Flurry O' Fury

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

We just saw War Of The Worlds. It’s kind of intense, lacking the subtleties of The Day After or 28 Days Later. Sure, Spielberg starts off with about 5 minutes of light humor and family drama, but then pretty much goes straight to 2 hours of near relentless mayhem and killing. Thumbs up! Way up!

It still wasn’t perfect though, lacking the gratuitous sex necessary to achieve 5-star status. It’s a rare film indeed that combines ridiculous violence with perverted filth to become truly ascendant. Starship Troopers comes close. Fight Club hangs in there. Natural Born Killers hits the mark. War Of The Worlds falls short of those magnificent works, but the sheer onslaught of bloodshed and wreckage it delivers nevertheless establishes the film as an instant classic.

Suffice to say, this is not a movie for children… unless your kid is the kind of demented psychopath who stuffs kittens with firecrackers – he’ll have a blast.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Just a short post today because I'm trying to leave work early so I can get home for the start of the NBA draft.

Yes, that's right, I'm obsessed with something as trivial as a pro sports draft. Some might find that shameful, but those of you who know me already understand that I have no shame whatsoever. As such, I'm quite comfortable with sharing even the most embarrassing aspects of my personal life, including:

I have all seven seasons of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on dvd.

I dress our dachshund in a sweater when it gets cold outside.

I have toy lightsabers hidden in my closet.

I have no less than four Bon Jovi songs in my mp3 collection.

And, last but not least, I keep a blog.

Monday, June 27, 2005

We got new cell phones! The new ones are much like the old ones, though, being middle-of-the-line Motos. But the newer models do have several improvements, including better ringtones.

It used to be that our rings sounded like synthesized muzak versions of tunes, like an elevator ride. But with the new phones, callers are announced with clips from the original songs.

I can’t tell you what a tremendous difference this has made in our lives. After all, one’s ringtone is a personal statement. A poor ring can be devastating to the self-esteem, but a fantastic ring tells the world just how fabulous you are.

For example, a woman in line with me at Walgreens the other day received a call to the tune of Paula Abdul’s “Straight Up”. Suffice to say, I was embarrassed for her. How she did not die of shame at that very moment is beyond me. I must say that putting her out of her misery did cross my mind.

On the other end of the spectrum, a fellow sitting next to us during “Batman Begins” took a call that began with a few bars from Underworld’s “Born Slippy”. Such excellent taste in a ringtone shows sophistication that you wouldn’t ordinarily expect from a thoughtless twit like him. Actually, my admiration for his ring almost stopped me from pelting him with popcorn. And had his phone played something truly exceptional, perhaps some Biz Markie, I might have refrained entirely from soiling him with my greasy kernels. That is the power of a great ringtone, my friends.

By the way, Rebecca decided to go with “Blister In The Sun” by the Violent Femmes for her ring, and I have selected Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” as my phone theme. I think my phone will sound great… assuming anyone ever calls me.

Friday, June 24, 2005

As I was riding around town yesterday, a van pulled up next to me with a large logo for the “Beat Assassins”. What the #$%* is a Beat Assassin? Is it someone who kills the beat in music? If so, who would want to listen to music that doesn’t have a beat? Matchbox 20 fans?

Or maybe a Beat Assassin is someone who kills you with some kind of giant woofer capable of causing internal bleeding. Or maybe the music simply drives you to kill yourself, like Matchbox 20 (hmm, a pattern is forming). Is there some kind of Beat Assassins concert somewhere for suicidal audiophiles? I had to know the answer.

To find out, I went to the Beat Assassins website. It turns out that they travel all over Texas to assassinate people, mostly at shopping malls. For example, they’ll be at the Tanger Outlet Center in San Marcos, Texas on July 8th, beating people to death with their music. As an attorney, I can’t understand why the Tanger Outlet Center would expose itself to so much liability by letting Beat Assassins run amok on its property. Maybe a visit from the Beat Assassins is just a prelude to bankruptcy.

Anyway, if you would like to be beat assassinated while shopping for ½ price jeans and discontinued sneakers, be sure to check out the Tanger Outlet Center on July 8th. Word!

By the way, if my life should suddenly and mysteriously end soon after this post, you should probably assume that I have been beat assassinated in response to my words here. If this should occur, I urge you to avenge my death by hiring the Hi-Fi Killers for retaliation.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Tragedy struck the Ginsburg household yesterday. Rebecca accidentally ran over a squirrel while we were on our way to the Khyber Grill (which has excellent naan, by the way). The poor critter was trying to cross the street at the wrong time and got caught in no-man’s land. If he had simply chosen a side of the street and made a break for it, he probably would’ve made it. But his indecisiveness proved to be his undoing and he ended up darting under Rebecca’s wheels at the last moment.

