(Shamelessly borrowed/stolen from Montykins, because I'm unoriginal like that.)
For the love of God, I watch too many movies. Going off this delicious list, I pulled together every newly released movie in 2005 that I've seen. Which is not to say that this is all the movies I've seen this year. No, it's just the ones that were officially released in the 2005 calendar year. Also, I'm including anything I've seen in the theatre or on video, just to make things simpler.
Anyways, y'all, I have seen 53 new movies this year. 53. For those of you uninitiated into our calendar system, that's better than one new movie a week. It is obviously a sickness that I have, this need to be continually entertained by bright flashing pictures of people I do not know.
But we can't let this achievement go to waste now, so I present a round-up of all the movies I saw this year, working backwards from most horrible to best. We will divide them up into 5 distinct categories: Movies that I Actively Hate, Movies that I Only Dislike, Movies I Don't Care About, Movies That Were Good, and Movies That Were Excellent.
Within the categories, there is some room for leeway on their order. And also, these judgments are made as of today in my mind, so movies that I may have liked earlier in the year might have gotten bumped down and vice versa. I am a very fickle person, you should know that by now.
Onwards!
Movies I Actively Hated
53. The Fog (otherwise entitled - 'Wasting 8 dollars on the words "Tom Welling/Maggie Grace"')
52. White Noise
51. Dukes of Hazard
50. The Wedding Date
49. Guess Who
48. Madagascar
47. Brother's Grimm (why is it that I've only seen this "gay Heath Ledger" movie this year?)
Movies I Disliked
46. Hide & Seek
45. War of the Worlds
44. Ring 2
43. Fantastic Four
42. Miss Congeniality 2
41. House of Wax
40. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (shut up, tragic yet brave dying girl)
39. Undiscovered (never thought I would ever say this, but - not enough Ashlee Simpson)
38. The Family Stone (because of that one scene)
Movies I Don't Care About
37. Be Cool
36. The Longest Yard
35. Cry_Wolf
34. Ice Princess
33. Chronicles of Narnia (this movie is forever ruined for me by things that are not its fault)
32. Pulse
31. Sky High (harsh, I know)
30. Sahara
Movies That Were Good
29. Rent
28. Stay (I am being mean to this movie unnecessarily)
27. Broken Flowers (I think this only made the good list because I was drunk when I saw it)
26. Hostage
25. Crash
24. Rize
23. Kingdom of Heaven
22. Exorcism of Emily Rose
21. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
20. Greatest Game Ever Played
19. Mr. & Mrs. Smith
18. Skeleton Key
17. Batman Begins
16. Jarhead
15. The Interpreter
14. Constantine
13. Red Eye
12. Flightplan
11. Shopgirl (oh Claire Danes. I wish I knew how to quit you)
10. The Island (best pure action movie in ages)
9. Sin City
Movies That Were Excellent
8. Proof (who knew Gwyneth could act?)
7. Constant Gardener (seriously, you should go see this)
6. Star Wars: Episode III (oh shut up, I'm allowed one vice)
5. Kung Fu Hustle
4. King Kong
3. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
2. Howl's Moving Castle (I know it didn't make any sense and I don't care. Love.)
1. Serenity (like you didn't see that coming)
I'm glad that more than half (29) of the movies I at least liked. And I was sort of extra mean to a few others, so I think it was a good year, movie-wise. I'm especially pleased with that top 5, each of which I really liked for entirely different reasons.
And since there is still time left in the year this will probably have to be updated, because I've still got Brokeback Mountain to see tomorrow, and either Capote or Munich on Saturday.
But seriously, I need to back off the movies a little bit, methinks. That's quite the investment on my part, time and money-wise.
....
Oh whatever, you all know that 2006 is the year I'll finally break 60.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Zombification
First off, I want to stress that by the title of this post I am in no way lessening the seriousness of zombie attacks and the need for zombie awareness in the world at large. It is a very serious problem, and I maintain my status on the forefront of zombie defense and am a staunch supporter of early zombie preparedness. We cannot let those filthy brain-eaters gain even the smallest toehold in society.
Ahem.
Anyways, so this whole holiday thing has thrown me so far off my normal schedule, I don't know whether I'm coming or going lately. My family tends to operate on something of a sleepless schedule whenever we congregate in the same house. Which means we never go to bed until after 2:00AM, after an unending night of jokes and cookies and as many other foods as you can name. And then we are up by 7:00AM for extended merriment and loud noises that make me curl up into a tiny ball and question our group sanity.
