You’re Not a Spy.

January 28, 2010

I have been watching Chuck a lot recently. I bought the season two DVD and burned through about two episodes a day, and of course, season three started this month with four episodes in eight days.

I'm at a Chuck overload. Defintely haven't hit my Sarah Walker limit yet though.

When you watch that much of one show at one time, you tend to become immersed in that world, as I alluded to before.

When I discovered 24, I watched the first three seasons in about three weeks. I was on high Bauer alert 24/7. You just can’t help thinking like the characters in the show, because you spent time observing that world so much.

I was living in Ohio, and as I’m pulling into my apartment complex, I heard sirens. Then around the corner, this car comes flying around the bend and I see right on his heels is a police car with sirens blazing.

I was about to turn left, and then follow the same curve they were about to exit. And my instinct was to slam on the breaks, jerk the wheel hard left, and block the exit so the perps couldn’t escape.

And then I thought “What the heck am I thinking? These guys either don’t have insurance, or soon won’t have any income. They’ll total my car and I’ll be screwed.”

So instead, I just stopped (there was a stop sign I never adhere to anyway) and made the car’s exit extremely tight at that speed. Their options were to slow down and make their escape at 5 mph, or fly around the corner, hit my car and risk getting caught.

Well, once they cleared, I floored it straight ahead into the open parking lot, allowing the cops to turn at high speeds, and catch up to the car while it was turning out of the parking lot. I saw the cops bump the car as it turned, spinning it around and onto the curb. And then I kept driving in case there were guns.

But the point is: I was thinking like a Counter-Terror super agent.

Now, I’m watching Chuck and assuming everyone around me has a secret life of espionage. And I try to round out their back story when I see them. Good spy, bad spy, how I’ll end up killing them if they reveal their fiendish plot. You get the idea.

But unfortunately, I never flash on things. Or have a sexy handler.


I Got Nothing

December 29, 2008

I need a girlfriend. Not because of any feeling of loneliness or needy urge, or biological clock. I need someone to talk to on the drive back home from holidays at my parents house.

Seven hours in a car in the south is boring. You know what’s between Houston and New Orleans? Swamp, marsh and nothing.

I know what you’re thinking: “But, you probably spent that time coming up with all kinds of great ideas/thoughts that I’d love to read about.”

Yeah, not so much. Really I only thought about the lack of driving skills by everyone in Texas and Louisiana; and my desire to light my cigar without crashing my vehicle.

Of course, it’s entirely possible that one of the reasons I thought of nothing was because of the vegetative state that Christmas gifts put me in. How can anything in my life be interesting or worth discussing if all I am doing is playing NHL09, reading Jonsey (Keith Jones’ autobiography with John Buccigross) or Inside Inside (by James Lipton), or watching the entire first season of Chuck on DVD?

Basically, I’ve come a couch potato over the holidays and the key to significantly entertaining events is the improvisation of interaction with other human beings and/or personal reflection on those incidents.

What type of reflection can I do on watching an average Joe six-pack who’s life is going no where have his life interupted by top secret government spy work and a smoking hot girlfriend who kicks terrorist ass? (well, other than “I want one of those!”).

So there’s the last few days in a nutshell: I want a smoking hot girlfriend to spice up the life, through either internation espianage, or just chatting in my car.