Please turn off your cell phones, sit back and enjoy the show.

In a PS from the last post … My Superlube deal got even better … I won an entrée from BoneFish. More free food!

Hopefully, it’s an indication my luck will soon turn. I’m not holding my breath or anything, but the odds have to fall in my favor sometime, right?

I had another interview today, applied to about five other jobs (including a part time one) and have a call in about some temp work. I’m stalking jobsites all day long. Basically, I’m at a loss as far as what else I could do.

So to kill time, I’m checking out movies. Not necessarily good ones – right now “Home Fries” is on, courtesy of Netflix, and Luke Wilson isn’t enough to save it – but the quantity is there.

My father hooked up the Netflix to some new electronic equipment, and now he can run movies directly through the TV instead of putting a hole in the wall and hooking his keyboard up to the big TV. (The hole’s still there.)

Kocur and I watched “Where the Red Fern Grows,” and yesterday I saw the classic “Diner.” Holy crap, Kevin Bacon looked like he was 18, and I realized Steve Guttenberg – remember him? – looks a lot like Paul Reiser, who’s also in it. I could barely tell their characters apart.

Although I’d seen “Diner” one time before, I really didn’t remember it. I definitely appreciated it more this time around, although to me, it was just an all-male “St. Elmo’s Fire.” Yes, I know “Diner” preceded “Fire.” Heck, the film was made when Mickey Rourke looked like he was from Earth.

The find of the week, though, was this little documentary called "My Date with Drew." It was some aspiring filmmaker's journey to get a date with Drew Barrymore. He'd won $1100 on a game show (to which the answer of the winning question was "Drew Barrymore") and decided that he'd find a way to ask her out.

He wanted to see if, essentially, a nobody would be able to find and meet her in order to ask. He gave himself 30 days (he rented a video camera with the intention of returning it), but it wound up taking longer.

Using degrees of separation, he gave it a shot but didn't succeed. After returning the camera, he made a website and eventually got some attention from media. And Drew found out and had her people contact him.

It was just a cute idea. Netflix has some bizarre stuff.

In the non-Netflix film category, Zippy and I cashed in some My Coke Rewards and got movie passes.

My choice: “True Grit.” And luckily as well as unexpectedly, Zippy is a Coen Brothers fan. We had watched “Fargo” in the log cabin in Utah and “Burn After Reading” a few weeks ago. She disavows any knowledge of ever seeing John Malkovich before; I don’t understand how that’s possible.

I will have to dig up my copy of “Raising Arizona” to show her at some point. That’s still my favorite. And Nicolas Cage’s best work, by far.

Anyway.

Tuesday at the almost-abandoned Tallahassee mall isn’t the most popular time to see a movie. (Although Belk’s was a place to be, with Zippy nabbing two pairs of pants for $10 each.) We sauntered in with our free movie tickets and super-sized Cokes courtesy of My Coke Rewards, taking a mid-level middle seat.

There couldn’t have been more than 20 people in the theater, and that’d be padding it a little. Everyone was seated in groups of two, and we watched the usual coming attractions.

Note: I honestly don’t think there are any new movie ideas out there. Another “Transformers”? Seriously? I can’t remember seeing anything – even Johnny Depp as a gecko/iguana/whatever – that remotely interested me. (I suppose by that assertion it’s obvious they didn’t show a preview of “Pirates” 4.)

I’d never read the book True Grit, and even though I am confident I saw the John Wayne version, I have no memory of it.

I swear, I laughed throughout the movie, even at the hanging. I don’t know who the actor portraying the third criminal – the condemned Indian – was, but the voice was John Redcorn from “King of the Hill.” (Jonathan Joss - I looked him up.) He only had about half a spoken line – no one in the West, of course, cared what the Indian had to say so he got bagged and hung quickly – but I know that was the guy.

I laughed so loud so many times I thought everyone else must think I was some sort of mean-spirited individual. But the whole thing was just so funny. I loved Mattie Ross’ style of speaking and bargaining, etc. “Well, one would be as unpleasant as the other.” “I do not care a thing about guns. If I did, I would have one that worked.”

And no one else laughed. Ever, I don’t think. But I figured it out. Everyone but me was in the “older” category and I don’t think they kept up with the rapid speech, nuances, speech patterns and the digs. I tried to explain the “f-e-u-d-a-l” instead of “futile” to my mother afterwards and she didn’t get it. She didn’t get a lot of it, but she did enjoy it.

