if the kids said no? Would there then have been no show? "I don't think that's appropriate, Ted/Dad. Maybe you shouldn't try to date someone we call 'Aunt'. That might be a bit weird."
But of course the kids say yes. Ted takes the blue horn to Robin and she's thrilled. Barney decides to be Barney. Lilly and Marshall live happily ever after with their three kids. Everything you hoped would happen, happened.
Now, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. I just don't like 'predictable'. I don't like everything to happen exactly the way you thought it would when you first started watching. Especially when that was almost a decade ago. I'm sorry I sound like a complainer. I know I'm being a little bit bitchy. But seriously, 9 seasons and she's killed off? Ok, I'll stop now.
As always, thanks for reading. Seeya in the funny papers.
-J
#SpoilerAlert
I'm thinking that perhaps they should have gone with a different title. How I Met Your Mother and Then She Died is more appropriate.
It was a fun finale. #NeilPatrickHarris is always a scene stealer, but never more so than during this final episode.Barney Stinson in the present is always ridiculous entertainment. Barney in the near future, and then the farther future was absolutely priceless. If I were to meet Neil on the street one day, I'd ask him if I could buy him a beer. Then I'd remember how much money he has, and ask him to buy ME a beer.
#CobieSmulders was also brilliant. Robin, as a character, was always a little bit all over the place. True to the storyline, she stayed crazy all the way into 2020. As an actress, I don't know how she was able to maintain her character. As a fictional character, I don't know how Robin could be so crazy for so long.
And now for my review of the episode.
Rubbish.
Finally, Ted met the mother, and then they flashed forward to her on her death bed. Really? 9 seasons of the yellow umbrella, so she can be dying in the future. And then, it's revealed that the entire story was being told to his kids because he wanted their permission to ask out 'Aunt Robin'. Of course, they gave permission. Thanks, #LyndsyFonseca for that. What if the kids said no? Would there then have been no show? "I don't think that's appropriate, Ted/Dad. Maybe you shouldn't try to date someone we call 'Aunt'. That might be a bit weird."
But of course the kids say yes. Ted takes the blue horn to Robin and she's thrilled. Barney decides to be Barney. Lilly and Marshall live happily ever after with their three kids. Everything you hoped would happen, happened.
Now, I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. I just don't like 'predictable'. I don't like everything to happen exactly the way you thought it would when you first started watching. Especially when that was almost a decade ago. I'm sorry I sound like a complainer. I know I'm being a little bit bitchy. But seriously, 9 seasons and she's killed off? Ok, I'll stop now.
As always, thanks for reading. Seeya in the funny papers.
-J
Saturday, March 29, 2014
Free Day!
Damn! I was so close to getting regular readers. And then I forgot to write. Actually, I didn't forget. I just couldn't think of anything interesting to write about. Not that nothing interesting happened, just that I didn't think it was interesting for anyone else to read about. I still don't feel like I have anything interesting to write about. But at the very least, I can write something boring, and it can revitalize my creative process. Maybe my next post will be interesting. Today I'll just describe how awesome it was to have Kate at home, and have nothing to really think about all day.
It felt like for the first time in months, I was able to sleep past ten. As a new dad, and a stay-at-home-dad, my internal clock starts waiting for crying around 7am. The last few weeks I could have slept in later, but my clock went off, and I couldn't go back to sleep. Last night I spent an hour mentally preparing to ignore Isaiah's cries, and let Kate handle him. It worked.
Another thing we haven't done in a while is hang out all together, when we had nothing ahead of us in the day to plan. Pepper Potts (our dog) had a walk. Isaiah was fed and changed. Kate and I just got to hang out and enjoy our family for a few hours. I had barely remembered what that was like.
Around 2:30pm everyone had naptime. The boy slept, the dog slept, and the parents actually got to lay down together at the same time. Kate and I haven't gone to bed at the same time in forever. She goes to bed around 9 when Isaiah does, I go to bed around midnight after I move him from the crib to our room. Just in case you're being nosy, I said nothing about our sex life. You're a creep for being interested.
For dinner we went to the less popular Mexican restaurant in our hood. We choose the better of the two, #PerezPilsen. For the first time we took our baby out for dinner. My burrito was awesome. That crazy mess of Mexican food that Kate ordered looked really good too. I plan to eat both tomorrow. Isaiah slept the entire time.
Honestly, the best part of the day was Kate and I, thanking each other. We keep trying to make time for each other. We got to do that today. (And then we both admit that we like our little boy more than we like each other).