Which means when I get home, days seem really quiet and surreal, like a waking dream. This is further enhanced by the fact that all I do these days is watch movies in the dark. (Complete aside - this whole unlimited movies thing is going to be the death of me. There are a lot of movies in the world, and I apparently am going to 'catch them all,' like a set of Pokemon or what have you. I have watched at least two movies every day for the last 9 consecutive days. And one of those was a 6 hour mini-series. That aint healthy, y'all.)
So now that I'm back at work, I have to do something to keep me alive during the mornings. Because I do not do mornings. At all. My alarm will go off at least five times before I am compelled out from under the covers. And once I'm into the office, at bare minimum 90 minutes must pass before I am remotely productive. My latest stop-gap method of staying awake in the office is the creation of the most potent brew known to man - Hot Chocolate/Coffee. Which is a cup of my office's coffee, which is more like caffeine in sludge form, combined with several tablespoons of hot cocoa mix and stirred until mostly incorporated. It combines sugar, caffeine, more caffeine in the form of chocolate, and every preservative on the planet, in one tiny cup, which I gulp down like a man at an oasis after a week in the desert.
It's also like rocket fuel for my brain, and sends me into a flurry of nervous energy, all twitches and tics, for the 10 o'clock hour, which is usually the time when I crash the hardest, and it gets me all the way to lunch. Where I am free to crash as much as I want since, y'know, free time.
My machinations, they are awesome. And if I fall into a sugar coma, well we all knew I would end up that way eventually, right? Better now than later.
Ahem.
Anyways, so this whole holiday thing has thrown me so far off my normal schedule, I don't know whether I'm coming or going lately. My family tends to operate on something of a sleepless schedule whenever we congregate in the same house. Which means we never go to bed until after 2:00AM, after an unending night of jokes and cookies and as many other foods as you can name. And then we are up by 7:00AM for extended merriment and loud noises that make me curl up into a tiny ball and question our group sanity.
Which means when I get home, days seem really quiet and surreal, like a waking dream. This is further enhanced by the fact that all I do these days is watch movies in the dark. (Complete aside - this whole unlimited movies thing is going to be the death of me. There are a lot of movies in the world, and I apparently am going to 'catch them all,' like a set of Pokemon or what have you. I have watched at least two movies every day for the last 9 consecutive days. And one of those was a 6 hour mini-series. That aint healthy, y'all.)
So now that I'm back at work, I have to do something to keep me alive during the mornings. Because I do not do mornings. At all. My alarm will go off at least five times before I am compelled out from under the covers. And once I'm into the office, at bare minimum 90 minutes must pass before I am remotely productive. My latest stop-gap method of staying awake in the office is the creation of the most potent brew known to man - Hot Chocolate/Coffee. Which is a cup of my office's coffee, which is more like caffeine in sludge form, combined with several tablespoons of hot cocoa mix and stirred until mostly incorporated. It combines sugar, caffeine, more caffeine in the form of chocolate, and every preservative on the planet, in one tiny cup, which I gulp down like a man at an oasis after a week in the desert.
It's also like rocket fuel for my brain, and sends me into a flurry of nervous energy, all twitches and tics, for the 10 o'clock hour, which is usually the time when I crash the hardest, and it gets me all the way to lunch. Where I am free to crash as much as I want since, y'know, free time.
My machinations, they are awesome. And if I fall into a sugar coma, well we all knew I would end up that way eventually, right? Better now than later.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
A Million Tiny Monkeys. In my Lungs.
I am allergic to cats. This is not a revelation to most, it's usually pretty plain to anyone who has seen me come into contact with a feline. Only, there is a scale of allergic-ity that I have which makes things more interesting.
On one extreme, we have long haired cats which provoke an immediate and very alarming physical reaction. This may entail but is not limited to: sneezing, crying, running at the nose, vomiting, intense physical pain directly behind the eyes and swelling of the throat. And that's just being in the same room as the cat. People can attest, it's sort of creepy.
On the other end, I am perfectly fine around certain species of the domesticates, I just slowly but surely build up to a low grade allergy attack - stuffed nose, watery eyes, sinus headache, etc. It's just a cumulative effect, but nothing serious and I can go for days at a time with them around.
My sister's beautiful, wonderful cat Ishbu is a member of the second column. So whenever I go home, I am slowly subjected to his ministrations. Which I do not mind, since I actively love him and have to restrain myself from going all crazy cat person around him, talking in that creepy babble talk that people get. But when I go back to my own humble abode, my body has to return to its natural equilibrium, which means that my head begins to drain southward into the rest of my body. Which does not bode well for the day immediately following my return.
