Give a Hoot - Save a Tree

With the new furniture and the removal of all my "tacky" belongings from the living room, it has been looking a little bare, despite the huge overstuffed furniture crammed against every available wall. As such, I've been getting some nice, tasteful wall coverings to class up the joint a little bit. Two new framed pictures give the room some much needed color, and distract the eye from my slovenly nature and tendency to leave empty Dr Pepper cans strewn about the place.

The primary problem I have now is that the entertainment center looks woefully undersized, now that the end tables are no longer flanking it. Particularly the one corner, where all the wires live. It's very computer-science-white-trash, right now with all the coaxial cables and what have you. So yesterday when I was out getting the Art (the Art is capitalized because it is both serious and adult) and I happened upon an artificial tree on clearance, I snapped it up faster than you could say "plastic ficus." What better way to hide unsightly cables than with a fake tree in a pot? No better way, I say.

Now, I don't know if you've ever tried to transport a five and a half foot tall artificial tree out of a store, across a parking lot, into a truck, across town, and then into an apartment, but if not let me be the first to tell you, there is no way to do it gracefully. You can't put it in a cart, because it's too tall for the doors, and you can't just carry it by the trunk, because you'll pull the base out of the pot. Instead, you have to carry it by the base and sort of squat and angle the plant each time you traverse a door. And when you walk through the parking lot, people look at you really funny-like.

Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that my artificial ficus came 'pre-lit for [my] convenience' with little white Christmas lights, so not only was I carrying a huge fake tree through the Best Buy parking lot, I was doing it with unseasonal white-trash-style Christmas lights brushing against my face.

And of course the plant does not fit inside the truck of malfunction. No no, I must stick it in the bed for all the world to see that I see to be confused on several levels - that a) it is not Christmas and b) even if it were Christmas, that is a ficus, not a Christmas tree.

But now it is in my apartment and it looks pretty good. Frnak says that it re-tackifies my living room after all that hard work removing the swirling Madonna and rainbow mirror, but I think it's a very serious, very adult plant. I mean, come on, it's pre-lit for my convenience!

9 Reasons Why Flightplan is Nothing Like Panic Room

(Rampant, Rampant Spoilers ahead, for every movie Jodie Foster has ever starred in, particularly Flightplan and Panic Room, but possibly even the original 70's version of Freaky Friday and that horrible Nell. Don't say I didn't warn you.)

This weekend Flightplan, starring the irrepressible Jodie Foster, opened at #1 in the box office, taking in over 24 million dollars in its first weekend. Despite this impressive debut, many laypeople have scoffed at Ms. Foster's latest theatrical offering, calling it nothing more than Panic Room on a Plane.

I must admit, even I may have been tempted to such comparisons. The two movies may at first glance seem very similar - Jodie Foster as a single mother protecting her young daughter in extraordinary circumstances in a claustrophobic atmosphere.

But I am here fresh off a viewing of said Flightplan and I must make it known that the two movies couldn't be more different. In fact, I now present 9 Reasons Why Flightplan is Nothing Like Panic Room:

1. In Flightplan, the daughter Jodie Foster is protecting is only 9. In Panic Room, the daughter was, like, at least 12.
2. In Flightplan, one of the bad guys is Only-Okay-Looking-But-Really-Good-Actor Peter Sarsgaard. In Panic Room, one of the bad guys was Really-Good-Looking-But-Only-Okay-Actor Jared Leto.
3. In Flightplan, the daughter goes unconscious due to drugs unknown. In Panic Room, the daughter goes unconscious due to insulin shock.
4. In Flightplan, there is overt racial stereotyping of Arab-Americans as terrorists. In Panic Room, the racial stereotyping is more of an undercurrent and it focuses on African-Americans as burglars.
5. In Flightplan, Jodie Foster clocks a bad guy in the face with a fire extinguisher. In Panic Room, she uses a sledgehammer.
6. In Flightplan, Jodie Foster's husband is thrown off a roof. In Panic Room, he just gets tied to a chair and beaten to a bloody pulp.
7. In Flightplan, the bad guys are after 50 million dollars to be wired into an offshore account. In Panic Room, the bad guys want 22 million dollars in bearer bonds. That's a difference of 28 million dollars!
8. In Flightplan, when Jodie Foster causes an explosion she incinerates the bad guy. In Panic Room, Jodie's explosion only incinerates the bad guy's dreadlocks.
9. At the end of Flightplan, when Jodie Foster and her daughter walk away unharmed, the screen fades to white. At the end Panic Room, when they walk away unharmed, the screen fades to black.

See? Totally different movies, y'all.

Also, keep your eyes open for Jodie Foster's next totally different movie, Habitat, in which she and her 6 year-old daughter are trapped in a futuristic underwater habitat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and are terrorized by, ...lets say Asians (Led by BD Wong - Good Looking and Good Actor) who want 100 million dollars in gold doubloons. Little do they know that Jodie is a brilliant scientist who designed the habitat herself.

Pointless

About five weeks ago, I went initial furniture shopping. I took the illustrious Frnak with me, so I would have someone there with a modicum of decorum. Primarily to stop me from buying the most immediately tacky and awesome living room set imaginable. Because I tend to love me some tacky.

