Buffa's Buffet, Volume 66: 5 things on my mind

Here we are, at the bridge to the weekend once again. Let's talk first.

The time has come to tell you what’s on my mind. Let’s do five. Why? It’s fairly simple. “5 things” lists, or any listicle, are kettle corn for a writer. 

While it may annoy some readers, I can’t proclaim loud enough that it’s an easy highway with no bumps for a word mixer. Instead of producing 500-1,000 words about a topic or driving a mix tape off the road with no established order, there’s a set goal. 

Five things on my mind starts now. 

Seth Rogen is either beloved or despised among entertainment fans. He lives in the Will Ferrell lane of movie comedy, coming off as naturally hilarious or someone you’d like to punch. I’m a fan, and I became an even bigger one after hearing an interview he gave about not having any children with his wife of many years, Lauren. 

Rogen’s reasons were blunt: they’ve never wanted kids. It’s not a hate for them; more like a desire for a looser life. As Rogen hilariously puts it, you can’t lie around naked in bed smoking pot with your wife when there’s a kid roaming your house. The dogs will just look at you two funny while monitoring the action. A kid will eventually eat that weed. 

What’s my take on this?

I love his take. Love or hate his Hollywood credits-which include writing, directing, and acting-but you should respect his honesty. While it wasn’t by accident, I am glad my fascination with cannabis didn’t start until Vinny could think for himself. No fuss. No bullshit. Rogen wants kids... only more than his wife, who shuts down the idea every time that mortality bell rings. Good for them. 

Bad parents are made from people who either didn’t want kids or weren’t ready for them. This unfortunate production leads to poorly raised and developed kids, which slows the whole operation down via crime or punishment, thus making the idea of a purge more logical. 

Have kids if you’re ready, which means wanting them first and foremost. It’s not an achievement until the end. You have to be strapped in for the 9 month ride, and then the rest of their life. If not, stay single when it comes to reproduction. Leave something else behind instead of a blood line. 

Rogen would rather live his life than the one designed for him. Don’t have someone you’d need to give the onus of your existence to. That’s all I got on that deep-ish opening. 

Let’s talk baseball. The Cardinals are into their spring schedule, and Jordan Walker has wasted no time bashing pitching. Now, it’s not the batting average or home runs I’m excited about. It’s the swing. The level swing, I mean!

Yankees pitcher Gerrit Cole noted after a game earlier this week that Walker’s poise and plate discipline were top notch, more advanced than a normal rookie. He also talked about his level swing. The intangibles for this kid are off the chart; he’s just further along. 

I’ll still advise you to stay seated on his progression in 2023. He still hasn’t faced true first class regular season pitching just yet. He’s doing everything else, checking the boxes up and down for a top prospect. All that’s left is doing it in April, and then May. Maybe June and July too if he’s not busy. 

St. Louis needs someone to step up, outside of their perennial MVP candidates. It could be Brendan Donovan becoming for real. It could be Tyler O’Neill or Dylan Carlson coming back to form. Or Walker and Juan Yepez could lead the way. 

They’re still a division favorite; not sure what after that. Stay tuned. I need real games to get going. Spring training is a time when big time players should be bubble-wrapped, rookies should get all the at-bats, and needs become more visible.

The Blues won a game last night. It was their second win since Feb. 16, which isn’t too bad considering they somehow morphed into the 2005-06 team. Both of those wins came against San Jose, who couldn’t benefit from a hand pass this time around. Thinking about 2019 is a good drug right now for a fanbase watching a team in transition.

The rebuild isn’t massive, but it’s apparent. The team has two extra first round picks to play with this summer, and that doesn’t include their extra slots below. Doug Armstrong takes big swings as a general manager, and that will result in a few misses.

Colton Parayko and Torey Krug are Blues for a while. There’s no getting around it. Thankfully, they each contributed a point in Thursday’s victory. Savor the wins, folks.

Traffic insight. Bad drivers are everywhere, but the very bad ones have a new weapon these days: Cell phones. I can be glued to my screen often, but not when the car is in motion. If you see me on my phone while driving at a higher speed than 15 mph, message or email me: buffa82@gmail.com. Sound off. Blow me up on Twitter.

These people are literally living inside their phone screen as they drive 30-40 mph, braking aggressively after every intersection passage. As in, they suddenly wondered how the fuck they made it this far without crashing into something.

Driving isn’t easy. Whoever said that was operating a vehicle at the lowest speed limit possible. This is the person rowing down the interstate as if they were being guided by a camel. The ones who need to be worried about. It’s a hard task, but very learnable. Don’t overthink it.

The number you see on the black and white signs along the road: that’s a limit, not a starting point. The light colors should be known by now. You get the idea of staying in your own lane. Don’t brake like a beast before a right turn. Go faster as you merge onto a highway, instead of looking like a stranded duck.

The Oscars are overcooked, overrated, and a collective circle jerk convention. Instead of watching the show on Sunday, I will be watching Jeremy Renner try to build a bridge between criminals and cops on the Paramount Plus gem, Mayor of Kingstown. It’s another Taylor Sheridan joint. The cast is great, the episodic plot grows layers with each hour, and the mix of action and drama is potent without being overwhelming.

That’s a better way to spend your time than with spoiled rich people. I’ll watch them in front of the camera on a set, instead of the Kodiak. My interest level followed the thrill out the door, leaving behind mild interest. However, the Academy doesn’t reward the movies I love.

Pig received zero nominations. End of Watch: zero. Heat: zero.

Chef. Zero nominations. Too foodie-driven, not depressing. Too many food trucks of comfort food, instead of sad Irish friends or Steven Spielberg begging you to look at his life through a 2.5 hour homegrown lens. Let someone else make that movie, dude. But the Oscars still love you. That guy could make a porno where E.T. fucks Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Hanks directs, and people would award it. Heck, I could be into it.

Anyway, I’m out with that stuff. Last week, I participated in an Oscars discussion. Instead of drooling over the nominees, Mark Reardon and I just honestly dished on the current state of film, awards, the relationship between the makers and consumers, and how we’ve grown out of touch with it all.

I’m a semi-retired film critic. Proud of the move, a personal choice. Short story long, I don’t want to see everything anymore. Selective is my new practice, especially with a physically taxing and mentally draining job. We owe Hollywood and its players nothing. Our attention is optional.

And if they don’t like what I say, that’s too bad. They’re paid by the time we see it anyway. They bitch about a review, and people go nuts. Here’s the thing. Filmmakers and creators are living on the other side of the wall from their audience and film critics. We view. They make.

They aim to be subjective, pulling from their past experiences. A film critic’s job is to be objective, resisting the urge to flat out love something based on a past pleasure. It’s my gauntlet with each Jon Bernthal movie. I’ll always be a film critic. Just a less active one these days.

See what you want, and stop worrying about the box office grosses--unless it’s your job to cover that chaos, like the esteemed Scott Mendelsohn. I can barely keep my own financials in order without burning my brain over the gross of the latest Scream film. Meh. Give me Adam Driver and dinosaurs in 65 instead.

Goodnight. It’s the weekend again.