A useless guide to watching horror movies

Well, what better way to enjoy a quiet Friday night in than watching a good film with some friends? Or what other way to enjoy a Friday night when you do not have friends? Unless you actually like alcohol, but -in this case- you would have a lot of friends. And you would be out. At a party, or in a bar, in a park or under a bridge. It all depends on how committed you are.
Anyway, tonight is movie night. It is Friday, and since it also happens to be a 13, someone suggests a horror movie. Yes, I know... But for the superstitious this is relevant. I do not really understand how or why, but she is hot so she was invited. And she brought a friend, too. Unfortunately, not a woman, but fortunately not quite a man, either. I would say about 70/10. There is a lot of margin for error in these cases.
Without further ado, horror film it is. And by "without further ado" I mean a lengthy debate which I do not feel like contributing to since I am the host. I find it more diplomatic to escape to the kitchen and make some popcorn while everybody else carries on. At this point I am thinking there must be better ways to enjoy a Friday night and alcohol suddenly becomes appealing, but as a great host I focus on the kettle instead.
One bowl of popcorn later, I return to the couch to find people lured by the buttery flavour and soon disappointed at the sight of the empty bowl. At least it distracted them from the debate...

While some can be good, in general I do not hold high expectations for horror flicks. They tend to have a bad story, awful acting and either too much make-up. Or too little make-up in the case of Barbara Streisand (Yes, all her films are horror films; pay attention.) Still, fingers crossed! (Can you guess who that is already?)

When I return for a second time from the kitchen -with a full bowl this time- the lights are out and the screen is on and the film has already started. Here it goes... By the opening scene I can guess this is not a lucky exception. The dialogue is fake and forced. The guy on screen is rigid, and not in the good way for a horror. He is supposed to be alive and even cheerful despite all evidence of his acting. He is driving an expensive car somewhere in the mountains and speaking on the phone about a party where he is the main guest. Even the soundtrack is disappointing, more like elevator music than Psycho or any dun-dun-dun-dun, dun-dun-dun-dun...
And it only gets worse; the superstitious one is getting more and more engaged in a conversation with her friend, everyone else is rather focused on the popcorn and snacks and make enough noise to keep me awake. Well, at least the conversation in my left ear is about make-up, so there is still some hope. And the guy on-screen made it to the cabin in the woods eventually. It does look surprisingly better than the rickety ruins you are used to see in horror movies. This one looks more like a penthouse. Nice cars parked in front, nice pool, the lot. I get the first shiver of horror: oh, please, I hope this is not another Twilight! The guy in the expensive car rings the doorbell and... well, this is not Twilight. The lady is not a midget and definitely not flat. The conversation is just as bad, though. If I could only focus on the cars... Look, that one is a McLaren Senna, and there is a Regerra next to it and... oh, they went inside. Wow, this looks even more expensive than Twilight! And the action is more paced, too: these guys are not taking two hours for a kiss, 20 seconds seem to be enough. And they are not slowing down a bit... Hold on! What the hell is this? I am not so sure this is a horror! What are they.... Yes, definitely not a horror, except only for that snooker table. That is not how you treat a Strachan! At least put a towel on and take your stilettoes off, you cow!

Damn it, who chose this? Surprise surprise, it was the 'uncertain' friend. Apparently, you look for a movie in the adult section because... they are not suitable for children. I cannot help it, and I reflect that he did not look suitable for children, either. The room goes quiet, save for the panting in the background. It is unanimously (with one exception) agreed that I crossed the line: I assumed the dubious friend was a 'he'. How crass of me! How insensitive! How can I not see that he (sorry) identifies himself (sorry again) as a she? Of course, how could I not know? Well, in my defence, the Adam's apple and hairy chest are pretty good clues. No, not enough? Alas! Another lovely evening that I have ruined for everyone.
The hastily misjudged mumbles an excuse about some other event, grabs her purse (Ooh!) and her 46-sized shoes (Ha!) and makes a dramatic exit. Followed by another excuse and her friend. And more excuses and eventually everybody else.

Looks like another quiet night in, after all. Well, there is a good side to such fast pace of the action on- and off-screen: plenty of snacks and popcorn left. And enough time to start over with a proper film.
As I reconfigure the plates and couch for a single-person layout, the superstitious friend returns. Could it be...? Yes, but of course, what else? She forgot her phone. Would she be interested in another movie? Well, she is not quite sure. Maybe she should stay a bit more at least, so that I can explain. She seems reluctant, but eventually agrees.
Dun-dun-dun-dun, dun-dun-dun-dun!

Not really, that is her phone ringing; somebody is feeling depressed and cannot be left alone right now. Quite the contrary, I think, this could be win-win. For us and the humanity in general. She leaves before I manage to explain, though.

I guess not all horror movies have happy-endings...

What happens in your body when you're running or not running.