But this is a serious and adult purchase that I will have to spend the majority of my life (or, y'know, 10 years. A long time, is what I'm getting at) with. I've been saving up for months for this, it has to be perfect. This is my bid for adulthood, actual real furniture, not a 20 year old couch with stains on it older than the majority of my friends and futon that has seen the rise and fall of dynasties.

Back on that old 5 week ago adventure we went to 6 different stores in our quest for the best furniture. I had something very specific in mind - dark, but not too dark, modern but not outlandish, soft and comfortable, yet not painful on the eyes, and within my price range. Sadly, the best option we found was the very first set we laid eyes on in the very first store. It was a bit lighter than I wanted, and a touch higher than my price range. So we moved on, but never found a set that really met expectations.

Cut ahead to this weekend. I've finally gotten everything else in the world squared away, it's time to actually get to making some huge, financially crippling purchases. I once again collect the Frnak (now only 1 room away) and off we go. I want to hit the same stores as last time, only now I'm prepared to lower my standards, and I've got an exact monetary figure in mind. I will get this thing done.

We go back to that first place of lo those many weeks ago. They are having a tent clearance sale. I come within 4 minutes of buying a remaindered bright red couch that would be able to stun small birds just by looking at it. It is soft, and would look okay in my living room. However, it has light stains already, and is covered in leaves. We decide to check inside real quick, just for parity.

An old woman who can speak no louder than a whisper leads us through the store, initially to the most tacky set of furniture I have ever loved, but Frnak is able to steer me away ("You will have to live with this for the next ten years. Will you still be tacky 10 years from now? Okay, maybe you will, but still.") Suddenly we are back in front of that original set from a month ago. It looks even better than last time. And it's now 10% off. Which puts it exactly 50 dollars below my price range.

In a shocking turn of events, I sign up and buy the whole thing in about 10 minutes. I guess that is considered growing up, I didn't have an aneurysm and spend 2 hours bemoaning the situation. We even got to pick the furniture up the same day (Thank God for my truck, even though it is a malfunctioning piece of malfunction, it still gets shit done). Moving the stuff into the house was hideous, as was moving the old stuff elsewhere, but the end result is undeniably sexy. Following the acquisition of some Art for the living room and the removal of a blanket from the wall, my living room will be entirely adult. there's not a tacky thing left in there, unless you count the faux fur curtains, which aren't so much "tacky" as "awesome."

Of course, this means that my bedroom is now tacky in concentrated form. Just peeking inside is enough to blind someone of good taste for life.

So, um, anyways. Very adult, going art shopping this afternoon, living room is awesome. And on a personal note, ow, ow, OW I am sore from moving all that furniture. I have got to start exercising more.

Calling All Ideas

I need some help. Moreso than usual.

I'm working on getting a domain name and a hosting company. I've been toiling away in the secret of night getting my website up and working with actual code and prettiness and graphical fantastic-ness and whatnot. I'm no where near close to completion, but I think getting the domain registered will spur me onwards.

But I've got to find a good domain and I'm without ideas. I let my old one lapse and now it's gone forever to the wind. belligerentandnumerous.com is too long and hard to spell. I've got no good creativity working anymore.

This is where you people come in.

Think think think.

And then comment and let me know.

Trucks, Gigolos, Prayers

I was defeated in my attempt to repair my Truck of Malfunction.

The latest in TOM issues are fivefold: no windshield wiper fluid, broken passenger side wiper, weird oil problems, broken left turn signal cover, and expired registrations. The fluid and the wiper were fixed without issue, as was the oil problem after 7 frustrating minutes when I realized that you should unscrew things to the left. The registration stuff is getting done on Saturday when I have daylight hours to work with. My main issue was with the turn signal cover. I got the replacement part without issue, have had it for ages, actually, but can find no way to get it attached to my TOM.

Yesterday I could practically taste victory, as I had managed to locate and remove every screw that held it in place, removed the bulb and could actually feel the broken piece begin to move. However, I believe it is physically impossible to remove it entirely, because the light fixture is permanently attached to the wires that go to the battery. Short of ripping the plastic housing off the wires, I see no way for success.

That doesn't mean that I didn't spend 65 minutes trying in the middle of my parking lot trying anyway, looking more and more hysterical with every passing second. I HATE working on cars. I feel utterly ridiculous, trying to look like I know what I'm doing, yet perfectly aware that every passing person can tell that I am in fact a completely incompetent, extremely pale homosexual in a poorly fitting muscle T-shirt poking ineffectually at the innards of a car with a screwdriver.

Anyways, I've decided to just screw it all and let the mechanic give it a try before he does the safety inspection. Of course he will replace the entire thing in exactly 13 seconds and make me look incredibly foolish, but after my Car Drama Hour (a play in one act) performance yesterday, my pride is ready to take that hit.

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My boss is in complete terror of the hurricane barreling down on Texas. She is in full End-Times-are-nigh freak out mode, complete with frantic stockpiling of batteries, bottled water, and gasoline. But I admire her resourcefulness, particularly when all the gas stations in the area started shutting down and she managed to fill her own car up and get me and my TOM to the location and topped off by the sheer force of her personality.

