Random Acts of Thursday - The Last Ride

I don't want to be morbid, but I am a practical man.  You kids will recall that Lori and I have spent far too much time moving from place to place in our married life.  I believe the last count was five homes and three states in the last six years.

When we moved four times ago, into the home where we planned to spend the rest of our days, I was so adamant about never moving again that I fully intended to pass away the night before trash day, so Lori could just throw me in a Hefty Tear-Pruf Heavy Duty trash bag and drag me to the curb.

The more I think about it, though, I'd like to go with style.

What prompted this?

We saw this on our weekend drive.

Far be it for me to judge (a lie: I always judge.  Call me Judgey McJudgerson.), but I am not a soccer mom.  I don't want to be a soccer mom.  I don't want my last ride in a wheeled conveyance to include stow-and-go seating.  I don't want anyone to be picking Cheerios and gummi bears from out of my coffin, and I don't want it covered in sticky handprints and Sponge Bob paraphernalia.

(Are the kids still watching Sponge Bob?  I'm so out of touch.) 

I like the Cadillac in life, and to me, that's the classic way to go.

Or, there's always this:

And for the Harold and Maude fans out there, I could settle for this:

...and really, who couldn't?  Your last car should always be nicer than your first, right?

And because I ride, and there's just as much a chance that I'll go that way as any other rider, I'd take this, too.

Because just because I'm not cool in life doesn't mean my last act above ground has to be equally nerdy.

A Poor Excuse

Two months to go...

For my three followers who actually read CDS for the articles, many apologies.  I've been busy, and we all know that my concept of the passage of time is foggy at best.  Recently I was reminded of just how old I'm getting when someone I don't remember posted the entire yearbook from my senior year of high school, and I was looking at the skinny, pasty-looking kid with the bad haircut.  It took me back to my past laziness, when I ended up taking my own photo a week before they were due since I never bothered to have senior portraits done. 

I feel guilty for not posting much of late.  It's been a very busy 2011 so far and often I write half a post that never gets finished.  New, completed posts are coming, though.  We here at CDS Enterprises (A Division of NFG Worldwide, Ltd) have been thinking hard, making sure nothing but the highest quality drivel is made available for your reading pleasure.

For the 95% of you who just come here looking for semi-naked pictures of celebrities (and what was up with Tatum O'Neal last month?  2800 hits on one post? Did I miss something?), continue to be disappointed.

Nah, just kidding.  I figure if Danica McKellar and Natalie Portman get me hits, how well will the CDS skyrocket to popularity with a little Diane Kruger?

Or a little more Diane Kruger...

Let's find out.

I see bad movies showing...

I see trouble on the way...

Or is that dead people?  Nope, I just see bad movies.  Often.  At least more often than I should.

Despite being a movie geek, I do not watch the Oscars.  The Great and Powerful Bev does, however, from the alley behind her hotel this year.  It's not as seedy as it sounds, really.  

I have mentioned in the past that I am continually attempting to catalog the films I've watched over the years.  At present count, it seems I watch a different movie every three weeks.  Around 18 unique films a year.  That makes the assumption, of course, that I started watching films at birth.  And it doesn't take into account those movies I've watched five or ten times or more.

Surprisingly few of those films are bad.  And by bad, I mean nearly unwatchable.  Films that couldn't be improved by gratuitous nudity.  Films I will avoid on television if there's anything, including the home shopping channel, to watch instead.  And I like my television.   

Sure, some of those films were endured for the sake of our daughters, but I watched them nevertheless and I'll never get those 99 minutes back.

I only bring this up because Judge Dredd was on the teevee last Sunday.  And not only did I watch it in painful entirety, but a) it wasn't the first time I'd seen it and b) I actually used my beloved cable provider's rewind feature to catch up on parts I missed.  What might be worse?  It's entirely possible I paid money to see it the first time.

And somehow the film didn't seem any better this time through.  Great actors like Max von Sydow, Jurgen Prochnow and Joan Chen were apparently made offers they couldn't refuse, appearing in such schlock.  Rob Schneider?  Expected.  Completely expected.

Loser has to watch The Hot Chick...

And sure, everyone is allowed a clunker now and again, as long as they've made quality cinema the majority of their careers.  But somehow Sly Stallone is bordering dangerously on that bad actor lifetime achievement award.  Rocky XXVII? Lock Up?  Tango & Cash? Oscar? Rhinestone? The thespian stylings of Lieutenant Marion Cobretti?  No amount of Rocky or First Blood can undo the crapfest that is Mr. Stallone's career as a whole.

Could be worse, though.  If I hadn't subjected myself to this, my other option was Billy Madison.  And I just couldn't endure that. 

For a fifth time.