Por fin. I am tantalizingly close to finishing up my PVR (Personal Video Recorder) project. It’s taken two fortnights to get to this point (3 weeks longer than expected), but I am nearly done. All that’s left to be done are a few minor tweaks. I will post an informational write-up sometime in the next week or so detailing the process (and the many issues I struggled with).
By the way, I think I’m going to revamp/retool/renovate this website of mine in the near future. Something slightly more professional and organized. Stay tuned for that.
Anyways, on to a few random thoughts that have been ricocheting around in my scatterbrained mind.
Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist. The classic example of wanting something to be better than it is – and nearly being able to coerce yourself into believing that. Similar to dining at a high-end establishment. Impeccable decor and intriguing ambiance can easily bamboozle you into forming a biased opinion of an establishment’s culinary offerings. Sometimes, you have to strip down a product to its core and ignore the extraneous accompaniments and decorations. Only then can you make an honest and fair judgment. This is how I felt about Nick & Norah’s. It was a good movie that I wanted to be great. I wanted it to be better than it was. I’m not claiming culpability for classifying this movie as a disappointing flop, because I am not doing that at all. I actually liked this movie…just not as much as I think I wanted to. I just wasn’t feeling the chemistry between Nick (Michael Cera) and Norah (Kat Dennings). Plus, I found certain parts of the movie slightly cliche and borderline cheesy. But, it was a good flick; just not up to par with what I expected. In my opinion, the best thing about this movie was that it offered a more pedestrian cinematic visualization of New York City. Man oh man do I have a crush on the Big Apple. It’s like the girl that got away.
Anyways, I’ve begun to feel increasingly stagnant over the past month or so. I haven’t been to the airport in 5 months. That is a lifetime for me. I gotta take a mini-break or something in the next month or so. Get away for a weekend.
I’ve thought long and hard (well, more like infrequently and lackadaisically) about the state of my life and my current approach towards it. I don’t know exactly know if I’m more indifferent or ambivalent about the state of affairs in my life. I’m leaning toward the latter. For example: dating. In a cashew shell, to oversimplify the matter, if I ain’t interested, I’m disinterested. I believe that dating has only reinforced this. I have no need to keep someone around because of a fear of being lonely. So, unless it “feels right”, I am inclined to stay single. I’ve dated more in the past 6 months than I probably had in the previous year or so, so at the least, I have a better sample size to use as a premise for a more accurate assessment of my negligent attitude towards dating. Over under on me getting married by the age of 30? I’m hedging my bet on the over. It’s odd how a large majority of my friends find themselves in the same predicament. I sometimes wonder why so many of us are still unattached with no imminent prospect of marriage in the near future. Conceivably, we could all be in our 30’s and still single. Who would’ve saw that coming? Definitely not our ‘rents, I’ll tell you that. They must be scratching their heads contemplating our sexual orientation at this point.
I’m still holding out hope that it’ll feel right when it does; that what is meant to be will be. If not, then I’m already calling shotgun on being that creepy 35-year old, receding hairline “geriatric fuck” trying to mack jailbait hotties into making a mistake all the while impressively seducing with my salsero prowess. True story: there is actually a guy like this. I’ve seen him on multiple occasions at Opera and Cosmo/Lava spitting mad game to women half his age. And, for whatever reason, he is ALWAYS doing salsa. Definitely a cheeseball that I have designated as my role model. I’m already losing touch with pop culture, so whose to say I won’t be “that guy” even sooner than that? Let all of us pray that it doesn’t ever get to that point. I’d rather fling singles at a professional shoe model I have a squadoosh chance of copping a legitimate feel (“Chicka, Chicka yeah“) than to be “that guy” at the club.
But, surely…that won’t be me. Right? Right? You’d be a fool to think so…but you’re not a fool….are you?