It's a crazy thing when you can say to your spouse, or your spouse can say to you, "I care way about our kid, than I care about you." It's totally honest, and mind blowing.
I hope my next post is more coherent. Thank for reading.
#J
It felt like for the first time in months, I was able to sleep past ten. As a new dad, and a stay-at-home-dad, my internal clock starts waiting for crying around 7am. The last few weeks I could have slept in later, but my clock went off, and I couldn't go back to sleep. Last night I spent an hour mentally preparing to ignore Isaiah's cries, and let Kate handle him. It worked.
Another thing we haven't done in a while is hang out all together, when we had nothing ahead of us in the day to plan. Pepper Potts (our dog) had a walk. Isaiah was fed and changed. Kate and I just got to hang out and enjoy our family for a few hours. I had barely remembered what that was like.
Around 2:30pm everyone had naptime. The boy slept, the dog slept, and the parents actually got to lay down together at the same time. Kate and I haven't gone to bed at the same time in forever. She goes to bed around 9 when Isaiah does, I go to bed around midnight after I move him from the crib to our room. Just in case you're being nosy, I said nothing about our sex life. You're a creep for being interested.
For dinner we went to the less popular Mexican restaurant in our hood. We choose the better of the two, #PerezPilsen. For the first time we took our baby out for dinner. My burrito was awesome. That crazy mess of Mexican food that Kate ordered looked really good too. I plan to eat both tomorrow. Isaiah slept the entire time.
Honestly, the best part of the day was Kate and I, thanking each other. We keep trying to make time for each other. We got to do that today. (And then we both admit that we like our little boy more than we like each other).
It's a crazy thing when you can say to your spouse, or your spouse can say to you, "I care way about our kid, than I care about you." It's totally honest, and mind blowing.
I hope my next post is more coherent. Thank for reading.
#J
Friday, March 7, 2014
11 Weeks a Father, 3 Weeks a Stay at Home Dad
I haven't written a blog about Isaiah Jedi Smith since the second week he was born. Now, with time passed and eleven weeks experience as a father, it makes a little more sense. No one wants to read about the daily minutiae of parenthood. Even as a new father, I don't want to write or read about it. "Today my kid did this." "Praise me! This is what I made us for lunch." "You'll never guess what my kid did today. Here's proof in a video I'll be putting on #youtube in a few minutes." It's really annoying. My wife and I have been trying to avoid that kind of thing, except for sending pictures and videos to Isaiah's grandmothers. Grandmas don't get tired of that stuff. In fact, if you don't, you'll get a phone call or text reminding you to. Especially if you're a stay at home dad. (Mom's and grandma's don't care if you're a father. Their baby or grandbaby are at stake.) Personally, I appreciate it. #StayAtHomeDads and #StayAtHomeMoms need reminders that they aren't alone in the universe. Seriously. Call us.
Two things happened this week that reminded me that I can't just waste internet space talking about television. I gotta write about this kid. Because you know, we might run out of internet space. Outline-style I'll tell you the good news, followed by the bad news. Then I'll elaborate on cool stuff about my little #Padawan. Then I'll connect everything together, and conclude with something that makes you smile, and possibly bring a tear to your eye.
One of my good friends had a baby this week. They made a gorgeous, little, partial-Puerto-Rican baby, that took forever coming out of his mommy's belly. He likes his new environment, I'm sure. He's got amazing parents that love him. He's got family that probably wants to steal him, and friends that would readily volunteer to help him not be a Cubs fan. This little boy, is going to have an awesome support structure for growing up. (I volunteer to help him not be a Cubs fan.) I can't reiterate how excited I am for baby, Mommy and Daddy. Well done.
Warning This is very sad, but it reminded me why I need to write about my kid. Feel free to skip it. I'd skip it if I didn't think it was relevant to this post.
Earlier this week a clearly long-past-stable pregnant woman tried to drive into the Atlantic Ocean at Daytona Beach with her other three children in the car. Thankfully, good Samaritans charged the beach and pulled everyone out of the car and no one was seriously injured.
http://nydn.us/1f7x2Hi
Clearly, she was mentally ill. But as a new parent, is still scares me. I've been scared about hurting my boy since before he was born. What if I drop him? What if I'm rushing through the house with him in my arms and smack his head on a door frame? What if Wife isn't home and I don't know what to do if he stops breathing? What if he cries, and somehow, I go nuts like this Florida woman and want to drive into the lake? It's absolutely terrifying. Most of it's gone now, in week eleven. But what if I make a simple, honest mistake, and it hurts my little Jedi? These are the things that cross my mind watching a news report like this.
