I should really do some work but I can’t seem to bring myself to it. I got a shiny new toy on my lunch break and I had to play with it for three hours before I could be at all productive. “Productive” meaning updating Diaryland.
Toys. The new Sony Mini Disc recorder came out this week and I had to have one. So I tripped on over to Tweeter on my lunch break and traded in my battle-worn previous model. I bounced it down the escalator of the Porter Square T stop two weeks ago, unraveling the duct tape that was holding its door together. That’s 100 something feet. It started throwing mini temper tantrums so I cashed it in.
Speaking of Minis, I went to see The Italian Job last night for the second time in as many days. It’s a cheap adrenaline pusher, and I can’t get enough of it. It may be the combination of sexy Mini Coopers and sexier Charlize Theron. I either want to be her or bed her.
At my former place of employment, I was writing the Mini Web site, and then performing the quality assurance on it before it went live and Minis actually hit the road. One of my jobs was to build them online. If you go to the site, you can build your own Mini. Down to the color of the floor mats. It’s crazy. I put together some flaming winners, including my cab version in canary yellow with a black and white checkerboard roof decal.
Another favorite of mine was navy blue with the Union Jack flag roof and red interior. You are assigned a chassis number, and you can follow your very own Mini through production to showroom. There has been some controversy over whether human beings can actually fit inside a Mini Cooper, but some of the fun facts claim that a person up to 6’7” could lounge comfortably in the driver’s seat. I haven’t actually driven one, but when my taxi model arrives I’ll let you know.
In other news, popcorn at the Loew’s theatre was $25. And it wasn’t even a bucket. It was one of those crappy bags where the “butter flavored topping” seeps through and gets all over the place and you have to wipe it on the seat of the person in front of you. It thoroughly creeps me out that they actually call it “topping”. By law. I miss the good ol’ days at the cinema when we would buy a pound of Sour Patch Kids, suck the sugar off, and whip them at the screen till they stuck.
A friend of mine was citing a movie we were discussing as the first movie he “didn’t see.” I myself have never sat in the back row of a movie theatre to make out. I was a total prude in eighth grade. Come to think of it, I still am. But man, can I whip a glob of gelatinous substance at the screen like a champ. I gave Marky Mark one in the eye last night.
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