Month: May 2003

I love reading my replies to old emails. If tomorrow I was stricken deaf and mute, email would be my preferred method of communication. I found these tasty little morsels I have written while sifting through the 18 months worth of old electronic communication I have on my computer:

“I have been most busy with work, and my new-found hobby, world domination. I am sure you have seen the multitudes of “Mikey Made This Happen” and “Obey Mikey and live, Disobey Mikey and perish instantly” billboards around your local town or prefecture.”
“…you have the week off from school, yet you’re cooped up in your apartment downloading “Bang Bus” shorts and eating Oreo’s by the pound.”

“Truth be told, I have been ruminating on the “panty/panties” dilemma for nearly two weeks now.”

“BE NICE TO ME. STOP GOING OUT OF YOUR WAY TO BE A BITCH. “

“I guess that’s all I have to report. Oh, and I have started writing the SPACE WARS saga. How’s the site coming?”

“I have been using “crapulous” in my lexicon for nearly 14 hours already.”

Well, it’s no coincidence that since my 21st birthday, Gekko has not been updated. Between celebrating my new-found legality with friends and family and Bret being in Florida for the holiday weekend, it has been difficult for things to get done. At any rate, the newness of my birthday has worn off, Bret’s back home, and so status quo is slowly starting return. The minute moratorium from the monotany is waning. Work is picking back up; and in a week or so, school will be back in as well.

I hate when I try writing for the website, and the idea I have turns out to be only half an idea; one that won’t work. I get about halfway through, and I hit this impermeable wall. The rest of the idea sets up a fortress, and I end up stuck in a metaphorical moat in my mind, fending off disease and alligators. Well, it’s not exactly that bad, but it’s close. I have pages of half-written stories, strings of unrelated couplets, and other cacographical bric-a-brac. Some are on little coffee-stained napkins, tattered and torn pages of notebooks, and the backs of magazine inserts. To help combat this whelming bit of disorganization, I have started carrying around a memo pad and pen to record all my random thoughts and ideas. Nearly everyone who has seen me toting it around teases me about it, asking either what I’m writing down (to which I answer “I’m thinking of the quickest way to kill you” – that normally shuts ’em up) or if Frank, Joe, or I need any help solving the mystery of the African Safari or whatever case we’re on; to which I reply, “no thanks, but you can get me a bearclaw and get the boys a couple of glasses of grape juice and some Fig Newtons.”

Right now, I am struggling for fresh ideas (I have a few in the oven; they should be ready soon), and I need to clean out the first few pages of the memo pad. As such, below are the first few quotable quotes I have heard since the notebook’s inception.

“They’re fantastic. My family and me- we’re real big rib-eaters.”
–caller-in to QVC, while the channel airs a promotion for Corky’s BBQ Fully Cooked Ribs
“My dick is the star of my fantasy.”
–Dave Chappelle, on why men never fantasize about threesomes with other men
“When you look this good, you don’t have to know anything.”
–Fry, on the importance of appearances, from an episode Futurama
“I kinda took some stuff, but I didn’t rob them.”
“Even if the Pope himself hit me, I would call the police.”

–overheard while watching Judge Joe Brown with my sister-in-law
You can be sure to look for more of these coming soon. As soon as I hear them, I will be sure to include them somehow or another in my normal posts. I have found that you are likely to hear the most unlikeliest of things in the stangest of places. People are poets without knowing it; they can philosophize without being wise.
Well, it’s getting late, and Fatboy Slim’s “Talkin’ ‘Bout my Baby” is on, and I just have to dance…later, cats & kittens.

GK Out.

The actual plot for Reloaded feels like familiar territory, but the Wachowskis throw enough twists and turns in it to make it their own. Reloaded picks up very nearly where the first movie ended. After visiting the Oracle, Neo learns that he needs to rescue the exiled Key Master from the clutches of a smarmy Frenchman, the Maravingian. The Maravingian scoffs at Morpheus and company’s proclivity for blindly following orders and not searching for the purpose in them; “doing the what without knowing the why,” as he puts it. With a little help from the Maravingian’s beautiful wife, Persephone, the trio is able to retrieve the Key Master from his confines. The Key Master then explains Neo’s role as the One, which includes going to the machines’ mainframe within the Matrix and meeting the Architect, who further elucidates the machines’ actual control over their humans and offers the ultimate choice Neo must make. Neo makes his choice, and just as he and the rest of Morpheus’ crew are returning to Zion, something hap-

The movie ends there. You get a taste following the credits, but you will have to wait until November for this saga’s conclusion.