While this fill up was going on, the attendant (of course it was a full service gas station. We are high class in Highland Park) asked me if she was my girlfriend. Now, not to hate on my boss, who is awesome in her own insane way, but I am literally half her age. There are many ways to take a question like that: A) I look really old, B) She looks really young, C) the attendant is blind, or D) I look like one of those young, shiny, kept men that you see.

I decided to go with a mixture of B & C, along with a bit the secret answer E) that the attendant was sort of flirting with me. Because A & D are just too depressing to even consider.

In any case, I've got a full tank of gas, 50 tea light candles, and a bag of Oreos with which to wait any storm out. I think I'm prepared.

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Latest projections on the storm have it making landfall directly over Orange. I can get hold of no one down there by phone. Are you kidding me with that "Due to that hurricane in that area, your call cannot be completed" shit? I am reduced to blindly hoping everyone is safe down there. I feel remarkably afraid. Seriously y'all, be safe.

And I swear to God, Brint, if you try to go stand out by a window during this storm, I will punch you in the face myself.

Creative Death

As God as my witness, I refuse to keep resorting to movie reviews to take up blog space. I will post something witty and insightful for once (Lies!) and ignore all the movies I went to this weekend (Broken Flowers, very good, very awkward. Cry_Wolf, much better than I expected, still supremely lame.)

Instead I'm going to discuss food. So I've been completely remiss this week in actually getting up early enough to make up my little lunch to put in a little paper sack to bring with me to my little workplace. I now get up 10 minutes before I need to leave the house and then spend wads of money going out to lunch, a practice that will no doubt bankrupt me at the earliest opportunity.

But this has left me with a very intimate knowledge of all the fast food restaurants within a 15 minute radius of my office. There are few life lessons to be learned from this, but the ones that I've gathered are very close to my heart.

1. The Cabo Chicken Sandwich from Quiznos might be the single most delicious sandwich on the entire planet. And I have eaten a lot of sandwiches. This thing combines basically everything that I love in sandwich-form: chicken, guacamole, bacon, melty cheese, and tangy spicy dressing all housed in the exact portion that I can eat the entire thing and feel exactly full. I know I'm gushing about a sandwich, but I don't care, because it is that good.
2. Wendy's is nice and ridonkulosly cheap, but I seem physically incapable of going in there without making a fool of myself. It's either a trip and fall with all my food, or I run into the pull door thinking it's a push, or I get distracted and order a "Sour cheese baked potato" or what have you. I almost never go there anymore, out of sheer superstitious fear.
3. McDonald's houses every manner of crazed wacko that you can find in a restaurant, all day long. However, there are always a lot of lone people reading books there, just like me, so I feel very at home among the wackos. Plus, I swear their fries have actually gotten more delicious over the past 3 months. When they do my autopsy, I feel confident that my cause of death will be listed as "Whole McDonald's french fry lodged in his aorta." And I'm okay with that.
4. Taco Cabana is easily the least hygienic restaurant on the face of the Earth. I clean my kitchen at most once every 8 days and by that final day I usually get to it by remarking "This is exactly how the Black Plague got started." And yet, Taco C makes that place look like a sterile lab. Still, the food is delicious and features the best food-to-money-spent ratio of all the major chains (Taco Bell not included, as there is not one within my 15 minute radius).
5. Subway is sort of gross, yo. But it gets the title of Chain Closest to my Office, so I go there most often. I don't know what alleged-genius came up with that whole toasted sub thing, but that toaster oven in Subway is basically the exact opposite of what makes Quiznos' toasted subs good. Everything that comes out of that half-microwave/half-toaster spawn of Satan tastes the same, sort of metallic and crunchy, like old croutons that have been exposed to too much iron. Blech.

That's all I got, although I'm gonna go ahead and put out a notice - everyone in the world needs to try the Southern Catfish from Good Eats that they have on special on Monday nights. It's the goddamn best fish that's ever fished, anywhere. Tastes like awesome.

B&N - Now with Inappropriate Cursing

Turns out I'm not the only one in my company with a distaste for morale building days. There's a whole seething pile of resentment out there, just waiting to spill out.

I just talked to a guy in a different office who ended our coversation with the bon mot "motherfuckin' employee recognition, my ass."

My name is Jason and I approve of this message.

Anywhere But Here

I would rather be anywhere else in the world right now than in my office. Edge of an active volcano, the middle of a herd of goats in Idaho, on a raft somewhere in the Pacific Ocean with no companion other than a volleyball - anywhere.

I will give no specifics because I like being able to work at my company, but they are having what is literally the stupidest employee morale day I have ever come remotely in contact with. And in that I'm including the time that I worked as a temp for the employee day up in Plano where grown men were basically forced to engage in carnival games and beat on each other with foam bats.

It combines everything I hate about corporate culture, fake sentiment, really stupid slogans, and bad t-shirts into one complete horror of a day that makes me just want to curl into a tiny ball under my desk.

And I swear, if one more person says the slogan to me today there will be dire consequences.

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An update - before I even managed to post this, two different people called me and chirped the slogan into my ear. I hate people. This day cannot end fast enough.

