Six days on, one day off and THE BLOB (91)

Seemingly this is how things work:

1. I hate my job. I work in a fancy mall where ferries putt-putt bedraggled masses of wealthy tourists from the Midwest and beyond to-and-fro. Sometimes actual San Franciscans enter this pointed building, but this are the type wearing suits, talking shop about numbers and developing countries, the type who wear North Face and full spandex bike outfits and debate the amount of pounds lost in the last few days. It is a horrible place of endless lines and Disneyland coffee machines and it has over the two months I've worked their slowly worn away at my body and soul. Two weeks ago I decided I needed to find a new job.

2. Alex and I decide to eat lunch at a small, delicious Italian restaurant near our house where a friend of mine makes coffee. It is delicious and the neighborhood is small, but up-and-coming, and there's a real sense of community in the area. I am pleased enough that our food is delicious and I get to spend an afternoon with my lady friend.

3. On the way out I inquire to the small, wiry, spunky waitress if my buddy is working. He is not, but perhaps in compensation she instead offers me a job in the coffee shop. I stutter, exhausted and sort of shocked at the way life work and except.

4. For the next two weeks I will work six days in a row, then fumble through a pseudo-day off, and then jump back in to another grueling stretch of six days. But after that, after that, the hellish world of the Ferry Terminal will be a thing of the past. I might not head down that a way for a long long while.

And that's how life works I guess, you think of something you want, and it suddenly appears in the form of a tiny little restaurant in Dogpatch. You should try it.

The Blob (91) ended up like so many of those cheeky 1950s horror films you've seen bits of on television and what not. Sure it starts out with a big rolly jelly bean of a creature killing old people and rolling it's soggy self down the streets of small-town America. And sure, there's that classic dispute between the young and the old, because don't we all know the young can't be trusted and the old are bastions of wisdom. And there's good-natured police and mistrusting other police and again that slimy ball of ooze killing things left and right.

Sure, that's how they always start.

But in the end, just like the rest, the young and the old join together to find a handful of fire extinguishers and put that gooey beast down for good. Sure there's a near death, and a child with a cap gun, and a squishy mess in a movie theatre, but c'mon 1950s, can't you just get a little bit more creative with the whole "old and young come together to save the day" thing. I want gang wars in the street, and King Blob ruling small town America from a chocolate throne atop a hill. Not this gee-shucks, don't you know darn it crap.

Mark this one off as a piffle. A tiny gust of perfumed air that I will not be revisiting.

Tuesday: Fiend Without A Face (92)