First, let me start with the hyperbolic adulation. The film is spectacular. I have seen it three times since it was released Thursday. Compared with the first film, there are several more hand-to-hand fighting sequences (complete with the occasional weapon fight), bigger explosions, longer slow-mo cuts, and a dizzying multi-million dollar highway scene that leaves its viewers breathless. Additionally, the philosophical concepts that are offered for consideration here are truly thought provoking, and one could spend hours puzzling over them. This film is wrought with open-ended themes that encourage multiple viewings as well as intense pontification. With a sweat-soaked party scene in a Zionic temple occurring concurrently with a sex scene between Trinity and Neo, this movie has everything its target audience wants: kung fu, big booms, heavy-handed themes and concepts, sweet-ass special effects, and just a little bit of sensuality, thrown in for good measure. Truly, a film geared directly at me.

The most striking shortcoming I noticed with the film was the terseness of the dialogue. The actors are rarely given more than a few lines at a time, and so many of them are delivered with an almost palpable detachment from what is being said. It detracts from the urgency of the story somewhat, thus removing an element of believability and legitimacy. These people are fighting for their freedom from oppressive mind-enslaving machines, and yet they converse with quick one-liners, looking almosttoo cool in their custom-fitted designer sunglasses. Although this is a problem, it is not enough of one to truly affect the film in any meaningful way.

Personally, I believe the majority of the actors were forced to “dumben” and limit their acting abilities to match those of Ted Logan himself, the one and only Keanu Reeves. I enjoy Keanu’s presence in films, but his acting leaves much to be desired. Although Neo is the great hero of the Matrix films, the character of Morpheus (played brilliantly by Laurence Fishburne) is very compelling and demands more attention. He is the one of the few characters that is given an extended soliloquy, and Fishburne delivers it with gusto. If Morpheus were running for president, I’d vote for him. If Morpheus were leading an army into war, his soldiers would be prepared to follow their leader right into the gates of Hades.

Overall, the movie is an enjoyable experience and demands at least one additional viewing. The fight scenes alone demand an extra viewing. The dialogue is a little weak, and the some of the actors’ performances are even weaker. Other than that, however, this movie is damn good to me. A-

Yes, all you junior meteorologists out there in Gekko-land, I am well aware of the fact that the official solstice of summer is not for another month or so, but the residents of Atlanta are getting are seeing a trailer for this year’s summer season. It looks like the director was able to land the clouds and the rain for their recurring roles. The sun is back in a supporting role, although his presence is perfunctory, and his performance is outshone (pun intended) by the rain. Rain and precipitation are all over the place. The weather down here in “the Empire State of the South” only comes in just a handful of varieties: hot, hot and wet, cold, and cold and wet. Right now, it’s hot and wet. If one walks outside, he or she is instantly embalmed in a translucent film of his or her own perspiration. Imagine taking a shower without the hot water, just all the steam. Speaking of showers, I haven’t taken one yet today. As such, GK out.

We are now entering the Ides of May, and with such an ominous date comes one thing: the Matrix: Reloaded. I have been looking forward to this day for nearly three years, ever since I saw the original. It’s funny, I saw the other highly anticipated sequel, X2, the other weekend. Before the feature presentation, the audience and I were treated to a veritable Whitman’s sampler of eye candy when the final theatrical trailer for Reloaded. During which, all the new characters were shown, as well as extended snippets of the already-legendary “highway chase sequence.” I could barely contain myself. I bounced all over my chair, as giddy as a 1960’s school girl at the site of John, Paul, or George (nobody loves Ringo- his nose is entirely too big; He could probably fit a chicken nugget up his nose). Editor’s note: Michael loves to use the parentheses, as well as use several voices within the same paragraph, as he is doing here. And now we continue: …the trailer totally outshined the movie I had come to see.

I have read a couple reviews for the movie. One was copious adulation (Ain’t It Cool News, I believe), and one was fair and even-handed (Time). I have come not to go by the reviews I read. Everyone has a different opinion. Some people like too-MAE-toes and others prefer too-MAH-toes. Personally, I am content with neither; tomatoes are too much for me. Anyway, I digress.

I will be seeing the movie at 4:30 PM. I am most likely to be made catatonic, literally shocked and awed, by the visual delights witnessed by my two eyes. Look for a review or at least a reaction from me Friday afternoon or Saturday morning. Now, however, it is no longer late night but early morning. I must rest, for one’s mind is made weak by the weakness of one’s sleeping patterns. Until the next time, my little darlings, Meh.

