Saw "Killing Them Softly" the other day with Brad Pitt. Not bad.
A little ham handed with political reference but beautifully shot* and well acted. Also had an intermittent pacing that seemed organic and de-glamorized the mob thing.
Plus Pitt plays hard and cynical in a way that is believable and complex. At times sympathetic. Other times, not.
Reminded me of his '... Murder of Jesse James' thing, which I think was directed by the same guy.
The next morning while crapping my brains out, ready to jump in the shower and into the midst of another helter-skelter day, I found myself pondering Pitt - esp. the cynical, calculating aspect he'd displayed.
Made me wonder if his own life had turned out the way he'd thought.
This, in the midst of musings per my own, following a potentially career crunching email received the night before, and with my "give a sh*t" function somewhat on the blink, I tallied the sum of my 45 years:
Add in enough activity, though - explosions, buzzers, screaming babies, whatever - and even tiddly-winks gets challenging.
Frankly, the economy's come back in AZ with a vengeance -and- with man-power gutted and upper management holding fast in post-Recession fear (and let's face it, greed) there just ain't enough backs to lift the load.
Which means sh*t is slipping through the cracks. Which also means late night, ass-chewing communiques sent by top clients, threatening to jump ship.
(segue)
One thing I've gotten better at the last few years - toilet slinging aside - is just being. Which seems like a "no duh" kinda thing, but really... isn't.
And yeah, I could be a bit more focused at times, a little more present in my own skin. The clock is ticking after all, and each moment spent vacuously swimming around in my own skull or lost in the herky-jerky ballet of work...
Eh. F*ck it. I'm gonna go have a beer.
Irony? Not intentional. Meanwhile...
Brad, I hope you're doing well. I think you're wife's probably batsh*t, and maybe you've painted yourself into a corner, isolated by fame and Hollywood machinations, but hopefully I'm wrong.
And as for myself?
I'm not bad, actually.
Not bad at all.
*Never seen a guy get his head blown off in more gorgeous fashion. And no, I'm not being sarcastic, though it is, admittedly, a strange sounding assertion.
**Selling
*** Icon of happiness pictured above - Liza the Dog.
A little ham handed with political reference but beautifully shot* and well acted. Also had an intermittent pacing that seemed organic and de-glamorized the mob thing.
Plus Pitt plays hard and cynical in a way that is believable and complex. At times sympathetic. Other times, not.
Reminded me of his '... Murder of Jesse James' thing, which I think was directed by the same guy.
The next morning while crapping my brains out, ready to jump in the shower and into the midst of another helter-skelter day, I found myself pondering Pitt - esp. the cynical, calculating aspect he'd displayed.
Made me wonder if his own life had turned out the way he'd thought.
This, in the midst of musings per my own, following a potentially career crunching email received the night before, and with my "give a sh*t" function somewhat on the blink, I tallied the sum of my 45 years:
Eh,I'm no Einstein -but- do okay slingin'** toilets. Maybe not my strongest suit, but as an old boss once said, "it's like being king of the retards."
I thought.
Message from god?
(Big G, little g, whatever)
Add in enough activity, though - explosions, buzzers, screaming babies, whatever - and even tiddly-winks gets challenging.
Frankly, the economy's come back in AZ with a vengeance -and- with man-power gutted and upper management holding fast in post-Recession fear (and let's face it, greed) there just ain't enough backs to lift the load.
Which means sh*t is slipping through the cracks. Which also means late night, ass-chewing communiques sent by top clients, threatening to jump ship.
(segue)
One thing I've gotten better at the last few years - toilet slinging aside - is just being. Which seems like a "no duh" kinda thing, but really... isn't.
And yeah, I could be a bit more focused at times, a little more present in my own skin. The clock is ticking after all, and each moment spent vacuously swimming around in my own skull or lost in the herky-jerky ballet of work...
Eh. F*ck it. I'm gonna go have a beer.
Irony? Not intentional. Meanwhile...
Brad, I hope you're doing well. I think you're wife's probably batsh*t, and maybe you've painted yourself into a corner, isolated by fame and Hollywood machinations, but hopefully I'm wrong.
And as for myself?
I'm not bad, actually.
Not bad at all.
*Never seen a guy get his head blown off in more gorgeous fashion. And no, I'm not being sarcastic, though it is, admittedly, a strange sounding assertion.
**Selling
*** Icon of happiness pictured above - Liza the Dog.
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