Right now, my lungs feel roughly half full of some sort of very thick liquid, and I have a worse runny nose than pretty much any 5 year-old in the world. This near pneumoniatic level of my lungs was brought to the fore especially well today when I decided to read some David Sedaris over lunch. You know what is the only thing that you can't do in this lung-filled state? Laugh heartily. Because it will send you into crazy wracking coughing fits wherein people openly discuss whether or not you may die before you can gain control of your breathing again.
And when David Sedaris is involved, you get to read about 4 lines at which point something tickles your fancy and you fall into one of the fits. 2 minutes later you have regained control of yourself, scared everyone else in the restaurant half to death, pop open the book again and read two more lines, and go right back into the spasms of laughter/coughing.
After about 20 minutes of this, the woman sitting next to me came over, grabbed the book from my hand and said "Maybe you should stop reading that book, dear. I think it's overstimulating you."
At which point everyone around us nodded.
Also, at that point, I decided that it was best if I leave. And never return.
(Do I need to mention that I was in Wendy's? No, of course not. Because if something embarrassing happens to me in a restaurant, you can just assume it was a Wendy's and always be right. Sigh.)
On one extreme, we have long haired cats which provoke an immediate and very alarming physical reaction. This may entail but is not limited to: sneezing, crying, running at the nose, vomiting, intense physical pain directly behind the eyes and swelling of the throat. And that's just being in the same room as the cat. People can attest, it's sort of creepy.
On the other end, I am perfectly fine around certain species of the domesticates, I just slowly but surely build up to a low grade allergy attack - stuffed nose, watery eyes, sinus headache, etc. It's just a cumulative effect, but nothing serious and I can go for days at a time with them around.
My sister's beautiful, wonderful cat Ishbu is a member of the second column. So whenever I go home, I am slowly subjected to his ministrations. Which I do not mind, since I actively love him and have to restrain myself from going all crazy cat person around him, talking in that creepy babble talk that people get. But when I go back to my own humble abode, my body has to return to its natural equilibrium, which means that my head begins to drain southward into the rest of my body. Which does not bode well for the day immediately following my return.
Right now, my lungs feel roughly half full of some sort of very thick liquid, and I have a worse runny nose than pretty much any 5 year-old in the world. This near pneumoniatic level of my lungs was brought to the fore especially well today when I decided to read some David Sedaris over lunch. You know what is the only thing that you can't do in this lung-filled state? Laugh heartily. Because it will send you into crazy wracking coughing fits wherein people openly discuss whether or not you may die before you can gain control of your breathing again.
And when David Sedaris is involved, you get to read about 4 lines at which point something tickles your fancy and you fall into one of the fits. 2 minutes later you have regained control of yourself, scared everyone else in the restaurant half to death, pop open the book again and read two more lines, and go right back into the spasms of laughter/coughing.
After about 20 minutes of this, the woman sitting next to me came over, grabbed the book from my hand and said "Maybe you should stop reading that book, dear. I think it's overstimulating you."
At which point everyone around us nodded.
Also, at that point, I decided that it was best if I leave. And never return.
(Do I need to mention that I was in Wendy's? No, of course not. Because if something embarrassing happens to me in a restaurant, you can just assume it was a Wendy's and always be right. Sigh.)
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
In which I admit I'm a lazy bastard
It's the holiday's y'all. And while I'm not exactly brimming with good cheer and well-wishes for the common man, I am not actively depressed, which is good in its own right.
So in any case, in lieu of an actual entry, allow me to ramble on in lazy bullet point fashion:
So in any case, in lieu of an actual entry, allow me to ramble on in lazy bullet point fashion:
- On heavy persuasion from Frank, I picked up the unlimited monthly movie membership to Blockbuster. I can already tell this was the best idea in the history of time and I've only been using it for three days. You're allowed to freely indulge in any weird movie taste that might strike you whenever you want. And there's no guilt for bad movies, because heck, you can just go trade it in for a new one - the store is like 0.5 miles away. This is akin to giving me a key to the biggest candy store in the world, and then attaching it to my house. I'm gonna be on this sugar high for weeks.
- As usual, I'm a little slow to the bandwagon, but this Sudoku thing is just crazy addictive. It's like crossword puzzles, except it's math. And math that I can do. Can you count to 9? Then you can play this game. I am all about that. Still takes me ages to get through a Hard one, though.
- I am actually writing again. And it's something that isn't fanfiction and isn't a lame blog entry. Do you understand how long it has been? Probably not, but seriously this makes me ridiculously happy. Even if it is total shite, it's written words that I made up. I feel all important and crap.
- I still have no soul, and my art still sucks, but that's not gonna stop me from completing my final Christmas gift to my Mom, who has requested homemade art, and by God, that's what she's going to get. Even if it is uglier than anything else in the world.
