Clareified

Where does the good go

Archive for the 'Pulp Fiction Tuesdays' Category

I’m going! That’s all there is to it!

Tuesday, November 23rd, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Do you think Jules is chilling in Amsterdam right now?

Pulp Fiction Tuesday

Tuesday, October 19th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

This is the footage I was looking for last week!

I always wondered about this scene. Are we really to believe that Esmeralda is real? Or is this Butch’s subconscious talking? I say subconscious.

Regrets…I’ve had a few

Tuesday, October 12th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I like listening to Butch talk about killing Floyd in the ring.

Personally, I don’t like boxing. When I was young I used to love it. But, that was during the prime of Mike Tyson and fights only lasted 34 seconds. The first time I watched an actual boxing match, where it went on for rounds and rounds – men with no personal beef, just punching each other in the face for money and my entertainment, I found I had no stomach for it and looked away. I’ve never looked back.

But I suppose that’s what boxing is supposed to look like when done well, right? Two men going the distance?

Not one man dead and another on the run.

Happy (belated) birthday, Clareified

Tuesday, October 5th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

I was in a restaurant with VinNay (who I assume WILL BE WRITING an awesomely hilarious account of my visit *ahem*, Mary and All Things Jen, yesterday. And the syrup bottle top was broken, so you couldn’t open it to get any syrup out. So, I flagged down the waitress by saying “garcon”!

That reminded me of this:

You’re welcome

I’m a bad mother….. shut your mouth

Tuesday, September 21st, 2010 by Dawn Summers

It’s weird.
Growing up, probably through most of law school in fact, I was pretty certain that I was not a good person.
Moral, loyal, generous, mostly honest, but not *good.*
My “code” as it were, was your standard combo “do unto others as they do unto you” and “do not leave a paper trail.”
Ok, I just made that second one up.
But definitely, the first one.
My relationships mostly consisted of complicated ledgers, which totally resulted in my doing lots of nice things, but also lots of not so nice things, so that can’t rightly be classified as “good.” I was an accountant. Neutral *at best*!
But then somebody somewhere somehow convinced me that a person who readily admits that she is not good, might actually be really good, if not the best of all.
I probably do not need to tell you the person who convinced me of this, was me.
But now I can add “persuasive” to my lengthy list of positive attributes!
I can’t exactly tell you what led to this latest epiphany, but I know this incident was part of it.
I was watching this professional poker player on TV. He is in his mid forties and is one of the most accomplished tournament players in the business. However, he’s not so good at cash games and gets mercilessly needled about it.
On this particular day, he was playing exceptionally well. And then he got very unlucky and ended up losing almost a hundred thousand dollars on one hand. Angry about losing to this punk kid, who mocked him for being so bad, even though it was the kid who had made a mistake but gotten lucky, the player calls the kid stupid. In turn, the kid, in classic playground style goes “no, you’re stupid!”
And then the exchange takes a left turn into crazytown.
“You’re a bad winner, son,” the pro says.
Understandably, the kid is taken aback.
“How am I a bad winner? You called me stupid first!”
“And I was out of line and shouldn’t have done that. Now you need to own up to your bad behavior. That’s what men do.”
Holy entrapment, Batman! #NoOcho
Could he be right? If you can provoke someone into the gutter with you, doesn’t that make them dirty?
And makes my standard “but I didn’t start it!” way less exonerating.
Right?
I don’t know.
What I do know is I won’t change. So if I’m bad because I will not hesitate to repay bad in kind, then so be it.
I’m bad.
And I want one of these.
*Puffs imaginary cigarette in the girl’s room at recess* (Yeah, recess, I’m bad…not truant!)

Pumpkin

Thursday, July 29th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Okay, the vacation from my sabbatical was fun, but as I spent far too much of yesterday with the dark and twisty, I’d best retreat back into my cave before they manifest into weird dark unpleasant posts.

Plus, I know poor STB and Chilly have been real mad for the last three days! They so love me. Also, Astin and F-train seem to be under the impression that because my emails had question marks in them, that they were mere requests rather than the politely worded implied threats of violence that they really are. Boys are funny.

*Carves voodoo doll shapes of noncompliant guest blogger volunteers*

So, I bid you adieu.

Again.

