Spent the day at the new job, which was bustling with activity in every room. Four days till opening, so we’ve got a lot to sort out. This is a view from the rail line end of the bar. The theaters are upstairs and downstairs.
I shot this last Wednesday on my last trip up the hill for the day. Roadrunner is my favorite run at Ski Santa Fe, and it happens to be the run that claimed my ACL in 2010, the last year I remember there being any decent snow cover. Here, you can see how badly we still need snow this season. Too many rocks make it near impossible to establish a decent rhythm.
Yesterday’s attack on Charlie Hebdo was horrible. I don’t understand the mindset of religious extremism, especially the kind that is so sensitive to satire and criticism that it lashes out at innocent people. And yes, they were innocent. No drawing ever took someone’s life. If everyone sought to settle differences with pencils and words, the brain-dead and humorless would be doomed.
And speaking of he brain-dead and humorless, I expect the backlash against ordinary, peaceful, rational Islamists will be as misguided and idiotic as always. I can’t help but think once again of this cartoon by Matt Inman.
“Are you so dangerously extremist that even a silly web cartoonist can’t draw a picture of your prophet without fearing for his life?”
Then you suck at your religion.
This morning, while browsing Yelp to shake loose some breakfast spot ideas from my memory, I spot this advertisement. I suppose there’s an algorithm that looks for five-star reviews and pairs them up with paying restaurants and slots them above any actually relevant search results. What they haven’t learned to detect, apparently, is sarcasm.
I’m not about to go to Red Lobster for breakfast. Or any time, for that matter. I went once. I don’t remember many details from that night, save for the sirens, a defibrillator and someone shouting “Stay away from the light!”
I came across another hackneyed dialogue trope today while I was working. This one thudded from the mouth of a character the show, The Originals, which follows the adventures of some old-school vamps, wolves and demons bashing around in the Big Easy. Vampires. Werewolves. Witches. Original.
Anyway, among the typical overwrought dialogue was this clunker: “You always were a terrible liar.”
This one is typically heard when someone’s about to die, and it goes something like this:
“Am I hurt bad?”
“You’re fine, Jake.”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
Lisa looked, and found herself swallowing hard to keep the vomit from coming up. There were no legs to look at. All that remained were gnawed stumps. Goddamned park rangers. They knew the muskrats were hungry this time of year!
“You’re fine,” Lisa managed to say.
“No, I’m not. I’m dying. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Goddamn it, you’re gonna be okay!” She was fighting back tears.
“I almost had it, Lisa. I was almost there.”
“I know, Jake.”
“Now I’ll never make it to Wonglepong.”
“In Australia. Always wanted to go there.”
“You will, Jake. I promise you. We’ll get you patched up and before you know it, you’ll be standing in Wonglepong.”
Jake chuckled, but it came out something like a gurgle. He coughed for a moment, then managed a smile.
“You always were a terrible liar.”
Gasp. Rattle. Dead.
In a way, it’s a good thing Lisa’s such a terrible liar. If she were any good, she’d be convincing Jake he was okay to walk, and, well… awkward. It’s the kind of thing a lazy writer uses automatically when it comes time to do a death scene. “Isn’t that what people are supposed to say when they die?” I mean, I think it would be funny if the dying person said this to someone he didn’t know, like a paramedic, or a random passerby, but there’s got to be something else Jake could have said. Like “I don’t believe you.” Fitting last words, don’t you think?