Rational or not, these are the things that go through my head as a new father. What if I get through all of the infancy stages, and just raise a complete asshole? Wife tells me I'm a good father and I'll only get better, but my subconscious doesn't give a rats piss for her positivity.
I feel better now, having thought about the last eleven weeks as a new parent, and the last three weeks staying at home with my boy. So here's what I've learned in eleven weeks as a father, and three weeks as a #stayathomedad.
At eleven weeks he can be a real pain in the ass. I don't know why I'm surprised. First, he's going through major developmental changes at eleven weeks, more than any he's gone through yet. Second, he's my son. Of course he's going to be difficult. I've also read/heard that parents pray that their kids have kids that end up just like them. To my Mom and Dad, wish granted.
I've learned to changed diapers with my guard up. He may piss, or poo at any point, but he's not catching me by surprise. Extra diapers, wipes, and clothing for he and I both are at hand ALWAYS.
I talk in my sleep. God was funny for this one. My wife snores, my baby snores, and my dog sleeps in our bed trying to run and whine in her sleep. I have a chorus of noise in my bed.
This past Tuesday Isaiah and I had our worst day ever. He was fed, changed, and super tired, but didn't want to take naps all day. He knows his Papa's voice, and face. Why would he want to close his eyes and sleep if he could whine and get to #shadowbox with his Dad? I get it, personally. But I wanted to claw my eyes out.
Neutrally, he has a great sense of humor. Today Wife said she was going to do something in the kitchen quickly, and then grab him on her way back. As she walked past him, a little plastic wire ball bounced out of his swing, in her direction. "I don't think he liked what you said, babe." She also asked him tonight if he wanted to feed, or if he just wanted the pacey. Pacey mysteriously bounced about five feet across the room. #NoJoke, I swear it was that immediate. That's definitely my kid. Oh, and Pacey is how I abbreviate 'pacifier'.
Here's what makes it all worth it by about a million.
Today he propped his bottle up in his mouth because he thought I might be taking it away. He also does that for his pacey.
When he hears our voices or sees our faces he immediately looks for us and starts smiling. He also does that when he sees his own reflection. My son is vain.
He mimics our behavior. If I tell him to put his "hands up", they stay there. Because "All we do is win, win, win, no matter what!". And if Wife sticks out her tongue out at him, he'll stick his out and then giggles hysterically. I'm also, pretty sure he tried to wave at me this week.
(I just played #DJKahled while I'm writing this, and he started talking from his crib, in his sleep. Honestly.)
He loves to #ShadowBox with his #Papa. If he's fussing about something, it instantly stops when I help him throw a left jab, left jab, right hook. Instant smiles. His favorite is when he's got the guy on the ropes and can throw multiple upper cuts, followed by a multiple hooks. That's his favorite #knockout move.
These last couple go as favorites for me and a negative for Mom. I'm at home with him all day every day. She's at work. As a result, I get to see his "first time things" and his new development things.
Today he held his bottle in place for about 20 seconds for the first time. (He didn't really hold it, but propped it up enough so he could eat.)
I know that if you give him the pacey when he's tired, you can rub him from his forehead to the tip of his nose with a finger, and he'll close his eyes and want to go to sleep.
Turn off his swing when he falls asleep, and he'll sleep longer than if it's swinging.
It's a lot of simple, stupid stuff like that I could have learned if I had read as many books as Wife did earlier. But I didn't. I'm learning on the fly and I'm trusting in her help, God, and my natural instinct.
My point is that these little human beings, made from your DNA, don't come with instructions. I've read that in every single book I had to read. Some things will come naturally. I haven't worried about dropping Isaiah since the first time I held him in my arms. Some things you'll have to learn. "When does he need food or sleep, and why won't he shut up??!!" And some things you just have to pray that you'll figure out down the road. "I hope his first words aren't 'Goddamn television, I hate you!'"
I'm doing my best. I have good support from Wife who's doing her best. Even the Grandparents don't know how this kid may be different from their experience, but they're doing their best. We're all doing our best, and praying that he'll be the best.
-J
P.S You all better be doing your best, too. My best feels like inadequate rubbish.
Two things happened this week that reminded me that I can't just waste internet space talking about television. I gotta write about this kid. Because you know, we might run out of internet space. Outline-style I'll tell you the good news, followed by the bad news. Then I'll elaborate on cool stuff about my little #Padawan. Then I'll connect everything together, and conclude with something that makes you smile, and possibly bring a tear to your eye.
