Attention Bums: Stop Calling Me 'Sir'

In the past week or two, I've been approached by a good dozen or so bums. In California, I gather, this is no big thing. But what's really pissing me off ain't the sacrificed cigarettes and pocket change, it's the way they address me. "Excuse me, sir," "Hello, sir, could I.....,""Pardon Me, Sir," and so on and so forth.

I'm not old enough to be a "Sir," bums. I just turned 25. I know my stately paunch and dismissive air may lead to the wrong impression, but let's face it, what separates me from you guys is only a misplaced ATM card and a bender too far. Keep your Sirs to yourselves, ok?

In other news, I've moved to San Diego. We'll see where this goes. First impressions:

1) Mexicans everywhere. Oh, excuse me, I meant Latinos everywhere.

That's pretty much it so far. I'm not very observant.

Zodiac, or, 'Let's Have a Go of It for 2 1/2 Hours Then Just Stop'

Oooh, creepy poster. It's got...fog...and a bridge. Plus it's night I guess, so that's bad.

Saw the new Zodiac movie today, the one starring the drug addict, the gay cowboy, and the d00d who's face you recognize but whose name you can't never 'member. It was disappointing.

Maybe it's because the reviews were positive, maybe it's b/c the ticket-tearer piped up with 'hey, I hear that's really good' on the way in...whatever the reason I was let down.

Oh, I know, maybe it's because we have this intense investigation that drives the whole plot, we weave in and out of a shitload of suspects/false leads/creepy encounters for 2 1/2 hours and then all of a sudden everything just stops. Seriously, it's like they ran out of film or something. We never know for sure if 'Leigh' did it, we never have a final confrontation with him, we don't even get a creepy "but he's still out there" final scene with a fade to black and sinister music a la Silence of the Lambs. Instead, everything just stops. The final scene is in an airport 10 years after all the action with two characters who weren't even featured significantly in the story. This is how it goes:

Coppish Guy: Hey man, what's up? Which one of these doods is that badass killer we've been chasing for two decades?

Dirty Guy: It's that guy right there, bro.

Coppish Guy: You sure?

Dirty Guy: Yeah, man.

(Roll credits)

What a fucking tease. The last act of this movie was the cinematic equivalent of a cold shower.

I know, I know, it was based on a true story and that's what really happened, and the gay cowboy had his book published and all calling Leigh out, and the explainer paragraphs at the end pretty much assure us he was right. But it was a really bad ending to a movie. If you're gonna tell a story, then you need a climax, and if you have to take a few liberties with the truth in attaining one, well, that's what you do. If I just want the facts I'll watch a documentary.

Still, it was better than 300.

This man is my hero

Why? Here's why:

Click me, bitch!

Wow.