Rebecca, who is very fond of animals, and who is especially sensitive about crushing the life out of them, became terribly upset. It was so bad that I worried her hysteria might interfere with my dinner. She only calmed down once I promised to give the furry rodent a proper burial.

Thus I did return to the scene of the crime after dinner, shovel in hand, to lay the squirrel to rest. In an effort to give his passing a modicum of relevance, I decided to give him a name – Thump, after the last sound he made. What follows is his requiem.

Alas, poor Thump, we’re sorry we knew you not
You who were once a squirrel, but now art a spot
Thou were neither too bright nor very fast
So from this cruel world, thou have passed
Though we send thy body to the storm sewer to lie
We know thy soul climbs up that big tree in the sky

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

I’m planning on shopping for a new cell phone during lunch today. My old cell phone has developed a short in its display, possibly due to radiation exposure while I was in Utah. I attended a bachelor party there which was held in a bar that was hidden in a warehouse on a military/industrial disposal site. Apparently Mormons aren’t fond of alcohol and, as such, only tolerate taverns when they’re located in a forbidden zone wasteland, where zombies are your bartenders and mutants dance on tables. Overall, it was a really fun evening, but now my phone is scrambled. Oh, and I can’t have children.

But the phone is the real problem. With the display all #$%*ed up I can’t see who’s calling me anymore, which is bad because there are a lot of people I don’t want to talk to – mostly family.

So I need a new ring, but not with too much bling. I don’t need a phone that plays games or videos or anything. All it needs to do is make calls, take calls, store numbers, and play the Rump Shaker whenever my wife rings me. It would also be good if it has a breathalyzer built in, but that’s not really necessary. I’ll let you know what I find.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Now that we’re back from Utah I was able to get back on my gym schedule again. The schedule is pretty simple – if I don’t have to be to court early and if I’m not terribly hung-over, then I should really hit the gym every morning. I refuse to go to the gym after work because it’s always crowded with morons, like the loser who snapped at me once for switching one of the TVs from Wheel of Fortune to a baseball game. Can you believe he reported me to one of the personal trainers? Like what are they going to do? Make me drop and give them 20 push-ups? What a whiny little bitch. He did have nice pecs, though.

Anyway, I work later hours, so I have the luxury of going into the gym around 8:30 a.m. when the majority of people have already left for their rush hour traffic and 9-to-5 drudgery. Most people remaining at that time are either retirees, MILFs, or strippers and other sex industry workers. Another category is added in the summer – high school teens exercising with great fury, trying to develop that perfect stomach so as to attract their ideal sex partner. I watch as the boys ingest a variety of dubious supplements in furtherance of their goal, like powdered shark piss or liquid lizard hormones. The girls never take anything like that though, probably being content enough to simply vomit from time to time – sometimes the old methods work best.

I observe all of these things because my time on the treadmills is dead time, where my body is occupied but my mind is disengaged and free to ponder whatever crosses my path. I often think about how great it would be to be one of the many WASPy MILFs churning on the stairmasters in front of me. Spend all morning at the gym, have a fashionable lunch, engage in some light afternoon shopping, pickup the kids in the SUV, send the housekeeper home for the evening, cook a meal for the family, tuck the tykes into bed, then put out for 3 to 5 minutes before ending the day with some TV. I’m sure that there are more rewarding existences, but it’s not bad work if you can get it. They probably acquired their positions at college, earning a M.R.S. while there. That degree is probably all that separates them from the strippers sweating next to them. There’s a great lesson – make sure your daughters’ keep their grades up.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Hola! And welcome to my blog.

Why a blog? Well, I look around the internet and I see that every other idiot has one, so I figured I'd fit right in. Plus, I'm a fair writer - I've written well enough in the past to have drawn regular paychecks for my work, so I think I can string a couple o' good blogs together. It's just been hard for me to focus on writing as a career what with practicing law, trying to get in shape, paying bills, doing laundry, and all the other little things that make up the doldrums of the day-to-day. So I figured a blog would be a low-impact forum where I could express myself without trying too hard. Besides, no one seems to be reading my Transformers erotica fan fiction.

Anyway, my first blog entry is all about my trip to Utah this past weekend. Rebecca & I went there to attend a Mormon wedding, which was great. Everyone formed an octagon around the bride & groom so that they could draw from our spirit. Then the Mormon priest put these really thick gloves on and rubbed their heads while chanting. At the end the couple laid down in a big pool of water and we all had to walk by and drink a cup of it, except I didn't drink any because I'm not Mormon and I don't think they're right for each other anyway. But the cake was fabulous!

All in all we found Utah to be very beautiful with its snow-capped mountains and sparkling lakes. I can see why the Mormons conquered it and tamed its native peoples with their Mormon laws and their Mormon spirits. We liked Utah so much that we're planning on returning for Christmas, or as they call it, Dia de Los Muermons. Adios!