One of my good friends had a baby this week. They made a gorgeous, little, partial-Puerto-Rican baby, that took forever coming out of his mommy's belly. He likes his new environment, I'm sure. He's got amazing parents that love him. He's got family that probably wants to steal him, and friends that would readily volunteer to help him not be a Cubs fan. This little boy, is going to have an awesome support structure for growing up. (I volunteer to help him not be a Cubs fan.) I can't reiterate how excited I am for baby, Mommy and Daddy. Well done.
Warning This is very sad, but it reminded me why I need to write about my kid. Feel free to skip it. I'd skip it if I didn't think it was relevant to this post.
Earlier this week a clearly long-past-stable pregnant woman tried to drive into the Atlantic Ocean at Daytona Beach with her other three children in the car. Thankfully, good Samaritans charged the beach and pulled everyone out of the car and no one was seriously injured.
http://nydn.us/1f7x2Hi
Clearly, she was mentally ill. But as a new parent, is still scares me. I've been scared about hurting my boy since before he was born. What if I drop him? What if I'm rushing through the house with him in my arms and smack his head on a door frame? What if Wife isn't home and I don't know what to do if he stops breathing? What if he cries, and somehow, I go nuts like this Florida woman and want to drive into the lake? It's absolutely terrifying. Most of it's gone now, in week eleven. But what if I make a simple, honest mistake, and it hurts my little Jedi? These are the things that cross my mind watching a news report like this.
Rational or not, these are the things that go through my head as a new father. What if I get through all of the infancy stages, and just raise a complete asshole? Wife tells me I'm a good father and I'll only get better, but my subconscious doesn't give a rats piss for her positivity.
I feel better now, having thought about the last eleven weeks as a new parent, and the last three weeks staying at home with my boy. So here's what I've learned in eleven weeks as a father, and three weeks as a #stayathomedad.
At eleven weeks he can be a real pain in the ass. I don't know why I'm surprised. First, he's going through major developmental changes at eleven weeks, more than any he's gone through yet. Second, he's my son. Of course he's going to be difficult. I've also read/heard that parents pray that their kids have kids that end up just like them. To my Mom and Dad, wish granted.
I've learned to changed diapers with my guard up. He may piss, or poo at any point, but he's not catching me by surprise. Extra diapers, wipes, and clothing for he and I both are at hand ALWAYS.
I talk in my sleep. God was funny for this one. My wife snores, my baby snores, and my dog sleeps in our bed trying to run and whine in her sleep. I have a chorus of noise in my bed.
This past Tuesday Isaiah and I had our worst day ever. He was fed, changed, and super tired, but didn't want to take naps all day. He knows his Papa's voice, and face. Why would he want to close his eyes and sleep if he could whine and get to #shadowbox with his Dad? I get it, personally. But I wanted to claw my eyes out.
Neutrally, he has a great sense of humor. Today Wife said she was going to do something in the kitchen quickly, and then grab him on her way back. As she walked past him, a little plastic wire ball bounced out of his swing, in her direction. "I don't think he liked what you said, babe." She also asked him tonight if he wanted to feed, or if he just wanted the pacey. Pacey mysteriously bounced about five feet across the room. #NoJoke, I swear it was that immediate. That's definitely my kid. Oh, and Pacey is how I abbreviate 'pacifier'.
Here's what makes it all worth it by about a million.
Today he propped his bottle up in his mouth because he thought I might be taking it away. He also does that for his pacey.
When he hears our voices or sees our faces he immediately looks for us and starts smiling. He also does that when he sees his own reflection. My son is vain.
He mimics our behavior. If I tell him to put his "hands up", they stay there. Because "All we do is win, win, win, no matter what!". And if Wife sticks out her tongue out at him, he'll stick his out and then giggles hysterically. I'm also, pretty sure he tried to wave at me this week.
(I just played #DJKahled while I'm writing this, and he started talking from his crib, in his sleep. Honestly.)
He loves to #ShadowBox with his #Papa. If he's fussing about something, it instantly stops when I help him throw a left jab, left jab, right hook. Instant smiles. His favorite is when he's got the guy on the ropes and can throw multiple upper cuts, followed by a multiple hooks. That's his favorite #knockout move.
These last couple go as favorites for me and a negative for Mom. I'm at home with him all day every day. She's at work. As a result, I get to see his "first time things" and his new development things.