Asleep at the Wheel

Did you ever have one of those days where you decide to go to bed, but then you can't sleep so you get up and start writing something instead because your mind has been wandering around an idea for a story for a week and then you think it's going very well so you keep at it much longer than you should and end up not getting to bed until well after 2:00 and thus will be utter crap and possibly late for work the next day and then you get to the end and go back to read it all over and realize that it makes not a damn bit of sense and was an utter waste of time?

That may be a little specific, but it's very applicable to me. And it was followed by absolutely disturbing dream wherein I was going on a month long trip to Europe with my friends, except I arrived at the airport with no tickets, no passport, an empty backpack, and was forced to start turning tricks to make my way on the trip.

So today I am utter crap and can't seem to focus my mind on any one task for longer than 7 minutes.

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I am so easily startled these days. A couple of nights ago, I has just gotten back from the store and was parking my truck behind my apartment. I went to get out of the car, but turned back to grab my cell phone from the passenger seat. When I turned around to step out, there was the guy from upstairs right there walking his dog. I was so surprised that I went "Yeargh!" and hit my head on the doorframe. This sent the dog into a mad barking spiral and further cemented my neighbor's conviction that I am the weirdest person in the world.

Yesterday at work I had to take three big boxes downstairs. They were basically empty, but huge, so when I was carrying them they blocked my field of vision and towered slightly over my head. I hopped in the elevator and swiped the ground floor button and leaned against the back wall. When I heard the ding that signaled the doors were opening, I turned sideways to be able to make sure the doorway was clear before I walked out (don't want to run into anyone and cause an embarrassing scene, you understand) and found myself face-to-face with a huge guy in overalls who had apparently gotten on the elevator at the same time I had. As I had been thinking that I was alone, his presence in my immediate vicinity caused me to go, and I quote, "Ha-Yeerr!" and overbalance the boxes so they started to fall. I tried to walk forward to compensate and catch them before they hit the ground, and managed to slam myself into the wall of the elevator, hitting every single floor button, along with the big red one that makes the alarm sound.

When I finally got out of the elevator, I found that my antics had been witnessed by about 9 people waiting to get on the elevator, each of whom shot me a nice long dirty look when they realized that due to my incompetence they would now be stopping at every floor on their way up.

And just to make the day complete, the guy in overalls turned to me and said "Well you're a skittish one, aren't'cha?"


this is me in grade nine, baby, this is me in grade nine.

A Christmas Miracle

So we won.

And it was awesome.

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Wait, let's back up and go through this whole thing sequentially.

We went to a matinee of The Constant Gardener. Theoretically this left us a full hour to go home and putz around before heading over to campus to meet up with everyone and get there in time for the pregame show and get good seats in the student section. The hour comes and goes. Frank asks if we really have to leave right then. I get ready to beanie slap him for his impertinence, when I realize that we don't have to leave at that moment. We have seen pregame before, we will see it again. We decide instead to mosey on over when the urge strikes us.

(There is even discussion about leaving after half-time. Or perhaps just showing up for half-time and skipping the first half entirely. We are apparently not keen on the prospects for this game. They beat Oklahoma for God's sake.)

We leave the house with 20 minutes until kickoff. I fully expect to be jammed in traffic for the entirety of the first quarter. Instead, it is completely smooth sailing, and my usual spot for parking is open. While in transit to the stadium, I make my weekly prediction on the score: 28-17, SMU winning, I say. Frank scoffs, but refuses to commit to a number. We make it to the stadium and into the bowl before pregame is even finished. However, the student section is already filled and they are directing students up to the upper deck. I'm willing to just go with the flow, but Frank insists on good seats, by God. We snake our way over to the alumni band section and join the ranks of the unaffiliated band alumni without instruments. We all are wearing the exact same shirt. It is precious.

First quarter goes by. My constant question of "Are we winning yet?" is met with continual negatives. But we are only down by 3. A 44 to 0 loss is not out of the question, but is at least unlikely.

Second quarter comes and it's pure insanity. While the guys in the band are gone, SMU marches down the field and scores. I don't think I've ever seen SMU have a drive that lasted the entire course of the field, but there it was. My voice gets a nice long workout. As the quarter nears the end, I see the first ever successful play-action pass for a touchdown in my SMU career and it was so beautiful that I almost wept. Voice is relatively gone, but that does not keep me from yelling during halftime. Once again, sitting on the student side makes me miss the best song from the band. Oh well.

Third Quarter starts out with TCU running back the opening kickoff. There is a sense of inevitability about the whole thing, but we bear it well. We're used to this sort of thing. JL comes by the unaffiliated alumni section to remind us "No matter what, we've already scored more points on them than Oklahoma." Spirits slightly brightened. Suddenly, it's the end of the third quarter and we're still winning by 4. At this point I still firmly believe that there is no hope. I am well conditioned in "the glass is three-quarters empty and about to be crushed under the heel of a 100 yard kick off return" school of philosophy.

