Saturday Night Movies

The movie theatre is always my favorite place to go. I enjoy stories, and movies provide the entertainment. They're all fantastic hollywood masterpieces. The movie theatre itself is always entertaining too, and on the weekends, the same cast of characters always appear.

There's always a group of high school girls, possibly freshman or sophmores, that dress entirely too innappropriate. Though as appealing as this may sound, those females are usually ugly, and if I were to give them the benefit of the doubt, at the very least, ugly ducklings. Their flat chested figures don't help them look like more than a miniskirt on a tubetop wearing plank. Their faces don't help either. You can't sprinkled some concealer and eye liner on Disgusting and think it helps.

Then there are the wanna be thugs. They got the baggy pants and oversized shirts look perfected. They got the matching bling, the ghetto walk, the timbs and the cornrolls did right. Except half of them are white, so you just laugh. The other half are worse, and it's difficult to act hardcore when your mom is picking you up with her minivan.

The young come out in droves on the weekend, and the worst character of them all is the kid who just got her license. She rolls up with her baby-thug 16 year old friends that haven't gotten their licenses yet, blaring loud music. She makes a statement: Hear the music? That's from my car. The one that I earned to drive. It's hard to actually hear the lyrical message through the staticy speakers of her 1992 toyota corolla. To her, that soundsystem is a million times better than the one she had before--nothing. Whatever her actual message is though, the only one recieved and heard by those who have had cars for more than three years is simply, Embarrasment.

Not all is lost though, normal people do show up to the movie theatre on saturday nights. The loving father who earned his due during the work week gladly takes his son and daughter out for a lovely film. He overly loves his son though, and feeds this love to him physically in the form of deliciously rotten food. Barely breaking into the double digits of life, this pudgy four foot tall tub of walking fat skips along, holding an equally sized tub of popcorn. He stops after his second hop, noticing his buttery fat making puffs leap from the sides of his oversized bucket, and shrugs to himself, knowing that there are plenty more inside as he continues his mini earthquake to his waiting father. His poor sister gives a confused look to her pack of twizzlers, not yet fully realizing that her fatass brother is probably going to spill his lardy arms way over her armrest.

The ticket collecter gives me a familiar nod as he points us to the proper theatre. He's been there for years, and if you want, he'll let you in for five bucks. You just have to wait until the manager isn't looking. But I have since stopped tipping my hispanic brotha, as the manager now is a friend from highschool. Every other movie we go to is free, depending on time of day, if we're lucky enough to run into him. We never wait for him though, we never arrive at the movie theatre early enough to do so.

In a way, looking at the teeny boppers who run around at the movie theatre on a saturday night in disgust is like looking at myself in disgust. After all, we've all gone through the phase where we wanted to look more grown up. We all have tried to fit into a crowd. We all remember how proud we were of our first day of driving.

But few of us have the ability to be the innocent fat kid, ignorant of everything around us, except for a few stray puffs of popcorn. The pudgy waddling kid who's just happy to have loving parents take him out for a special night. After all, that night, nothing matters except for him, his smiling parent, a tub of love, and a fantastic hollywood masterpiece.

The Walmart Zoo

I went to Walmart two days ago. I needed to buy a can of compressed air in order to clean the insides of my computer. Because I was lazy, I ended up leaving the house at 10 pm. Normally, I would buy stuff for my computer at Best Buy, but that closes at 9 pm.

When I was in High School, I used to love going to Walmart because it was open 24 hours. It was fun at 4 in the morning when nothing else was open, and my group of friends had nothing better to do. There's so many toys and things that are on display that you could play with, there's guns, fishing poles, video games to play, and even a McDonalds. Granted, I only did this once or twice. It's really hard to convince people to hang out at a retail store for no reason, regardless of it's store hours.

Over the years, our local Walmart changed it's store hours and started closing at 2 am. More recently, as I discovered two days ago, they close at 11 pm now. It's kind of depressing, but I can understand it. The suburbs of south jersey just don't have the kind of population that likes hanging out at Walmart for no apparent reason at 4 am.

