Welcome back, Mr. McDonald

That's the title of the ironically funny movie I saw today. It's Japanese with English subtitles. It's a tongue-in-cheek take on the "video killed the radio star" theme, as it examines the creative process in producing radio dramas in the age of CGI.

I felt for the scriptwriter character who thought she was finally getting her moment because her script was going to production, only to find out that her script was the only entry in the contest she supposedly won.

I felt for the producer whose job it was to make sure the talents and his superiors were happy, and therefore had to compromise on artistic integrity.

I felt for the talents who were desperately holding on to their fading stardom, fully aware that radio is losing its relevance.

I felt for the whole production team, because they were hitching their dreams and aspirations on a dying entertainment medium.

I thought the movie was really tight. I highly recommend it.

Love, and that sorta thing

Yep, this closet cynic believes in love. That's probably the only thing I have in common with my hopeless romantic split.

And because I believe in love, I also believe in magic. And the magical world. And the unseen dimension. And creation. And God.

I won't argue with those who say love is a function of the hypothalamus. Because I also believe in oxytocin. And pheromones. And those other unidentified hormones that make humans fall in love. And multiply.

That these hormones play together in perfect biochemical harmony is the thing I find magical. And logical.

Love is chaotic. But in the higher schema of things, it's orderly. Perfectly logical. If there's such a thing.

If it's not obvious by now, this is my Valentine's post.

Hell, but kinda cooler

I'm sure this place has been called hell many times by many people. But for some reason, it's cooler today. It's like a sauna running out of steam. Or whatever it is that makes saunas warm and smokey. Could be something I ate. Hmm.

You can't crap on me and get away with it

That's all I wanna say.

Crash diets and mood swings

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed how the tone of my posts swing between self-affirmation and self-loathing?

The weird thing about stream-of-consciousness blogging is when you review your posts, you'd think some stranger had possessed you when you wrote them. All that poisonous negativity couldn't have come from me! But surprise, surprise--it did! Ditto with all the the cheese and mush, and the boring stuff about the silly books you read and your budget vacations with your geeky family.

So why do I inflict this incoherent internal monologue on lost surfers who get washed up on this corner of the Web? Because I don't care about them. And about you voyeurs who like to read this sort of thing. I don't care for my readers, or if I have any at all. I only care about typing fast enough to catch my thoughts and freeze them here. I only care about saying things like they are, and not having to edit.

I hate editing myself. But I do it daily, just to survive among people. The world of people is not really my element, but I can find my way in it. It's like being Vulcan among humans. Oh wait, I suppose that made me sound like a nerd? *Self-conscious alert! Stop that thought before you start caring!*

There is some kind of comfort in being able to express my thoughts to someone, but to no one in particular. Makes me feel like I'm in the bathroom arguing with myself about the merits of Tea Tree feminine wash. Or in the cab looking out the window and mouthing lyrics to a song playing on my iPod. Like it were my own song. But I don't really have any of my own. I'd like to, though. *Digression alert!*

Ignoring the alert. This is my blog. I'm free to digress. But I'm tired of keeping up with my thoughts. I might as well end this here and watch Fringe. Yeah, I'll do that.

I am one of those stupid people I hate

And I'm a loser, too. Yup, I'm wearing the Cory sign across my forehead.

I signed up with a local gym today. It's the one close to my office with a branch near my home. It set me back four grand, and will continue to set me back two grand every month starting Feb. All for what? So some loser PT (who most likely failed to snag a job abroad so he's stuck here with people like me) can punish me for not being skinny enough. So I'd see how big a loser I am (in all sense of the term) when I see the thin winners doing the treadmills. So I'd feel guilty later on when I lose the motivation to exercise, which I most likely will.

What's wrong with just running around the helipad behind the Math Bldg.? Why did I have to take this giant step?

Oh well, the die is cast. What's done is done. I'll cross the bridge when I get there. Cliches, cliches. I'm a cliche.

I want to join that 'I hate stupid people' group on FB

Because I do hate them. They make me waste my time composing nice emails, so I don't hurt their feelings. They make me bend over to be diplomatic, so I won't be mean. They make me bite my tongue, so I don't say nasty things to them--and about them, even to others who hate them as much as I do.

They push their luck. They test my limits. But they won't win. I won't budge. They won't get the better of me. I am immovable. I am in control of my reaction to adversaries. I focus on the positive, on progress, on winners. Negative, regressive losers won't get a moment of my time.

I know who I am. And they don't stand against me.