Five minutes or so into the fourth quarter, SMU scores again, by freaking running it up the middle. That doesn't happen. Ever. I think it's right around here that my voice became useless. While I continued to yell, there would be periodic stops to cough up a lung, or to wait for my vocal cords to stop throbbing. From here on in, it's just like nothing can stop the eventuality. Devon tries to jinx us by invoking an ancient evil curse. I spit upon the ground and swear a blood oath that I will end her life if she has screwed this up for us. TCU misses, like, 17 consecutive field goals. We miss, like 6, but each time I thank God because I don't want them to get a chance to run back a kickoff for a touchdown. The crowd starts celebrating at 7:00 left. I once again beg the world to stop jinxing us. I run out of saliva to spit for the curses. At 4:00 I look down into the band crowd and Sean gives me a look that sums up every feeling I had at the moment, which in internet speak is something like OMFGWTFBBQ, only moreso. I turn to Devon and say "We've lost surer things than this. I still don't believe it's possible."

We're down to almost exactly 1:00 left. At this point, SMU recovers another interception at our own 15 or so, and TCU is out of time-outs. This officially means victory and I turn to Frank and say "WE WON" and proceed to freak out.

Then they pop up a notice that the play is under review. At this point I realize that God is just toying with me, had just been waiting for the point that I gave in and thought we were actually gonna pull it off. They're going to come back, give the ball back to TCU, they will score on the next play, onside kick and score again all in the last 15 seconds, just in time to so thoroughly crush my spirit that I will be an unrecognizable blob with tiny, tiny little pony ears.

The review goes in SMU's favor. The world implodes as hell ices over and my voice reaches gravel status. Final score 21-10. The general feeling is pure euphoria tinged with complete disbelief. I call everyone who is not there, in order to yell nonsense into my cell phone. We wander our way across campus to Devon's apartment randomly chanting derogatory slogans about TCU as if we are drunk (we are not). Where the guys are too, indeed.

My old man status is confirmed as we skip any sort of party and instead hang out at Devon's with a movie and a box of Pocky. But yeah, anyways.

So we won. And it was awesome.

In Which I Continue to Hate On All Things Matt Damon Related

Since I spent the majority of my weekend inside darkened movie theatres, it would be a shame to let all that movie experience go to waste. In no important order, weekend movie roundup.

The Exorcism of Emily Rose - good, but not all that scary. Very lawyerly and full of Satan. The director was a big fan of hallways. I'm impressed by the trailer people's ability to make the previews universally appealing to the masses on such little available material. Very rarely can you go into a movie completely unaware of the two lead actors in the movie. But seriously, if you haven't seen the movie, how many of you know that Laura Linney is the star? Or that Tom Wilkinson will have the majority of the screentime? Anyways. There were no yell out loud actual scares, but the tone of the movie is very nice, and the pacing is perfect all the way through. Also, a random inappropriate Rachmaninoff piece makes for a really nice unintentionally hilarious moment, for me at least. Can you tell I have no consistent review of this movie? Just random bits that float out at me. Was good though. And I now have an easy way to scare the bejesus out of Frank in the middle of the night. Good times.

The Constant Gardener - I was expecting more. It was really good, but so methodically paced that it almost felt like dragging. Seeing as it's LeCarre, I expected more spies and excitement, but instead it was a very steady reveal. I should have felt a lot more tension by the end, but the bottom seemed to drop out for me. The acting was completely top notch though, and all the camera work was very pretty (it's blue because he's sad. And it's also raining, because he's very sad.). Rachel Weisz continues her perfect record as actress who has never been in a movie I didn't at least like. And I was a little shocked at how pleasant it was to have a movie not feel the need to constantly hit you over the head with the plot (except once or twice, just to make sure everyone was on the same page). It makes me feel vaguely literate and urbane when there are subtleties to be found in a movie. Worth seeing just for the acting.

Also: Brokeback Mountain trailer. I mean, seriously, I can feel this movie ripping my insides out. The story is only like 10 pages long, but it's the saddest thing in the world. In movie form with Heath Ledger, I will be a mess. And it will be awesome. Oh, and I know the movie is ruined for me because I've read the story and all, but could you maybe not show the ending during the trailer? It makes me look weird to get all choked up at what looks like absolutely nothing. I just can't get over this movie - gay cowboys, Michelle Williams(!), and Jake Gyllenhaal. The only sad thing is that it doesn't actually come out until December. It's best to prolong the agony, I suppose. Anyways, yeah, awesome.

The Brothers Grimm - I....what? Seriously, what was going on there? Let's go for a quick rundown of the errors, starting with most egregious and working our way down.

• This movie was edited by a 10 year old child who was off his ADHD medication for the day. Quick, bizarre cuts during action scenes, endings of scenes abruptly cut off, or just cut off in the middle of the scene for that matter, or hey, just missing outright. 3 characters will be at different places in a haunted forest, then suddenly they're in a group together running through a nearby field. Chick opens her mouth to respond to a line from Matt Damon, and CUT. Yes. Of course.
• Complete character reversals, lack of any characterization in the first place, stock caricatures anywhere else. Snooty French general? Check. Beautiful angry heroine with a heart of gold? Check. Fat man / skinny man comic relief duo? Yes, please. Just go down the line. They're all there. And for no good reason. The only person who remotely gets a pass is Heath Ledger, who plays his character so completely over the top, either for laughs, or just to chew the scenery, or because he was bored that day of shooting or whatever, but he was fun. And impassioned and a little goofy. Everyone else? Not so much. Also, shut up Matt Damon. You no longer are on my list of potentially good things. Your face continues to anger me.
• Plot? I see what they were going for, but no. There was a good movie hiding in there somewhere. The characters could have been compelling. The storyline is utter crap, but could have been focused in a lot and salvaged. Instead, they keep piling more crap on even as the movie is heading to the climax, and barely stop to roll the credits. I get that it's a riff on fairytales, it's not gonna make perfect sense, but it could have been so much better had they nailed down what they were going for ahead of time. Combine the plot with the editing and all you have is a headache and a half.
• Okay, this is getting a little vitriolic, so I'll pull back here. Last quick note: what was the tone they were looking for here? They keep playing for some huge obvious laughs, then hop back just as quickly into another dark confrontation on the whole magic beans debacle. Not that tones can't shift, but at least keep your focus within the same set of lines.