Today he held his bottle in place for about 20 seconds for the first time. (He didn't really hold it, but propped it up enough so he could eat.)
I know that if you give him the pacey when he's tired, you can rub him from his forehead to the tip of his nose with a finger, and he'll close his eyes and want to go to sleep.
Turn off his swing when he falls asleep, and he'll sleep longer than if it's swinging.
It's a lot of simple, stupid stuff like that I could have learned if I had read as many books as Wife did earlier. But I didn't. I'm learning on the fly and I'm trusting in her help, God, and my natural instinct.
My point is that these little human beings, made from your DNA, don't come with instructions. I've read that in every single book I had to read. Some things will come naturally. I haven't worried about dropping Isaiah since the first time I held him in my arms. Some things you'll have to learn. "When does he need food or sleep, and why won't he shut up??!!" And some things you just have to pray that you'll figure out down the road. "I hope his first words aren't 'Goddamn television, I hate you!'"
I'm doing my best. I have good support from Wife who's doing her best. Even the Grandparents don't know how this kid may be different from their experience, but they're doing their best. We're all doing our best, and praying that he'll be the best.
-J
P.S You all better be doing your best, too. My best feels like inadequate rubbish.
Friday, February 28, 2014
SVU Meets ChicagoPD plus Heroes: Reborn
Thank you, for still reading my blog, those of you that still do. My last post was very bitchy, and approval/attention seeking. You get my gratitude but not an apology. Because as #Gibbs speaking for #JohnWayne would say, "Never apologize, it's a sign of weakness."
For those of you that didn't get the news, #Heroes is coming back to #NBC in 2015. I was especially blown away because the news came to me via my wife at about six in the morning on a weekday. We watched the show together, and loved it, but she will be the first to tell you that I liked it better than she. Typically, I would be the one to wake her up at one o'clock in the morning with this news.
Understandably, (at least for me), I was agitated about being uninformed and needed to go online to check the news myself. And then rant and rave like a lunatic. And then start 'Heroes' from the beginning on #Netflix. And the rant, rave, and speculate about what a new series would be about. I was super pissed about the writer's strike interrupting my viewing pleasure. I was even more pissed, when I thought we would never get any more 'Heroes' again. But not as pissed as #Sheldon.
I immediately started #bingewatching 'Heroes' so that my opinions about a new show would be informed, and intelligent. As of the first of March, I'm at the beginning of season two, pretending I don't know what happens in the next two season. Check me out on #twitter to maybe catch my random thoughts on random mid-series episodes @JasonJoelSmith.
Everyone is wondering who will be back for the new series. A lot of the actors have way better things to do than rejoin the cast of a show that already failed twice. #ZacharayQuinto is #Spock in the current #StarTrek franchise. #HaydenPanettiere is doing pretty well on #ABC with #Nashville (snooze). #MasiOka is a genius/nerd/smartass on #HawaiiFiveO. There's no reason to look for any of them to risk their careers on what may easily be a failure.
Here's who I predict you will see in the next mini-series. #JackColeman #HRG will be there, possibly in a flashback. #Masi #Hiro and #GeorgeTakei will make cameos, because they're both so cool and love us #fanboys. Hiro can also time travel, so maybe we get to see future Hiro again with that silly #FlavorSaver. Really, anyone can make a cameo and probably will. They all owe #TimKring their careers, and should do whatever he asks of them. Seriously, what if it's set it 2040? Peter, Sylar, and Claire can't die. Hiro can time travel. I'd love to seem them old, and the new managers of #TheCompany. But not, #Mohinder. He was kind of a moron.
#SVU #ChicagoPD - I have been looking forward to these shows crossing over since #DickWolf promised me they would so, before the premiere of #ChicagoPD. They cross-over this week, Wednesday February 27th, but it was not the "2-hour event" it was advertised to be.
Law & Order: Special Victims Unit was completely just an average episode of SVU. Semi-serial rapist, celebrity antagonist #JonathanSilverman, difficult court case for the district attorney or assistant district attorney. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've seen that plot line 200 times. I've watched almost all of the L&O series and episodes, and that's the standard format for any ep that doesn't need to advance the plot. The only thing that made it unique for me was the I know how cool Jonathan Silverman has been in other things. (Strangely, I think of #TheSingleGuy, a tv series from the mid-nineties. You'll definitely have to look that one up.)
But in the last 45 seconds #SophiaBush showed up at 1 Police Plaza (1PP), the headquarters of the #NYPD. She was on assignment from Chicago to follow up on a serial killer/rapist the SVU had tracked months before. To aid in the investigation, #SGTBenson sent detectives Rollins and Tutuola #Fin, to Chicago.
