Damn you, Cosmos! Part 467

So, I couldn't sleep, really, past about 5:45am. Not sure why. Maybe if I'd lowered my blinds all the way for blackness, I might've slept better. But I have this mess... no, let's call it what it is: This disaster-area.

And it needs cleaning, and while I have tomorrow off to myself, I have a busy day today, and I'm tired of living in a hovel.

I stayed in bed semi-lucid until 7:06, got up, and decided to tackle the dishes. Making great progress, I decided to be super-motivated and tackle all the straggler dishes that have been hanging around and waiting for a proper cleaning -- certain wine glasses, et al.

Now, I use a brush for washing my dishes because rags get slimy and disgusting and seldom dry well enough to banish bacteria, so I figure an air-dried brush gets scourable stains out, plus dries well enough to prevent me contracting e-coli or salmonella or general cooties of non-descript varieties. And I've used brushes for several years now, but never with this happening...

...I gave a good twist of the particularly soapy brush inside a wine glass, and a whole bunch of bristles snapped back over the rim and flung condensed (ie: not yet watered down) dishsoap straight into my right eye, exactly on top of the pupil.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING GOD DOES IT STING.

It's been 15 minutes and the motherfucker's still hurting like a bitch. It's blood-red, watering profusely, and feels like I've put horsehair up against the cornea, for some unknown bloody reason.

Wincing, tears streaming down after having just washed it a fourth time, I stumbled back into my bedroom, and THWACK, crashed my shin up against my bed. That'll bruise, to be sure.

It's finally beginning to subside. Maybe I just needed to rant. Fortunately, my dishes are 80% done, and I'm going to now finish off the kitchen, and then mess it up again as I make an omelet with the last of my salsa, some cheddar, and some back bacon, with some toasted baguette. mMmm. I could almost go for french toast with that, but I think not. Like I need the extra calories. Besides, buttered toast is one of my bestest friends ever. MmmMm, TOAST.

Now that I have a job, I think the time is nigh for buying a toaster oven. Somewhere closer to August, I'm buying a toaster oven. Must buy a toaster oven.

My toaster oven, I'll have you know, has been requiring an exorcism for at least two months. There's some hyper-sensitive thing going on inside it. I push the "toast" button, it doesn't catch. (If the light ain't on, it ain't working.) I have to keep pushing it, and while doing so, wriggle other knobbies and such until something magical happens and the light finally stays on and the stupid fucking thing finally works. Never mind the "bake" or "broil" options -- they haven't worked in months.

Which is posing other problems.

I wanted a late-night snack as I watched the rivetting original The Manchurian Candidate last night (feel like a game of Solitaire, anyone?) and so I went and made myself some baguette toasted with butter and grated parmesan (padano) last night, and the toast was almost about to burn when I rushed over, so I pulled it out of the oven super-fast, and rushed back to the movie, since I heard gunshots and wanted to see what was goin' on.

Well, with the house such a mess, why the hell bother taking the dishes back to the kitchen?

At 7:08am, I discovered the oven had been left on broil for the last eight and a half hours. Fuckin' 'lectricity bill's gonna be the equivalent of an eye gouge this month.

That's why GayBoy bought me my first-ever toaster oven. I used to do a lot of dope, and I'd be FOREVER leaving the oven on overnight after a case of the munchies. Sigh. "Here, use this. It'll be cheaper. It has a timer. Dummy."

My defense this time is I was tired and it was a really, really good movie.

Back to the movie. I've been Opposed to Sinatra for most of my life, though I can't stand still when I hear him crooning "Night and Day... day and night..." My mother tainted me. She hated him. Thought he was a sexist mafia asshole, really. Maybe he was. He blew me away in this movie -- except in the nightmare scenes, during which all the actors sucked, but that was the '60s "overacting" way. Still, he was highly watchable, and I'm starting to wonder why I've been so negative towards Ol' Blue Eyes after all this time.

Whatever. I'm getting more exposed to classic movies than ever, so I'm sure to run into Frankie again sometime. In fact, I've got some old movies kicking around now -- Tokyo Drifter, National Velvet, and a 1939 one with Bogey and Grant, The Roaring '20s.

I'm addicted to Turner Classic Movies now. We've never had it here in Vancouver / Canada until about 6 months ago. Man, does it rock. I've been watching it for the last month on an increasing basis, which has proven amusing this week, since The Guy has got it in his head that he absolutely must see all 250 of the Best Movies Ever Made, according to IMBD. All of a sudden, he's mainlining downloads like a junkie after the ultimate shot of heroin. One after another after another, he's downloading scads of these movies.

Out of the top 250, I haven't seen about 100 or so. Out of the top 45, I've seen 40. I love movies. I love good movies. I love good television. I think literary types are fucking snobs when they dismiss either. Just because you don't have good enough taste to see the RIGHT programs and films doesn't mean they're no good. Now, I don't mean that I'll only ever watch Bertolucci or Fellini (who I don't really get; 8 1/2 is one of the movies I've yet to really see, but I turned it off after 15 exasperating minutes. Perhaps I'll try again one day.) but, really, there's certainly a mindset required when you enter a video store. If the Waterboy is the only movie that stands out at you, maybe you need a little fuckin' schoolin', then, you know?

Well, time for breakfast and getting a start on National Velvet. Who would've thought that one of the actors who's played in most of the "best movies" ever would be Mickey Rooney? (Well, he's in about 10 of the 100 "most inspiring" movies of all time, according to the AFI.) Little Rooney. Funny.