It sucks getting older. My brother, who hits 40 this year, texted Zippy to ask the time of day he was born. Zippy assumed it had something to do with his philosophy class (which, I think, is the bane of his existence right now) but when she asked him he said no, he just wanted to know exactly how much time he had before he hit 40.

And we’re all inching up there. Proof of age pops up when you’re not expecting it.

Sunday, I went to church. It’s only my second Sunday and I don’t know anyone, so I planned on slinking in unnoticed. I timed it to come in during the singing, which is traditionally after the “Find someone you don’t know and make them more comfortable! spiel, which really makes me more uncomfortable.

I got there during the last song, which meant I stood in the stairwell (the balcony is less conspicuous) so as not to walk in during the singing. This is common in sports – well, it SHOULD be common in sports – and apparently, this church respects the etiquette, too.

As I stood in the stairwell, another man came up. He was a tad older, with salt and pepper hair and distinct Indian features (the Asian kind, not the American kind.) Not bad looking. At all. We nodded at each other and proceeded to wait out the extraordinarily long worship song.

A bit later, a family of four came up the stairs to wait, too. Apparently coming in late isn’t restricted to uncomfortable guests. After the obligatory nods hello, I stole another glance at the really good-looking guy.

Just as the newly arriving husband shook his hand and asked, “So, how’s the grandbaby?”

No such thing as a free lunch, but with dinner you get a bonus

The updates are few and far between, I realize. Sorry. I’ve yet to fall into an unemployment routine, though I’m not sure if that’s good, bad or irrelevant.

I do have a job interview Friday, near Orlando. I’m not really positive of what the job is, but when I did a “skills match” search, it popped up.

The weeks are a bit blurry because I have no concept of what day it is. I mean, when it’s all off time, it’s not like it makes much of a difference. I sort of have a vague idea of either the day or the date, but not usually both in the same 24-hour span.

At the moment, I’m in the greater Tallahassee area but I have no idea how long it will last. Through January, I’m fairly confident, I’ll be around but I’ve got some travel planned for February.

First, there’s a softball tournament in Palm Springs, Calif., and Zippy found a Left Coast-ish team that will have her. She also has a Delta companion ticket, so I get to be a hanger-on for Old Lady Ball Feb. 10-14. Happy Valentine’s Day!

I suppose that sounds sad, but hey, it’s a mostly-free trip to sunny (inchallah) California. I’ll take it. I’ve never been to Palm Springs. I hear it’s where Elvis and Priscilla honeymooned.s

Then there’s a career fair for RPCVs later in the month (not too much later since the month is so short). I’ve registered and bought my plane ticket up there, but am holding out on the ticket back because I’m trying to decide if I should crash any offices and beg them to hire me.

In between, I’d love to score some work for the Wings-Lightning game, but I’ll have to check on that and see if anyone I know needs help.

So I’m not really getting into a routine just yet. I’m not sure if I should, but I do want to look into the French class again. Especially since I still have custody of the textbook, which I neglected to return.

I like taking classes and learning new things. It’s a lot of fun. I’m a little bummed my Red Cross class got canceled last week and I can’t do this week’s because I have to go to Orlando for a job interview.

So, in poking around for things to do, Zippy ran across this women’s car care clinic, put on by Super Lube. It was free, so we signed up to go. I never saw the announcement, but Zippy is one of that declining breed that reads every column inch of the newspaper and she ran across it.

This afternoon, we scrambled to figure out exactly where it was and in doing so, discovered that we were getting free pizza for dinner! Since part of the day’s plan involved the task of trying to figure out where to go to eat, that helped out right there.

The little maintenance class was informative for most, although I pretty much could have taught it. For some reason, I thought they were going to demonstrate how to change the oil – which I already know – but once we got there I realized it would be silly for Super Lube to empower a bunch of people to take their business. Instead, we got a lesson on the fluids, air filter and tires.

We also got some tasty pizza with side dishes and soft drinks, which made the trip worthwhile in itself. But as if that wasn’t enough, we also got both a token for a car wash AND one for an oil change – over $35.

Man, that was just the best deal I’ve had in a long time. (Especially if you consider Lester’s semi-indecent proposal.) We got dinner, a free car wash and a free oil change in return for standing outside in the cold and getting a refresher course on how to top off fluids in the car.