That's it. That's all we got for a the SVU side of the crossover.
#ChicagoPD side of the crossover was way cooler.
From the first moment SVU detectives walked into a Chicago Police Department, it was perfect. They call #SgtPlatt #AmyMorton "Office". Oops. "That's what they call the desk here, right?" #Platt just points at her bars and says, "Oh you're from New York? Why didn't you say so. Go sit over there." They call her Sergeant, because she's got the bars, and outranks you. She's a bitch, but she's right. #Fin comments about how nice #NewYorkers seem to be except for the battleaxe up front, but from there on it's just good cop tv.
SVU cops Rollins and Tutuola are now specialist sex crime #profilers. They advise #CPD what to look for. CPD goes totally off protocol to kick ass and take names. Sergeant Voight does whatever he needs to do to "glean" information for a suspect in custody. "What's the cage," asks Detective Tutuola. No response given, and none necessary, I would guess. (Fin worked vice undercover, and now works sex crimes NYPD. He'd know how to kick a perps ass). And the rookie, Officer Kim Burgess #MarinaSquerciati, broke from desk duty to break the case. By the way, she's the hottest one on this new show. If I run into her shooting film in my neighborhood, I'm gonna invite her for a burger. (Crap, it's on the world wide web now. I hope I have money if that happens.)
My favorite part was the last scene of everyone at Molly's, the bar owned by the #ChicagoFire crew. Cheers to the #CPD and #CFD! Why every member of the CPD isn't welcome at Molly's is a long story. One I hope, they'll get into during seasons 2 and 3.
In the meantime, thanks for reading.
And DON'T **** WITH MY CITY.
Friday, February 21, 2014
I don't care about your blog
I don't care about your blog. If you feel the need to write down every inane thought that passes through your head, (albeit very attractive head) go write ahead. Scribble your thoughts about television, politics, sports and whatever in your little journals. Post them online, if you want. But I don't need a text, email, #tweet, or #facebook notification everytime you do. You're seriously just not that interesting. Oh, and no one cares if you named your kid #Jedi.
I don't want to play #CandyCrush, or slots, or #Farmville, or poker, or #FamilyFeud, or whatever the new game it is you want me to play. I will never play. I'll just politely ignore the invite, until eventually you've invited me to play so many times that I block the entire program. By which point you've already stopped playing and will soon be inviting me to play some other idiotic game. When that happens, again, I'm just going to block you.
I don't care about your new #kickstarter company. I'm not giving you my money for your crappy jewelry, or your new invention, or your online store. My #Google isn't broken, it works just fine. If I need something, or want to donate to a cause, I know how to do it. Unless it's a fund to deport #JustinBieber. I can throw in a few bucks for that.
Speaking of causes, I don't care about yours. I don't want to walk for anything. I don't want to occupy anything. I don't want a portion of the proceeds to go anywhere. And I definitely don't want to give you a dollar for every mile you run, or push-up you can do. I get it. You're a hippie. I'm not. Let's get past this. Unless I end up with #GirlScoutCookies. I care about Girl Scout Cookies.
I don't care about your band. I'm 32 years old. I don't want to sign up for you newsletter. I don't want any of your 'merch'. I'm not signing a poll or petition to get you on some radio station. And unless you've got free beer, I'm not coming to your show. Again, I'm 32. I don't do that for artists I REALLY REALLY like, so why would I do it for you?
I don't care about your damn kid. I don't care if your kid has a football game, or dance recital, or if he/she tried to ride the dog like a very little pony. So you can imagine how I feel about the 119 pictures you just posted on Facebook. I've got my own kid. His middle name is Jedi, and he's way better looking than your little messes. And I don't care if you don't care that his middle name is Jedi.
I read the #HuffingtonPost online all the time. Sometimes I find the articles entertaining or educational. But I don't care about what you read. Unless you know me very well, stop bothering me with videos of people dancing on subways, or planking in #TimeSquare. If you really think it'd interest me, email it to me. But just know that if the subject line has 'fwd' in it, I'll delete it without opening, promptly empty my trash bin, and then not know what you're talking about when we next talk.
I REALLY do not care what you promote for a living. I'm not buying real estate from you. I'm not going to the bar where you work for the Tuesday afternoon "3 Dollar Boilermaker Special!!!". I'm not going to become a regular at such-and-such restaurant because you're their Event Planner/Promotions manager. I'm not going to a nightclub Friday night because you're the beer tub girl. I'm just not going to do it.