Some good things that came out of this:

• All of the Heath Ledger stuff, I can't emphasize that enough. The only real saving grace in the whole thing.
• The little kids getting taken scenes. Excellently creepy and overdone, it's in these scenes where you can tell that this movie could have been really good. The setting and the feeling during all three of them were perfect. And the bit with the mud and the gingerbread man was absolutely just disturbing. Had I been a small child, I would be scarred for life. So, bravo there.
• The music, which was some really nice riffing on old lullabies and what have you. Sufficiently creepy when needed.

Wow, that was a lot of talking. Anyways, unrecommended, but it wouldn't a bad rental for a movie night. Especially if you have access to some nice drinks.

In related news, I'm now the palest thing on the planet and can no longer function in direct sunlight. How was your weekend?

The O.C. - The O. Suck, same difference

Have I mentioned lately that The O.C. is dead to me?

Dead to Me!

I was all relatively excited, a not that bad season finale, some good looking previews for the premiere, and an early start date so there's nothing to compete with? Sign me up.

And then...it's crap. Marissa neither goes to jail for shooting Trey, nor does she get stuck with a shiv made from an old toothbrush while in said jail. Which is primarily what I was looking for in the opening of season 3. Instead, we get someone in a coma from getting shot in the shoulder, who then is able to wander out of the hospital 2 days after he wakes up. Bravo, indeed, writers.

Other bits included just to piss me off, apparently:

• Kirsten's alcoholism is all based on her father, and has nothing to do with the fact that she's married to an asshole. And that chick from Star Trek is stalking her in what might be the most overly dramatic way possible.
• Seth knows nothing about Ryan? No hobbies, no movies, apparently he is regulated to standing around offering lame one-liners and going along with nonsensical plans. Best friends/brothers. For the love of God, where is the dynamic that was the whole reason for the show in the first place?
• Sandy apparently still sucks, both as a lawyer and in his relationships (didn't he used to like Jimmy? I have vague recollections...)
• Of course no one believes that Marissa shot Trey. There could obviously never be any forensic evidence that would indicate the truth. Do they think that their audience has never seen a single episode of, say, CSI, or L&O? Just....arg. I'm not saying I need realism, but there are 140 different ways you could have gone with this story, and the one you picked might possibly be the worst one, unless you count the options that include the return of Jess, or possibly Oliver.

Small saving graces:

• Julie Cooper is still awesome and evil, which I must respect, even if it was a bit much. That part with the pink high heels? Priceless.
• Beach frolicking - very cute.
• Every word uttered by Rachel Bilson.
• The scene at the end where Ryan was all sad and leaning on Sandy. (Which was ruined by the huge Welcome to Newport sign in the background. I know light symbolism has never been your strong point, but come on.)

I don't think I can take this season for very long. In other news, that Reunion show was just ridiculous: bad acting, anvils raining from the sky, predictable plots, and the return of Hailey from The OC. That said, I am much more invested in that than The OC. Cute boys! Illegitimate love childrens! Graham from My SoCalled Life! Awesome '80s soundtrack! Very vaguely promising.

Out of Breath Posting

Just in case you were thinking anything had changed, my truck is still an oven. Ugh. I am literally out of breath, from doing nothing except driving in my truck with the windows up. And my teeth are throbbing. Sucks.

I have nothing of substance to say. I just want to make the observation that the high that I get from submitting a perfect file in the mortgage processing business is only about 1/8th of the high that I used to get from a perfect 1st compile when programming.

And yet, it's still damn good.

But still, just imagine the possibilities.

(Confession: I sort of miss programming. Who would have ever guessed that would be true? Not me, that's for sure.)

Gah.

Just a small note to end the day: Do you have any idea how many paper cuts I have gotten on my two hands today?

Do you?


DO YOU?

Well I'll tell you.

Seven.

7!

And they all hurt like hell. Stupid sharp paper.

This Just In...Walmart = Redneck

I'm not entirely sure when I became an elitist snob. Maybe it began when I started spelling theater "theatre." Or maybe when I started to openly mock people who like Jessica Simpson. We can never be sure.

But, oh yes, I've become a snob.

Case in point: Yesterday I had to go get a key to my apartment made so that Frank would have some way to enter the apartment that did not involve an unlocked door and a flashing neon sign that said "Door's Open, Please Come On In And Steal My Huge TV." Despite living in a city that is larger than some northern states, the only place that makes keys in Dallas is Walmart. And the nearest Walmart is outside the 635 loop, which means it's a fullblown roadtrip to get out there from my house. I, of course, chose the path of least resistance and brainpower, choosing to make this trip from my office, at rush hour, when I get off work. Which meant that the 6 mile trip from my office to Walmart manages to take just over 37 minutes and I get flipped off twice in the process (returned only once, because I am a gentleman).