Here is today’s song of the day: (Are you) the one that I’ve been waiting for by Nick Cave.

I like Nick Cave’s music a lot. But sometimes it sounds downright evil, like some reverse Gregorian chant. But this is what I’ve been listening to these days. Over and over. He’s calling me. I think his basement must be littered with the bones of the women he sings about. About whom he sings. Whatever.

Out of sorrow entire worlds have been built
Out of longing great wonders have been willed
They’re only little tears, darling, let them spill

O we will know, won’t we?
The stars will explode in the sky
O but they don’t, do they?
Stars have their moment and then they die

There’s a man who spoke wonders though I’ve never met him
He said, “He who seeks finds and who knocks will be let in”

And for your combo moment of Zen and makeup Pulp Fiction day: One minute you’re taking a dump, the next minute you’re being pumped full of lead from your own gun cause your partner has found the Lord and become a Jesus freak. And then you die.

But there are worse things than monkey paw wine

Tuesday, July 20th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

“The day I bring an Od-ing bitch to your house, I’ll give her the shot!”

What now?

Tuesday, July 13th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Obviously, I love this scene. Who doesn’t?! How many of us has stared into the face of some dipshit and promised to go medieval on his or her ass with some pipe hitting nigg*s? Oh, just me then? How awkward for me.

However, it’s the scene just after this, I really wanted to get at. When Butch says:

“No, what now between you and me?”

And Marcellus says “Oh, that what now.”

The first time I saw that scene it just bout BLEW my MIND! And each time I’ve seen it since…like dyaam.

When to squash the beef? Yeah, after the guy who dicked you out of a six figure payday saves you from rapists seems like a good time. However, it’s not just like Butch *assumes* the beef is squashed. He knows he did wrong, he knows Marcellus has every right to kill him. And it’s not like Marcellus is just a blubbering grateful “my hero,” mess about it either. Butch saved his life, sure, but Butch is a liar and a cheat, the code dictates that he die. The very same code that dictates that he go medieval on Mister rapist on the floor. So, Butch’s hesitating broach of the subject, Marcelluses’ measured compromise that Butch be allowed to run and never return…it’s just like wow.

I love it!

Birthright

Tuesday, July 6th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Because it’s the birthday season and while I love presents, I just can’t stress enough how much I do not want anything that was up your asses for four long years.

I say this because I care.

I do not want you to die of dysentery.

It goeth before the fall (by guest blogger F-train)

Tuesday, June 29th, 2010 by Dawn Summers

Three weeks ago I sent Dawn a text asking that the next Pulp Fiction Tuesdays post be the scene with Ving Rhames telling Bruce Willis, “That’s pride fucking with you.”

Her reply, and this is a direct quote, was, “So guest post! I am not your worker monkey.” I laughed, because she is TOTALLY my worker monkey. Has slavery taught us nothing? I’m the white guy, she’s the black woman. Worker monkey, thy name is Dawn Summers!

I obviously did not reply to Dawn’s skin-tone-blind remark and instead figured that Dr. Joseph must have been right all those years ago. Imagine my surprise, on Monday three days later, when I received another text. “Where’s my Pulp Fiction Tuesday guest post? Where?!”

Dawn knows that right now I am working 16-hour days at the World Series of Poker, 6 or 7 days a week. I barely have enough time to post something to my own site, never mind provide her with my labor and wit. For free! Outrageous. (I LOL’d For realz just now! – Ed.)

My cries of sleep deprivation fell on deaf ears.

“You think I *care* about your schedule? Get it done! Get it done NOW!” There may also have been some shaking of fists and some imaginary lamp-throwing. It was all quite childish, but I can forgive Dawn that immaturity because she is still only 29 years old. Maturity comes when you hit 30.

Now truth be told, I find Dawn to be an engaging, witty, and entertaining writer. To be asked (well, ordered) to post something on her site was flattering in a small way. But dammit I am NOT “her nigga”! I am definitely not her nigga without being handed an envelope stuffed full of cash beforehand, and even then it’d be a game-time decision.

But that was just pride fucking with me. And so, like a past-his-prime boxer ordered to take a dive, I finally submitted a Pulp Fiction Tuesdays post to Dawn. Some things – things like avoiding Dawn’s wrath – are more important than pride.