Even now, the parking lot was entertaining. This old lady couldn't decide if she wanted to reverse out of her parking spot or not. Another car had it's reverse lights on but it was apparently the driver was waiting for the old lady to go first. She reverses about a yard, looks at her rear view mirror, see's the other driver's reverse lights, reverses another couple feet and stops. After a few seconds of contemplation, she reverses another foot or so, brakes, and drives back into the parking spot. She turns around and waves the other driver to go first, but it's 10 pm and I doubted the other driver saw her.

I didn't get to see the rest of the show though, it probably would have been pretty awkward if I stopped walking, folded my arms, and just waited to see what happened.

I spent 25 minutes inside Walmart trying to find a can of compressed air. It ended up being on the top shelf in the back corner of the electronics section fortress. I always found it awkward that only that section of walmart blocks itself off on 3 sides, and has only a small entry way that's flanked by two to three depressed older gentleman who probably hate their lives because they're approaching 50 and work at a Walmart.

My first trip through the electronic section, I completely missed the can of air. I decided to check the hardware section, the place where they keep all the painting supplies and other tools, assuming that maybe compressed air was also used for other things, not just dusting off electronics. When that didn't turn up any results, I headed back into the fortress, past the sentries, and back into the electronics section.

There were two arabic looking men looking at some audio cables and accessories. Though i'm not a racist, I'm pretty sure those could be used to make a bomb. Somehow they got a shopping cart through the front entryway, and they decided to block an entire aisle with their bomb making shenanigans. In the next aisle, there was a very loud and obnoxious black woman. She was talking about work or her love life, I didn't really listen, I just couldn't help but overhear since she decides to yell into her cellphone. It's moments like that where I wish cellphones were never invented. Or at least, retarded people shouldn't be allowed to use them.

There were so many other wonderful creatures at the Walmart zoo. Some were repulsive creatures that only came out at night. Some were rare species that met and bred only in that environment. And others were like me, spectators at the zoo, grabbing what they needed and leaving.

Or maybe, they just wanted to hang out at Walmart, because there was nowhere else to go.

Public Service Announcement

While driving out of the brand new Super Wawa that's 2 miles away from the other Super Wawa that's 2 miles away from the other other Super Wawa in my area, I noticed a black guy in his Mercedes wiping the inside of his fogged up windshield. First of all, if you're driving a Mercedes, you should know how to get rid of foggy windows. But unfortunately, this sight is too common, Mercedes or not. People just don't seem to know how to defog their windows.

The key to unfogging your windows is to make sure your AC is on. On most cars, it is a button that you can push to toggle on or off. Now, a misconception is that the AC button means that it will turn the air coming out very cold, but that's not what AC does. Air Conditioning, as one should rightfully know as the full word for AC, is the act of, well, conditioning the air. It pulls the moisture out of the air that's entering the car. If you leave the AC on, even if you're venting cool or warm air, it will eventually dry out the inside of the car and unfog the window. This will happen regardless of if you're aiming the air to your feet, to the front vents or to the windshield defroster vents. If there's no moisture in the car, the windows can't fog.

So what does that mean? If it's not cold enough outside, you can blow cool air conditioned air through the windshield vents and defog those windows!

So then, what if the AC system is broken in the Benz? Well, you still have two solutions. The first is to do the common hot air defrost on the front wind shield. Hot air will evaporate the condensation. If it's too hot outside or in the car, roll down all your windows. The air from outside circulating through the car will slowly evaporate the windshield, and it will also equalize the temperature outside and inside, which will keep the windows from fogging up again.

If for some strange reason neither of those two options work. Do both at the same time. The hot air from the defrost will evaporate the windshield, and the air from the windows will keep you cool.

So now that you're well informed on the proper ways of defogging your windows and what AC really does, the next time you see someone wiping down their windows, call them retarded and drive away. Don't worry, they won't catch you. They can't even see through their foggy windows.

Taiwan Over

Technically, I should still be in Taiwan, but due to bad timing, a self hatred based on my illiteracy, and too much time to think, I came back to the US. The bad timing was due to the fact that my cousins were all going back to school, so I spent alot of time just sitting at home, thinking about what I would do when I got back. Well, the illiteracy is pretty much explained. Just read the previous entry.