I'm not going to become a Tennessee Lady's Volunteers basketball fan. I'm sure the fan base is great, and the atmosphere is phenomenal. I'm sure they're very nice people. I just don't care about Tennessee, or Lady basketball. (They can't even dunk.)
Wow, that felt good. It was a long week, and in case you can't tell, I'm a little crabby. Sometimes I don't realize I'm crabby until the moment I stop feeling crabby. Also, making others share in my crabbiness takes the edge off of my own. If you managed to read all the way to the end of this rant, thank you. Thanks for caring enough to read about what I don't care about even though you really don't care yourself. See you next time.
Holy crap, I just realized I just wasted my 50th blog post. Eh, I don't care.
"I don't hate anyone. I'm not a hate monger. More of a, hate stylist." --Tom Hanks in Punchline
"Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?" --Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation
I don't want to play #CandyCrush, or slots, or #Farmville, or poker, or #FamilyFeud, or whatever the new game it is you want me to play. I will never play. I'll just politely ignore the invite, until eventually you've invited me to play so many times that I block the entire program. By which point you've already stopped playing and will soon be inviting me to play some other idiotic game. When that happens, again, I'm just going to block you.
I don't care about your new #kickstarter company. I'm not giving you my money for your crappy jewelry, or your new invention, or your online store. My #Google isn't broken, it works just fine. If I need something, or want to donate to a cause, I know how to do it. Unless it's a fund to deport #JustinBieber. I can throw in a few bucks for that.
Speaking of causes, I don't care about yours. I don't want to walk for anything. I don't want to occupy anything. I don't want a portion of the proceeds to go anywhere. And I definitely don't want to give you a dollar for every mile you run, or push-up you can do. I get it. You're a hippie. I'm not. Let's get past this. Unless I end up with #GirlScoutCookies. I care about Girl Scout Cookies.
I don't care about your band. I'm 32 years old. I don't want to sign up for you newsletter. I don't want any of your 'merch'. I'm not signing a poll or petition to get you on some radio station. And unless you've got free beer, I'm not coming to your show. Again, I'm 32. I don't do that for artists I REALLY REALLY like, so why would I do it for you?
I don't care about your damn kid. I don't care if your kid has a football game, or dance recital, or if he/she tried to ride the dog like a very little pony. So you can imagine how I feel about the 119 pictures you just posted on Facebook. I've got my own kid. His middle name is Jedi, and he's way better looking than your little messes. And I don't care if you don't care that his middle name is Jedi.
I read the #HuffingtonPost online all the time. Sometimes I find the articles entertaining or educational. But I don't care about what you read. Unless you know me very well, stop bothering me with videos of people dancing on subways, or planking in #TimeSquare. If you really think it'd interest me, email it to me. But just know that if the subject line has 'fwd' in it, I'll delete it without opening, promptly empty my trash bin, and then not know what you're talking about when we next talk.
I REALLY do not care what you promote for a living. I'm not buying real estate from you. I'm not going to the bar where you work for the Tuesday afternoon "3 Dollar Boilermaker Special!!!". I'm not going to become a regular at such-and-such restaurant because you're their Event Planner/Promotions manager. I'm not going to a nightclub Friday night because you're the beer tub girl. I'm just not going to do it.
I'm not going to become a Tennessee Lady's Volunteers basketball fan. I'm sure the fan base is great, and the atmosphere is phenomenal. I'm sure they're very nice people. I just don't care about Tennessee, or Lady basketball. (They can't even dunk.)
Wow, that felt good. It was a long week, and in case you can't tell, I'm a little crabby. Sometimes I don't realize I'm crabby until the moment I stop feeling crabby. Also, making others share in my crabbiness takes the edge off of my own. If you managed to read all the way to the end of this rant, thank you. Thanks for caring enough to read about what I don't care about even though you really don't care yourself. See you next time.
Holy crap, I just realized I just wasted my 50th blog post. Eh, I don't care.
"I don't hate anyone. I'm not a hate monger. More of a, hate stylist." --Tom Hanks in Punchline
"Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where's the Tylenol?" --Chevy Chase in Christmas Vacation
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Lost - The End
Almost 4 years have passed since the #Lost finale, and I still find it to be one of the most aggravating series of all time. How do you write about a show that was so convoluted? I just watched it again, for the fifth time, and I still have unanswered questions.