Heck, I could have made do with just the reminder to check my tires before leaving for Orlando tomorrow.

Semi-indecent proposal

First, the backstory:

I'm single. Most everyone knows that. I'm not exactly looking for man, since I'd rather have a job. There's also the whole EC factor, who, while still in Morocco, still turns up like a bad dirham here and there.

I'm fairly content holding off on men, at least for now. Afer all, I am still crashing at my parents' place, and between my stuff and my brother's stuff -- not to mention Daddy's hording -- there's no place to put one anyway.

Even though I'm not in the market, well-meaning people try to push.

Over the summer, this happened at my old shop. I'd taken off Thursday from job-hunting to stuff envelopes at FLW, which really hasn't changed much since I've been gone. The same core people who were there during my 1987-1996 tenure are still there and many, many things are the same, including the tradition of allowing any Tom, Dick or Harriet come in and stuff envelopes on Thursdays.

(There are fewer envelopes now than when I was there -- some cutbacks to the economy, and some to online editions. FLW, unlike newspapers, doesn't give away its online content, though!)

Continuing the backstory, one of the people who comes in weekly -- I'll call him Lester -- is a friend and neighbor of one of the Print Shop Boys. Lester is an older man and seems to be friendly and outgoing. He hosts a summer Fourth of July Party for his neighborhood block, which I'll get to in a minute.

We chatted that first week I stuffed envelopes beside him, just making small talk. Some of the small talk involved this other guy he knows and I'd met by happenstance -- Print Shop Boy Neighbor's office birthday party, thrown a day I wandered in off the streets.

I'd been under the impression that both Lester and ...let's call him Divorce-in-Waiting stuffed envelopes weekly, so I asked where DIW was that particular week. Well, turns out, DIW has some other job and is merely PSBN's neighbor. Oh.

Lester continues and tells me what a nice guy DIW is, and how evil his soon-to-be ex-wife is. My former boss (who's never met him personally) PSBN and Lester all mention that DIW is a really nice guy and his wife cheated on him, threw him out but hasn't yet filed for divorce.

OK. Enough drama for my first day stuffing envelopes.

Well, enough until the next day, when Former Boss calls me to first ask me to come in and do some more work but also to add that Lester stayed late the previous day to ask if he could get my number to give to DIW. FB asked me if it was OK to pass on my number, and I, having nothing better to do and not really having an excuse to say no, agree.

Well, nothing happens, and then I got the job at the overnight camp. Something like two days before camp (over a week and possibly close to two weeks after the number handoff) he calls. Lord.

Up until then, I probably wouldn't have minded having lunch or something. But at this point, I was committed to the YMCA Camp From Hell (I'm liking these acronyms -- humor me), so I really wasn't free. I was there five nights a week, leaving there Friday afternoon and returning early Sunday morning. All I wanted to do on my days off was nap with my dog.

On the Fourth, I made an honest attempt to meet DIW at Lester's party. Sadly, I am inept at directions and could not locate the party in question. I literally drove in circles for an hour trying to find it. I asked directions ("It's right down the hill. You can't miss it.") and missed it. I grew frustrated and left.

And I called the next day to apologize, which was maybe the second time I'd spoken to DIW. I'd had one conversation and a few back-and-forth emails but no far, not a single spark emerged, at least from my side.

See, all I know of this man is he's "a nice guy," is separated but not divorced, and has two children. (I learned this week that bother are daughters: one's in college and one's in high school. Stay tuned.) He's also 9-10 years older than me, which, as Dana and I would agree, isn't in my decade. I asked him what he did for a living and it involved some kind of -- I think; I didn't really understand -- large equipment repair. It did not interest me, but of course, "former sports writer" is a buzzword for any man.

So I went all through the YMCA CFH without being able to spare a moment, and then I dispatched myself to Wyoming for two more months. About mid-June, I got an e-mail from him asking when I'd be back and "Around October" was my reply.

Of course, by then, I'd taken another contract job and darted off for Morocco, and truthfully, the thought of DIW hadn't even crossed my mind since about then.

--------end backstory-----begin proposal------

But I'm back to joblessness and ventured back into FLW this week to stuff envelopes. Lester's there, a permanent Thursday fixture.