And really, who would want to cut a trip to their homeland short? It's such a wonderous place, a land filled with dollar packs of cigarettes and 5 course meals for 4 bucks. But it's also filled with anal retentive relatives that won't eat anything but seafood when we go out to eat, so those scrumptious 4 dollar meals are non-existant for me. Instead, i'm forced to eat succulent raw lobster tails, 16 inch long fish in the best ginger sauce ever, all sorts of sashimi, and other sea creatures i've never even heard of in chinese or english. Ten course meal, 12 people, about 125 american dollars. Twelve people couldn't eat that well at red lobster for 125 dollars. You're probably saying how can that be horrible? Well, it's not horrible the first time, it's awesome. But then you go again the next day, and the day after. Soon the lobster displayed with his own cut up lobster tail is staring at you, and you feel the incredible urge to throw up.

My trip wasn't a complete waste. I saw all my family members, I bought everything I wanted to buy, and I had a much greater appreciation of the differences between Taiwan and America. In the final tally though, I'd rather be in America.

My plane trip back was memorable as well. My seat was an aisle seat in the middle of the boeing 747. It was the first row in the back half, and lucky for me, no seats in front. There was plenty of leg room. But I was in the middle column, and though I was comfortable in my aisle seat with plenty of leg room, the guy sitting next to me didn't fair so well. I was to his right, and to his left, was a husky man around my age. If i had to guess at his ethnicity, I would say that he was half asian. He spoke english, and from the brief exchanged with our stewardesses, it seemed like he understood chinese.

Well, the husky half-asian was pretty obnoxious. He had broad shoulders and fat pudgy arms, but he lounged in his seat like he was the only one there. He spilled into my neighbor's seat, his shoulders well over the boundaries of the armrest, and his elbows extended even further. Usually, I would find this amusing, but it affected my comfort, so I spent a good part of the 11 hour flight over the pacific being annoyed at his half-breed ass. His lack of boundaries forced my neighbor to have to shift toward me the whole flight, my left arm didn't know where it was suppose to be for 11 hours.

The poor guy was actually quite conscious of this fact though, and he spent a good portion of the flight sitting forward, with his elbows on his knees. He actually fell asleep in that position. After a while of seeing this, I softened up. Whenever he awoke from his horrible sleep and leaned back, I shifted obviously toward the aisle, trying to silently tell him it was alright if he wanted to lean over the arm rest we shared. If fatty half-whitey didn't want to work together, we would. We would share the agony together on this long flight.

He looked over my way, stretched a little, and leaned forward again, elbows on his knees, and proceeded to sleep a few more hours. I shrugged and stretched my elbows out. Might as well take advantage of his suffering.

This other girl went to the bathroom every hour. I didn't notice it was her that kept getting up until after the third time, and I couldn't imagine what she was drinking. The airline hardly gave enough liquid to produce urine. Those little tiny cups hold like half an ounce of beverage. When the girl came out of the bathroom, I assumed she'd finally emptied out her apparently useless bladder, and she'd be good to go for the rest of the trip. She stops at the water fountain next to the bathroom, helps herself to a little courtesy cup, fills it, and swallows it down. Then she refills the cup and drinks again. I mean, it made sense, I would probably need two swigs of that tiny ass cup to get the dryness out of my mouth. But then, she fills it again, and again, and again. I was fascinated and kept count. She drank eight times. Apparently she didn't learn her lesson on having to pee 3 times in 3 hours. An hour later she was back, and in the bathroom again.

When I reached Jersey, I was awake early next morning due to jet lag. I decided to get some McDonald's fast food since I hadn't really had any heart disease inducing food in three weeks. I ordered 2 mcgriddles, 2 hash browns and a steak, egg and cheese bagel. After three weeks of converting New Taiwan Dollars to american currency, I expected to pull out like a five dollar bill and maybe a couple ones to pay for the meal. The cashier said a number that began with a nine. I looked at him like he was crazy. I could have bought 2 pancake egg things in taiwan that are twice as big as mcgriddles for about a dollar each. A drink would have put it in the 2.50 range. Buying as much food as I did in taiwan would have only costed me a couple bucks, so I just assumed it would be doubled in america. But no, it was tripled. Anyways, I have no point except McDonald sucks and it overcharges on breakfast food.

This entry has become exceptionally long and drawn out. If you read the whole thing, I love you. But if you didn't, you're probably not someone I consider a friend anyway. And I hope on your next plane trip, you end up sitting next to two fat half asian that crush you between the weight of their meaty arms and force you to sleep with your elbows on your knees.