My wife and I watched it live, at her cousin's place. We never agreed on the point of the show. At the end I thought it was all about Jack. They say that when you are on the brink of death your whole life flashes before you eyes. In the case of Oceanic Flight 815, I thought, instead of Jack's life flashing before his eyes, his subconscious integrated all of the other passengers into a dream he made up to deal with his death.
Kate thought it was purgatory. Everyone on the flight died, and needed to wait for each other to go to the afterlife together. That made no damned sense to me on the first viewing. But now, I have to concede. Kate was right, and I was stupid.
That being said, I'm very disappointed.#JJAbrams promised that everything would be explained, and there would be no loose ends.
How the hell did Frank Lapidus manage to takeoff without a runway, in the middle of a jungle?
Why did the #DharmaInitiative bring polar bears to the island?
If this was everyone's purgatory, why did everyone have to wait for Jack? Couldn't they cross over on their own?
If all dogs go to heaven, why did Vincent have to put up with everyone's bullshit?
Christian Shephard was already dead when Oceanic flight 815 left the ground. Why would he be in purgatory with everyone else?
What happened to some of the other plane crash survivors (back end of the plane)? Ana Lucia doesn't go to purgatory? She doesn't get a shot at heaven?
Why does Jack hug Locke, 20 minutes after they fought to the death?
And lastly, where did they all go in the end? I'm not God, but if I were, they'd all go straight to hell.
What a crazy, annoying, amazing show. I've spent enough time trying to make sense of it. I can confidently say, I'm not going to watch any part of it ever again.
Finally, I'd just like to say that it was really entertaining to rewatch this finale, considering all of the different shows the actors are currently starring in. Instead of Sayid, I think of #NaveenAndrews as Jafar, and #EmilieDeRavin as Belle #Once. #TerryOquinn, and #DanielDaeKim are staples on #H5O. #JorgeGarcia splits time on #Once and #H5O. Even my wife commented while I was rewatching the finale. [I like #MichaelEmerson a lot more as #Finch #PersonofInterest than as #BenLinus]
Fun times. If you ever what some background #tv while you're cleaning the house, or making dinner, watch the finale again. It's way more fun coming around again. Let me know what you think. Until then,
"I'll see you in another life, brother." -- #DesmondHume #HenryIanCusick
My wife and I watched it live, at her cousin's place. We never agreed on the point of the show. At the end I thought it was all about Jack. They say that when you are on the brink of death your whole life flashes before you eyes. In the case of Oceanic Flight 815, I thought, instead of Jack's life flashing before his eyes, his subconscious integrated all of the other passengers into a dream he made up to deal with his death.
Kate thought it was purgatory. Everyone on the flight died, and needed to wait for each other to go to the afterlife together. That made no damned sense to me on the first viewing. But now, I have to concede. Kate was right, and I was stupid.
That being said, I'm very disappointed.#JJAbrams promised that everything would be explained, and there would be no loose ends.
How the hell did Frank Lapidus manage to takeoff without a runway, in the middle of a jungle?
Why did the #DharmaInitiative bring polar bears to the island?
If this was everyone's purgatory, why did everyone have to wait for Jack? Couldn't they cross over on their own?
If all dogs go to heaven, why did Vincent have to put up with everyone's bullshit?
Christian Shephard was already dead when Oceanic flight 815 left the ground. Why would he be in purgatory with everyone else?
What happened to some of the other plane crash survivors (back end of the plane)? Ana Lucia doesn't go to purgatory? She doesn't get a shot at heaven?
Why does Jack hug Locke, 20 minutes after they fought to the death?
And lastly, where did they all go in the end? I'm not God, but if I were, they'd all go straight to hell.
What a crazy, annoying, amazing show. I've spent enough time trying to make sense of it. I can confidently say, I'm not going to watch any part of it ever again.
Finally, I'd just like to say that it was really entertaining to rewatch this finale, considering all of the different shows the actors are currently starring in. Instead of Sayid, I think of #NaveenAndrews as Jafar, and #EmilieDeRavin as Belle #Once. #TerryOquinn, and #DanielDaeKim are staples on #H5O. #JorgeGarcia splits time on #Once and #H5O. Even my wife commented while I was rewatching the finale. [I like #MichaelEmerson a lot more as #Finch #PersonofInterest than as #BenLinus]
Fun times. If you ever what some background #tv while you're cleaning the house, or making dinner, watch the finale again. It's way more fun coming around again. Let me know what you think. Until then,
"I'll see you in another life, brother." -- #DesmondHume #HenryIanCusick
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