Erin Go Bragh. How sweet it is not to be riding the subway any more, especially on St. Patrick's Day amidst the drunken parade-goers. How unusual to have such gorgeous weather on March 17th. The Luck of the Irish was not an ironic phrase this year.
I hadn't even set up fully for the afternoon shift when a gentleman pounced on a Keb Mo blues CD. Thanks, sir. I've now sold ten of Marie's donation of 35. And a guy named Howie bought three children's books, including one on the wildly popular Garfield, during the evening shift. I hope he returns, as he said he would. Thanks, my man.
I got around to watching Get Him to the Greek, courtesy of Netflix. Directed by Nick Stoller, it is the story of a corporate flunky who helps a druggie rock star make a comeback at a venue where a live recording was made, which sent the rocker's career skyrocketing the first time around. It had many good moments and even a great one at its climax, distasteful though it was. I'm not a big fan of comedy, although this film tried to be more than that. The raunch-factor of modern work almost always turns me off, the only exception being the Farrelly brothers' Kingpen, which has two scenes that still make me laugh whenever I think of them. Jonah Hill as the flunky and Russell Brand as the star did well in their roles, as did Sean Combs (Puff Daddy? P Diddy?) as the vulgar, cynical boss. I wonder if he patterned the role after anyone in particular. Many real life stars make cameos, including Pink, whose flash was memorable. Stoller directed Forgetting Sarah Marshall, and there are a couple of references to her in Greek. I did not see it, so the moments were lost on me. On a scale of five: two and a half.
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