I work at a different table than him and we finish extremely early (this happens when I am there -- man, I have a God-given talent for stuffing envelopes) and we're making small talk.

"So, you're in and out of town a lot, right?" he asks.

I tell him yes. I'm back until something else emerges.

He continues, "Do you have a place to stay while you're here?"

I explain that I stay with my parents (if I had money to live someplace else, I'd move out of the state, but for now Tallahassee's great).

He then, completely serious, tells me he has a friend -- "You know [DIW]." DIW, Lester explains, has two daughters (this is when I learn their ages), and while the older one is a good kid, the younger one is a "troubled girl."

DIW, as I know, has to be gone overnight sometimes. (Lester tells me this, but honestly I didn't know because the whole job description thing bored me to badly I guess my brain glazed over this fact. I didn't understand it.)

What DIW needs, Lester goes on to say, is someone who will move in and take care of his daughter and keep her in line.

My jaw about hit the floor. What exactly does this proposal entail, seriously? I mean, I don't know DIW from Adam's housecat, but given that I am positive he is the nice guy people credit him as being, I seriously doubt he'd want Lester advocating some strange woman moving in and taking over.

And Lester was heart attack serious. He honestly thought that I'd jump at the opportunity to become a rent-paying adjunct member of a pre-existing family.

Can you imagine? I imagine if DIW hears about the proposal, he'd collapse (or at least down a beer) in embarassment. In what world does a roommate -- especially one someone's been trying to set up with the homeowner on a blind date -- jump in as Surrogate Mom to "troubled" teenage girls?

I'm sure that'd go over well.

-----

Well, I guess it is the best job offer I've had in the last week.

2010 ends with manna from heaven and a 10-win season

Got back from South Carolina again last night. Karen had one more catering event and since I didn't have anything else to do, I went back Monday to help prepare.

It was a drop-in party for about 150 people, so I spent two days making things like bacon-wrapped dates (so Moroccan, and yet so not!) and ham biscuits with Jezebel sauce. Thursday morning, we completely busted it until about 11:30 a.m., then we took a break until leaving to set up at 1 p.m.

After that, it was rush rush until about 8:30, when we loaded it all to lug back home. There really weren't all that many leftovers, either, but man, the serving trays. I washed and washed before we left, then once we got back to the house loaded a ton of punch cups into the dishwasher.

But it went well. The event had been a man's 90th birthday party, and he was quite the celebrity. During the entire party he sat in the living room in a big recliner as people came to wish him a happy birthday. One person said it was like waiting to see the Pope.

One of his guests was a Dr. Watson, who, at 101, is the oldest practicing doctor in the country. Amazing. He got his driver's license taken away, but he is still good to look after people's health. And he drinks regular Coke.

Zippy went up to the Carolinas with me, but she kept going to Charlotte. She returned when I was at the party and we left together Friday morning.

Since there's no direct route from Havana to North Augusta, it means taking back roads. Initially, we hit U.S. 1.

Shortly into the drive, I saw something odd in the median. As passed it, I noticed it was a fairly intact loaf of bread. Weird, I vocalized, assuming it fell off a truck or something.

A couple of miles down the road, there was another one on the other side. Bizarre. A bit later, another appeared.

The pattern continued, and at one point we saw a guy stopped on the side of the road. I thought I saw two loaves next to his truck, and it looked like he was picking him up.

Well, goose - gander and all that crap. At the next loaf sighting, I hit the brakes and pulled over. Zippy got out of the car and ran back to pick it up. I could hear her cackling all the way back to the car, which was something since I was laughing uncontrollably, too.

I guess the bread truck had run low about then. We only saw one more loaf, and yes, I stopped. Zippy popped out and ran back before the car came to a complete stop. I watched her in the rear view and noticed her reach down to the side of the road even before she reached the original loaf -- she'd found another.

So we returned to Florida three loaves of bread richer. It was hysterically funny, honestly, and the bread (three different brands) is perfectly good. It had to have fallen off a truck destined for a homeless shelter or something.

Once reunited with Kocur, I watched the Chick-Fil-A bowl. We'd thought about going, but beyond the $80 ticket barrier, we didn't think FSU would win. Happily, E.J. Manuel (who should have had the start in the first place !) had other plans and the Noles have their first 10-win season since 2003.

Other than the whole unemployment thing, the end of 2010 was pretty darn awesome.