I get to the store, walk in the door, and it's bedlam - sheer redneck insanity purified, distilled and capped into a single enclosed warehouse space. Tiny children run barefoot across the plains of the clothing section. Two teenage boys, each wearing a pair of pants that could easily house at least two of them within the waistband and drooping down somewhere near their knees, are throwing a football across the jewelry section. Someone has crashed a cart into a display of Sam's Club soda, leaving a huge sugary, fizzing lake blocking off an entire thoroughfare.

I carefully pick my way back to the camouflage/sporting goods/gun section where I assume the key making machine is. After waiting in line behind one of the largest individuals I have met in real life, who purchased one of the largest knives I have ever seen (possibly as a dinner knife. This guy was huge.), I get to an associate who can make me a key.

Only Walmart is out of normal keys. All they have are their 'wacky' keys, which are keys that have been painted with some form of decoration that covers the entire length of the key. At this point my faith in Walmart breaks down. Because apparently Walmart's target market is the deeply ingrained southern redneck.

All available selections in their "Wacky Key" line:

• NASCAR keys, at least 5 unique kinds were available, each sporting a name and number of the particular racer of your choice. (Show your love for driving around in a circle - With a key!)
• America keys. These included the American flag (by itself), or American Flag with Bald Eagle head, or the Sept. 11 commemorative key with the American flag with that goddamn crying eagle on it. (Show your love for hilariously creepy over-the-top patriotic sentiment - With a key!)
• The Dale Earnheart commemorative key, special edition, done in (of course very tasteful) black with some sort of in memorandum message on it, I didn't get too close. (Honor the famous dead - With a key!)
• The camouflaged key, done in either your choice of brown or green foliage, for those times when your key needs to blend into the background before taking out a deer. (Kill woodland creatures - With a key!)

The only thing I can think of that they were missing were the Bud Light commemorative key designs, or perhaps one featuring women with very little clothes on.

In the end, I went with the green camouflage, so that the next time I drop my key into a pile of leaves, I will never ever find it. The trip back to the checkout was an adventure in itself, capped off by the fact that when I got through the line to leave, the cashier remarked "Wow, that is one awesome key! Where'd you get that?" I did not answer, in the hopes that she may one day figure it out for herself, considering SHE WAS RINGING IT UP RIGHT THEN IN HER OWN STORE.

My brain. It hurts.

Also, turns out I am an elitist prick. Who would have guessed?

Influx of Insults

Scene One

So on Sunday when we were out picking up the movies for the party, I got a nice little jab to my ego at the checkout counter.

Cashier: Credit? Can I see your ID?

[Jason flashes the ID]

Cashier: [looks up at Jason, gives him the eye] Uh. Okay. [Goes back to typing] That doesn't really look like you.

Jason: ....?

Cashier: I mean, don't take this offensively, but it looks like someone much younger.

Jason: [dies]

Cashier: No! I just mean....like...the facial hair. Yeah. Totally.

Frank: [explodes from the combined total of the irony of the situation and his no-commenting]

---------------------

Sigh. It's just not fair. It wasn't even my birthday! Frank is the old one! Do these people even know what kind of funk a comment like that can throw a homosexual into? A pit of despair out of which there is no escape.

---------------------

Scene Two

[Today at work. Jason is washing his hands at the sink in the bathroom. Guy he knows walks over to the other sink, also starts washing.]

Guy I Know: Hey.

Jason: Hey.

GIK: Have a nice weekend?

Jason: Oh, you know, pretty good. You?


GIK: [finishes washing, turns to grab a paper towel, turning in Jason's direction] Oh yeah, good stu...[catches sight of Jason] Oh! So, wow. Your hair.

Jason: [The fuck?] Hmm?

GIK: I...uh...no. It's just, your hair has sort of reached...crisis proportions, hasn't it? [upon Jason's look of bewilderment] Or, you know, maybe that's what you're going for? I gotta go. [Runs off]

-----------------------------

I....what? I will give him huge props because he accidentally quoted one of my favorite lines from Daria, but the fact remains. He called my hair a crisis. Okay, maybe it's a little long on top. And maybe it's pointing straight up in the front. And maybe it adds 3.5 inches to my height at its apex. Still. Crisis proportions? Really?

In conclusion, this is why I don't talk to people.

Exhausted Travelogue

I've just received my very first death threat concerning blog posting. Namely that I will be killed if I don't do it more often. Which means that I've finally arrived in the world, so to speak. In any case, it's a sign that I should finish up my write-up on the weekend exploits.

There are only three things of note to discuss from the long weekend, but I'm in a very verbose mood right now.

Saturday = Football game: I went to the SMU opener on Saturday, because I believe in supporting the band in all its endeavors, especially when those endeavors happen to occur after the sun sets so I don't get an unsightly sunburn. As usual, the team managed to lose all steam heading into the fourth quarter and defeat still tastes about the same (slightly bitter, a little tangy, but somehow comfortingly familiar). I learned that I have no staying power anymore without the conditioning that the band provides, in that my arm was actually sore from throwing up the pony ears for 4 straight hours, and my throat was exhausted within 2 hours, and still kinda hurts. Soft spoken and unathletic is my new way of life. I'm not sure where I went wrong.