Mid-life crisis is still not ticked off from my long list of annoying things I need to complete or at least start. Unfortunately, I still couldn't come up with a decent one. The closest I could think of is still a an expensive sports car but given my current financial prospects -based on some vague numbers I've run through my mind while writing this- mid-life crisis should wait until when I'm about 109 and probably able to afford a decent Porsche. Unfortunately, patience is one of the very few qualities I'm short of, so that's too a long time to wait. Unless you're a volcano waiting on a rift. Or a man at the mall who's stupidly agreed to go clothes shopping with a woman during the weekend. In these cases, it's a rather short time if you ask the volcano or the woman, but I'm neither. Also, 109 is not really mid-life but rather dangerously stepping in the fourth-quarter territory, based on other loose estimations pf my life-span, which amount to a significant percentage of my style of devising watertight-plans. If I were one of the people who find witty expressing percentages by slices in a pie chart, I'd say they're a rather a big slice. Usually those people are accountants. Or overly appreciative of Excel. I'm not an accountant.

With the Porsche out of the picture, the feminist in me decided she was quite happy with my breasts and lips size and she was quick to dismiss implants out of the picture, too. But while in the area of sensitive body parts, she decided some sports would be beneficial. This is something no sane man would conceive unless it involved a TV, snacks and some alcohol, but the feminist side dismissed those, too. Feminists tend to be quite dismissive quite often, with an average of twice per paragraph.

Moving on with a new paragraph, just in case more dismissal is required.
Given how significant feminism is in my life, I decided to get to it. Not directly into sports, but into evaluating the consequences. I may not a very patient person, but I'm not hasty either. It's not something trivial you can just stampede into and then evaluate the consequences later, like buying cheap milk because it's close to the expiration date (and colour). Or a relationship. This is an important endeavour, as some form of physical effort may be involved.

Now that I'm thinking about it, it's a pity I'm not very appreciative of Excel, as it could help me create a table with 2 columns containing all the pros and cons and even come up with a nice pie chart outlining my conclusions based on that table. But as I've confusingly said, I'm not a volcano at the mall. Confusion is very high up that long list of qualities I possess, right next to humility and never having told a lie. It's such a long list that I would have organized it somehow if I had known how, but I am not aware of any tools for maintaining large collections of items.

That being said, I managed to remember several random effects of picking up on sports and a healthy life-style. I should start by pointing out that I'm a committed vegetarian already. Well, part-time vegetarian, but still; I'm no stranger to healthy choices. I don't eat bacon tiramisu every day, I check the label on the beer cans to make sure they don't contain palm oil and I'm always making sure those blue-cheese barbecue Pringles are ethically harvested from free-range potatoes (they're fine, there are no potatoes in them).

Even if you're already prepared, adopting a sporty life-style brings some significant changes. For instance, you start wearing tight clothes that could have looked decently probably 20 kg ago (that's 3 stone if you're British or a rounding error if you're American). Decent is a stretched (ha!) term, since even if you were fit you'd still be covered in 3 quarters of all the shades of a rainbow, mostly from the areas with savage shiny fuchsia, bright venomous orange, seizure-inducing purple and Predator-blood-retina-bleeding-fluorescent-green. Performance sporting gear and monochromatism are not the best friends. Also, it helps if you're into the habit of checking the label, thusly being able to get only the best synthetic nylon stretch pants and lung-crushing tops. Natural ingredients may be good in the kitchen but they're an outrageous faux-pas at the gym. And while we're on the topic of ingredients, the same goes for hydration gels packets, ergonomic energy drink buckets, muscle stimulant steroids and 3-gallon (that's mid-size for the American audience) protein shake canisters. If you thought cooking meth -the easiest way to get skinny- was difficult, wait till you read these labels; you may hold a chemist diploma and still struggle figuring out the list. That's a sign you're on the right track, though. Don't let complicated terminology intimidate you: as long as you can carry them on your $200 waist-band (performance clothes don't bother with pockets unless they're in places you cannot reach to) these items will be your loyal companions on the path to a fit and healthy lifestyle (or until you get kidney failure or a stroke).

By the time you're done purchasing all the required gear you may come to realize you would have spent less on a Porsche fit with the racing package, custom performance paint and ceramic brakes (bike rack not included). Speaking of which, posh car manufacturers are more than happy to sell you performance bikes more expensive than any of their cars. They may cost an arm and a leg, but weigh less than a finger. And if you're truly committed and go all the way for the top-of-the-range-titanium-helium-carbon-negative-weight-composite model the price range is bordering Koenigsegg territory. For those not into mid-life-crisis performance cars, Koenigsegg is a word you can only copy/ paste in a sentence, as you can never type it yourself.

However, money is not all, you cannot put a price on health and happiness. You may not have known it, but when you're running your body is releasing endorphins (yes, just like when you're gorging on chocolate biscuits). These make you happy. Your body is also releasing gases. Quite a lot of them. As I said, you cannot put a price on health but if I were to make an educated guess (to avoid over-using loose estimations) it'd be about 8$ per each nutrient-packed flatulent outburst. Anyways, remember that no pain is no gain. Temporary intestinal paralysis and excruciating muscle cramps are the surest path to physical comfort and a happy mind.