Captain’s Log, star date: 05112003, Mother’s Day, 01:36 am.
Earlier this evening, I was searching on Amazon for “Michael Ollinger.” Hoping not to see anything, (I have identity issues- I am always trying to set myself apart from everyone else- but that’s another topic for another time) I was upset to see that there has already been a book published by someone of the same name as myself. Read more at Amazon. I suppose I should take consolation in the fact that the book this doppelgänger of mine wrote is not a New York Times bestseller or a Nobel or Pulitzer prize winner. Hell, I could probably count the number of its readers on my twenty phalanges. The other Michael Ollinger is an Economist with the United States Department of Agriculture. I wonder what he is doing now, given the current state of our economy.

Because someone has published a book with my name, I have to think of a flashy new nom de plume. This ties directly in with my issues of identity, but again, that is another discussion for another day. I was thinking of Steve Bennett, but upon further pontification, I belive that sounds too mundane. Too blase. It tastes like a saltine, looks like white bread, and has the consistency of oatmeal. Veto Steve Bennett. My second choice was an alliterative superhero name: Benjamin Braddock. Then, while watching the Graduate this evening, I realized that the lead character has the same name. (For those who haven’t seen it, it’s a great movie. Get the widescreen version, though.) I can’t share a name with the character; he’s too naďve for me. Ix-nay on Enjamin-bay Addock-Bray. My third idea was a one-name name in the same vein as Madonna, Cher, and Prince. I want something memorable, yet pronounceable. How about “Seamus” or “Rochester” or “Tuna?” Or take a completely minimalist approach and have a monosyllabic single word name. I was thinking of “Meh” or “Skort,” but then again I realized neither were even words, and who would respect an author with the name “Meh?”

Finally, after much thought and deliberation, the name I decided upon is Fenwick Bostonson. It sounds so contrived and so made-up that everyone will know that it is simply a pen name and not my birth name. I figure if I am going to veil my identity for the sake of establishing it, I might as well make the veneer as thin and gossamer as possible. That way, this Michael Ollinger will burn brightly behind his false name and overshadow his fellow Michael Ollingers.

Well, cats and kittens, the Kids in the Hall is on, and my ass hurts from sitting in this chair for too long. GK Out.

What a long, strange week it has been. I am comforted to see that Gekko has been updated semi-regularly in my absence. I am not going to make any comments regarding Bret’s updating job…I do not want to spend the next twenty minutes delineating everything he did incorrectly (mainly the “We Love You Bret” caption on the cam. That is quite the opposite of the truth around here. No one I know even likes him, let alone loves him). At any rate, I digress.

Starting this Sunday and ending yesterday, I was house-sitting for my brother. Included in the house-sitting was watching my brother’s two Yorkshire terriers, Marley and Maggie. For those who do not know what a Yorkie looks like, be sure to visit AKC for a general overview of the dog. Once you see the picture, you can only imagine what 72 consecutive hours with two of those things would be like. Although these two dogs do not look like the one pictured, they are probably just as big a handful. If making sure they relieve themselves in the correct area in their hours awake were not enough, sleeping with these dogs is a real exercise for one’s patience. These dogs have been raised sleeping with their owners; as such, they are content to sleep with their owners’ proxy in their absence. I am going to be completely honest here: I hate sleeping with other non-female human creatures. I need my space, and these dogs have no consideration for my long, bird-like appendages. I would lying if I said there were not several occasions where I wanted to forcefully eject them from my bed. That being said, I have not slept well at all for the past week or so. I am so tired and worn from the ennui of day-to-day life.

If my bout with house-sitting and the responsibilities contained therein were not enough to suck the life out of me, today I felt compelled to go to a double-header at the Ted. Baseball is fun in small portions, but 18 innings is an awful lot of baseball to endure in a single sitting. Sure, drinking beer helps pass the time, but there is only so much beer you can stomach before a revolt occurs within your body. Although there were no violent eruptions on my part, I was certainly content to cease my evening of drinking after a handful of 22’s at the game.

Well, it is no longer 5.8.03, but a day later. I suppose I should wrap this entry in Nothing in General up before I start rapping about my girl problems (I like girl-girl and girl-girl tolerates me- not quite a recipe for an enduring relationship) or my new-found love of 60’s psychadelia music. Well, cats and kittens, don’t let the bed bugs bite. Gekko Kid out.