Dream A Little Dream...Again

Tonight, I will be seeing Christopher Nolan's Inception...for the third time in 2 weeks.

Who says I have an addictive personality?

Seriously, this movie has become an obsession. I can not stop thinking or talking about it. It's almost as if...

***SPOILERS!***

...the movie itself is an inception that someone was hired to plant in my brain. Or maybe the movie doesn't even exist and we're all just projections of Christpoher Nolan's subconscious! GOOD GOD, HELP ME! I CAN'T MAKE IT STOP!!!

If anyone who hasn't seen it yet has been reading my Twitter feed of late, despite the numerous "SPOILER!" tags I've employed, they either hate me for ruining the whole thing for them, or they REALLY have no idea what's going on. As Roger Ebert put it, you could give away the ending and it still wouldn't make any sense unless you understood how it got to that point. I tried explaining this to a friend who was adamant that I not reveal anything to him that even if I did, it would sound like: "When Leo went up the stairs, did Ellen Page's character release the chicken, or was it Valentine's Day?"

He didn't believe me, and yelled at me for mentioning the chicken, even though there really was no chicken and the chicken was completely hypothetical. Then he yelled at me for giving away that there was no chicken.

No chickens were harmed in the making of this film. Or this post.

I Am Never Eating Anything, Anywhere, Ever Again

Restaurant Inspection Information: NYC Department Of Health And Mental Hygiene

My local McDonald's has 43 violation points. 43!

I gotta get the hell out of Nogales...

Hassling Hasselbeck

According to The Daily News, Elisabeth Hasselbeck believes that "a lot of older lesbians would have turned out straight...if they could only land a man."

Well, I believe that a lot of former Survivor contestants wouldn't have become hosts of 'The View'...if they could only land a Playboy pictorial.

I also believe that stupid opinions like this wouldn't even be aired or considered...if only dim-witted, ignorant bimbos weren't hosts of a fatuous, asinine talk show.

Couldn't Have Said It Better Myself

Some of you (by which I mean — out of the whole 6 people who actually follow me — Dalia) may have noticed lately that I haven't exactly kept my promise to myself to post something every single day. And despite the fact that nothing of critical importance is dependent upon me posting something every single day, I still feel incredibly guilty for failing to live up to my own lofty self-imposed expectations. So by way of apology, redemption, and explanation, I offer you this tale from Hyperbole And A Half — by far one of the most oh-my-god-I-can't-breathe-from-laughing-so-hard hilarious blogs on the whole Interwebz — which is so precisely applicable to my life that I swear I must have somehow written it myself with my own subconscious:

This Is Why I'll Never Be An Adult.

So consider this my return from summer hiatus. I hope you enjoyed the reruns and are looking forward to the new season premiere. :)

Voice Mail Fail

My office voicemail system may be the most counterintuitive piece of technology I've ever encountered. Presented below is the process through which I have to go just to listen to a damn message:

"Welcome to [system name]. For help at any time, press *8."

First of all, what would I possibly need help for at this point? I haven't done anything yet! And "*8"? What, the traditional "0" just wasn't unneccessarily complicated enough for you?

"Please enter extension, followed by the pound sign. Please enter password, followed by the pound sign."

Ok, that's pretty universal. No complaints.

"Mailbox of Rebecca Godan."

Uh, I'm pretty sure I'm already aware of who I am...

"To record messages, press 1."

What? Why would I need to do this? This is my first option?

"To get messages, press 2."

Standard...almost.

"Voice call from [caller]. Received at 10:28, Wednesday, July 28th. 12 seconds. Extension [caller's extension]."

Gee, after all that detailed information, who needs to hear the actual message, AMIRITE?! No shit it's a voice call — this is my VOICEmail. AND WHY DO I NEED TO KNOW THE PRECISE LENGTH OF THE CALL WHEN I CAN JUST LISTEN TO IT MYSELF??

"To listen to this message, press 0. To delete, press *D."

Now you decide to go with "0"? When every single other voicemail system in the world goes with "1"? What, you just wanted to feel special? And "*D"? Are you kidding me? You've become so elaborate now that you need to use 2 keys and a letter? Plus, WHY WOULD I WANT TO DELETE THE MESSAGE IF I HAVEN'T EVEN HEARD IT YET?!?

All this superfluous junk to wade through, just to listen to "Hi Rebecca, it's Lucy. Call me."

Boys and girls, it's the accumulation of little things like this that makes people bring rifles to work...

Beccapedia

A typical conversation between me and my co-workers at lunch:

Me, apropos of nothing: "Hey, remember Gumby's sister?"
Them: "What? Holy crap — I do! Wow, what made you think of that? Oh man, what was her name?"
Me: "Shit, I should remember this. It's on the tip of my tongue..."
Them: "Seriously?"
Me: "Of course! Damn it, I know this...OH! Wait — you know who would know? My brother."
Them: "Seriously?"
Me: "Yeah, he's obsessed with Gumby."
Them: "... Seriously?"
[text to brother]: "What was Gumby's sister's name?"

Less than one minute later...

[text from brother]: "Goo."
Me: "Yes! See? I told you!"
Them: "There is something seriously wrong with you."

Apparently it runs in the family.

Maybe It's Time To Talk To Your Doctor...

The book I am working on right now is titled: "RAMCAP Plus."

Surprisingly, it is not a prospectus for a new erectile dysfunction medication.