There is a social component to working out, too. This also contributes to happiness and a positive state of mind. You will make new friends, many of them holding impressive and interesting academic degrees in advanced disciplines like personal coaching, underwater yoga, bone-crunching-Pilates or sophisticated-cross-fit. If you're unsure of these credentials, you may be happy to know they are certified by the most exotic and reputable establishments of superior online education, some even endorsed by celebrity athletes like Vin Diesel and that aerobics trainer from Fiji whose diet is only coconuts and Evian water. And even if these new friends are in their very early twenties, some have already published valuable self-help books based on their lifetime experience. These valuable self-help books are available for download for free from their free website. All you need is to subscribe to the newsletter. And provide your credit card details, but that's only to prove you're serious about improving your life.
Anyway, help and encouragement from your new friends will help you get better -not better, the best- in no-time. Soon you'll be posting on Facebook your improved lap times and comparing them with your friends', which is something everybody enjoys reading about every 20 minutes. You should also post pictures of your new look in your new performance outfit. It's called leading by example. You'll lead others into realizing how radical changes are required right now if they want to be physically and mentally prepared for midlife crisis.

You're probably convinced already, but for the sake of fairness, the other column of my pros/cons non-existent table only has sitting comfortably on the couch, enjoying a pizza and a cookie -or the whole box- during a weekend marathon of the sequel to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, called Barely Legal Ninja Turtles. Possibly followed by some thinking about mid-life crisis. Or some brief physical activity in the kitchen.

Bland fisticuffs

This is not about global warming, but a bombastic start never hurts, right?
Right: global warning. Let's not mess about: it's common knowledge most of the greenhouse gas comes from farting cows. It's only natural for you and for the entire planet to give up meat, because this is all linked, man, you know?
Ironically, this knowledge comes mostly from another type of farting bovines. The main difference between them are the yoga pants, which one type doesn't wear and the other usually does, although in some cases the quadruped kind would look more appealing in them than their vocal biped vegetarian counterparts.

And in the opposite corner it's the if-you-don't-eat-meat-you'll-die folk. Because it's the proteins, man, know? Equally radical bunch, but opposite. And yet, the bovine mental associations return to mind. With less Lycra, though.

Although both so eloquent and rich in believable studies, these two camps reach rather divergent conclusions. I doubt the balance of truth tilts towards the proponents of aura cleansing through juicing raw quinoa or the butch beefcake squad, or if it just holds still on middle ground gastronomic common-sense symmetrically ignoring both extremes. But for the sake of such an irrelevant conflict, I'm all in for engaging either party in heated debate. Because the result is hilarious.

It's entertaining to watch raw-vegans boiling (get it?) over the slightest mentioning of a steak, but it's so refreshing. The only thing to top it off is offering tofu burgers to, well, you get it.

And that's it's. If you were expecting to find and answer or even a documented opinion, I'm happy to disappoint. But there's no need to milk a dry topic, really. It's that uninteresting.
Just stir it whenever possible, the debate is as fun as the subject is pointless. Best served cold, with a large audience.

There's no such thing as a can closer

There's no sure way of avoiding spam, but there are 3 easy tips to avoid 90% of it: have a big penis, a college degree and an expensive watch.
Being gay or a woman also helps. Staying offline, being illiterate or a vegetarian helps, too. Come to think of it, it's pretty easy to avoid spam. We shouldn't complain.

And yet, there is a kind of spam that irritates me more than the pretty Russian girl bored tonight, the Nigerian lawyer or the Australian lottery: it's spam that comes from within the company.
They know where I work, they know my email address, they don't even give me an unsubscribe link. And they use a lot of pictures.
The bad part is that it's not even interesting. It's not about a cheap Rolex or videos of naked celebrities. It's not about making money quickly, although they actually know how to do it (it's by underpaying other employees). It's about great sales, fantastic acquisitions, corporate initiatives that would turn me into a happy monkey, about women leadership in the workplace and other crap (by the way, I'm not against women leadership, but if we're all equal how come I never get emails about men leadership, too?).

I'd read emails from the CEO if they mentioned how to get a big house or at least the Rolex. I'd click on the links in the email from the CFO to see her naughty pictures from the Xmas party. I'm kidding, of course: we didn't have an Xmas party. It's crisis, remember?
The closest they ever came to something interesting was when they mentioned sexual minorities. I read that one, but it didn't have links to seeing them in hot action, or at least a toolbar to help me look them up on the intranet. They just mentioned we had them. Yawn.
I still wouldn't read emails from Sales, though. They don't even know it's crisis, and their numbers are spectacular.

And one more thing to add injury to the offense: they don't even bother to guess or mis-spell my name, it's not even Dear Corporate Monkey or Dear Addressbook. My notification emails about server X high on memory or database Y low on disk space are more personal, interesting and honest. It's more boring than death-by-Powerpoint. But it happens in Outlook. And more often. And is giving me headaches. Do you know where I can get cheap Vicodin?