Why I love cinema: the last 10 minutes of Michael Clayton.
And while we’re on the subject, is it just me? Or is Michael Clayton—given, it’s the name of the lead character—just a boring title or what? I had no motivation to see this movie other than the force that is George and all of the buzz surrounding said force. So I thought I would come up with some other fitting titles that might have made the marketing a wee bit more enticing:
Cleanup Is a Snap
Give This Man a Break
Is that Hollywood I hear knocking on my door?!
A phrase that I would like to incorporate more widely into my conversations:
The hell you say!
Be on the lookout the next time we talk.
Rare is the moment one boards a public city bus and thinks to one’s self “Gee, Your Bus Smells Terrific!” I’ve yet to encounter a moment like this, but I will continue my search.
Today I was offended once more as I sat in the back (red flag #1) of a 38 Geary bus. I *think* it was a urine smell, but it wasn’t quite as bad as that time a man started peeing in the corner of the bus stop on Van Ness and Sacramento in the rain. But I digress… This smell wasn’t bad enough to make me get up and move. Who knows what other smells were lurking in the other areas of the bus? Besides, the windows were open.
It was just about the time that I was trying to identify the smell when I noticed my shirt was sticking to the back of the seat I was in…gah! I leaned forward to inspect. Luckily it wasn’t a food-product or worse, it was just an area where a sticker used to be. Whew! And then, wouldn’t you know it? Inevitably, a well-meaning, cutely-dressed, young student (?) sits beside me…wearing patchouli oil.
This series of events led me to make a mental note of bus-ride smells I don’t particularly care for (in no particular order):
- urine/vomit/and any bodily fluid in general
- spilled beer
- patchouli oil
- dirty hair
- that weird and debilitating combination of body odor and mildew
- marijuana (By the way, this smell permeates the entire city. It’s not just limited to the bus. And come on, people, anything that smells like a skunk is not a good smell.)
That last one reminds me of the time I boarded the bus at the end of a night out. Of course, the diversity on the bus is greatest at late hours. I went to sit in one of the last open seats. The guy to my left had a long-ish coat on and didn’t care to move it out of my way. When I sat down he exclaimed, “Dude! You sat on my weed!” Then he assured me he was joking and that it was safely in his other pocket.