All that said, man the TCU game next week is gonna be awesome, in that fresh hell sort of way. They beat Oklahoma. We lost to Baylor. (PS to all you Baylor people - why you gotta be all parking in my spot? Do you know how far I had to walk to get to the stadium? I could have just walked from my apartment and made better time. Also, your smack talk sucks.) I envision a game much like my freshman year, only instead of losing by 64 points in the freezing cold and losing my voice entirely yelling Click 125 times, it will be mild and breezy for our upcoming trouncing, with little to no chance of ruined vocal cords.

Sunday = Party: New partial roommate Frank made his move-in on Friday, and Sunday we hosted the extravaganza that was his birthday party. Delightfully low-key and successful, critics reported, despite the glaring fact that I forgot it was a Sunday and thus had to make do with very limited alcohol reserves, and despite the fact that the movies Frank chose for the night were Honey and The Wedding Date. (Bitch, how you gonna play me like that, indeed.) The food was good, the drinks were good, and the Sponge Bob and Darth Vader party hats were sheer brilliance. Even clean up wasn't that bad. Although I may need to auction off a kidney or two to pay off all the ridiculous debt I've ran up in the course of the last two weeks, it was a doubleplusgood time.

Monday = Not a Damn Thing: Monday was revised to No-Pants Monday and I did nothing all day but watch like 12 consecutive hours of Law & Order. The fact that I had seen every single episode before at least twice did nothing to slow me down. I also played hour upon hour of Advance Wars and may indeed love that game more than any other ever. I left the house only once, and that was to go onto the patio to shoo away the damn rogue cats that have set up base camp on my property. I am not swayed by their cuteness, or their tiny-ness, or their adorable little kitten faces. They are a menace and must be dealt with accordingly. Any reports that you hear about me buying cat food are spurious lies created by the propaganda machine that is the kitten lobby.

After the finely tuned hell that was last week, I expect this work week to be sunny and mild with only a 12% chance of me quitting in a righteous huff of indignation and ire.

I like those odds.

Not Dead...Yet

Until about 15 seconds ago, I entirely believed that today was Friday. And it felt good. The crushing truth is that it is Thursday morning and there are still miles to go until the long weekend.

This has easily been the worst week in recent memory. There are eminently writable thing to write, but my soul feels as though it has been sucked out of my body through my nose. There will be no writing of anything good until I recharge.

So things anyways:

• I bought a Nintendo DS. It is pure awesomeness and gives me lots of nice mindlessness time once I get home and fall onto the couch all night long. Too bad it is massively unwieldy and I can't take it anywheres without looking like a dork.
• A while back some moron tried to stop midway through a left turn on Hillcrest and backup into oncoming traffic. Unfortunately I was directly behind him and he crashed into my TOM. It was generally unscathed, but the turn signal cover was cracked. It finally broke on Friday, and so I got a new one over the weekend. Only, I suck at car repair and am physically unable to replace it myself. All I have to show for my efforts are my thumb, which is sliced to hell and back, and the tiny little cuts all over the knuckles on my right hand. I'm gonna have to give up and take it to a mechanic, because I can't replace a light cover. I am the lamest lame that ever lamed.
• Work is utter rubbish and completely exhausting and so mindbendingly moronic that I have had to hang up the phone and walk down the hall to cool down on 3 different occasions this week to make sure I didn't just quit, and then bolt in the night to Kentucky to start my life anew.
• New roommate comes in on Friday, old roommate has only begun to move stuff out. I foresee a Saturday of driving the TOM across the metroplex with no air conditioning because she needs her bed moved for her. Which sucks on many levels, from discomfort to doing things on a Saturday, to gas prices and moving things. At least new roommate comes with nothing but a computer and torn cardboard box half filled with clothes. Not too much effort involved there.
• Party for new roommate's birthday is on Sunday, which means I need to have place cleaned tomorrow, so the moves won't be too destructive, because Saturday is the SMU game which leaves little time for actual party preparations. And I totally know zero people to invite. If you know Frank, by the by, you need to come. And let me know, so I can adequately prepare. There will be cake, and ice cream, and mixed drinks for all. Also, pointy hats.
• All the stress, along with all the heat, has caused me to break out like a 15 year-old after a pizza party. Combine that with the fact that I'm wearing my Mormon outfit to work today, because I forgot to iron anything last night, and the dark circles around my eyes, and you have the least attractive I have been in the last 4 years. And in that statement I'm including 4 days unshaven/hungover Jason with the bad haircut that I used to rock during senior year. It ain't pretty, people.
• Oh, and I've dropped 4 pounds since last Friday. I'm officially on the final hole on my belt and my watch is practically threatening to fall off my wrist. Difficult work situation = Anorexic Jason, all of a sudden.

Theoretically everything will get better once the weekend hits, work will slow down, the Labor day sales will go up and I will finally get around to making my big fall purchases (living room furniture and washer/dryer). We will see how it goes.