- Serenity is even better on DVD.
And that's all I got. Tune in tomorrow, when I ramble on and on and on about all the movies I've watched in the past 4 days. Because there have been a lot of them.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Mmm...Apple
This is a little late in coming, but I feel compelled to discuss the new Fiona Apple CD, Extraordinary Machine.
First off, I need to do my Fiona Apple caveat. The only way I can think to phrase it is that I'm weirdly, intensely protective of her. Like, when someone tells me that they don't like her music, I am immediately suspicious of them - much like if someone admitted to being a Communist, or Canadian.
Because how can you not love Fiona Apple?
Anyways, the new stuff is excellent. Back in the early days of yore with that whole dust-up about the CD not being released and the whole internet leakage and whatnot, I managed to procure me a pretty complete set of the music. And I did it without my normal crushing guilt over the illegalities of it all, since there was a possibility they would never see the light of day.
And it was fantastic. Delicious lyrics, some very nice rhythms, and some completely off the wall Jon Brion magic (In the form of Extraordinary Machine, which is my favorite song of the bunch by far). The final produced CD, (which I actually bought from a store with physical money) is just as good, but in different ways. Actually I think it's even better, because it has some cohesion, and like the changes or not, it feels very complete. The only thing I can confidently bring out of this whole experience is that having two versions of every song is an awesome way to go about it.
Some of the songs I greatly prefer off of the unreleased stuff (Window is a million times better with the less synthesized back-up horns, Get Him Back has a better edge on the earlier version), others absolutely kill in their CD form (O' Sailor, Not About Love, and Parting Gift all stand out for different reasons).
It's just an excellent CD. As always, the lyrics are ridiculously impressive, and the rhyming just ends me (if you know me in person, I've harped on this to you already no doubt, but "Take all the things that I've said that you've stole / Put 'em in a sack, swing 'em over your shoulder" might be my favoritest strange rhyme in the history of the world. It's all about the emphasis.).
So yeah, I love me some Fiona Apple.
------------------------
Pointless aside - Serenity is out on DVD today. You have no idea how awesome I find that, but I sort of need a graphing calculator to properly express my feelings right now. God, do I love me some Firefly.
Yay for purchases!
First off, I need to do my Fiona Apple caveat. The only way I can think to phrase it is that I'm weirdly, intensely protective of her. Like, when someone tells me that they don't like her music, I am immediately suspicious of them - much like if someone admitted to being a Communist, or Canadian.
Because how can you not love Fiona Apple?
Anyways, the new stuff is excellent. Back in the early days of yore with that whole dust-up about the CD not being released and the whole internet leakage and whatnot, I managed to procure me a pretty complete set of the music. And I did it without my normal crushing guilt over the illegalities of it all, since there was a possibility they would never see the light of day.
And it was fantastic. Delicious lyrics, some very nice rhythms, and some completely off the wall Jon Brion magic (In the form of Extraordinary Machine, which is my favorite song of the bunch by far). The final produced CD, (which I actually bought from a store with physical money) is just as good, but in different ways. Actually I think it's even better, because it has some cohesion, and like the changes or not, it feels very complete. The only thing I can confidently bring out of this whole experience is that having two versions of every song is an awesome way to go about it.
Some of the songs I greatly prefer off of the unreleased stuff (Window is a million times better with the less synthesized back-up horns, Get Him Back has a better edge on the earlier version), others absolutely kill in their CD form (O' Sailor, Not About Love, and Parting Gift all stand out for different reasons).
It's just an excellent CD. As always, the lyrics are ridiculously impressive, and the rhyming just ends me (if you know me in person, I've harped on this to you already no doubt, but "Take all the things that I've said that you've stole / Put 'em in a sack, swing 'em over your shoulder" might be my favoritest strange rhyme in the history of the world. It's all about the emphasis.).
So yeah, I love me some Fiona Apple.
------------------------
Pointless aside - Serenity is out on DVD today. You have no idea how awesome I find that, but I sort of need a graphing calculator to properly express my feelings right now. God, do I love me some Firefly.
Yay for purchases!
Monday, December 19, 2005
I am Sarah Jessica Parker, and Other Embarrassing Tales
So I went to log in to blogger this morning to post something, and my cache had expired. This is officially the longest I've gone without posting in over a year. (Those of you scoring along at home: 11 days. This is what you would call an obsession, apparently.) That's weird. Anyways, I refuse to apologize. I am my own man, and I post when I want. So there.
Also, it's slightly disconcerting when people call to inquire about your welfare because "you haven't blogged in a while." That, my friends, is a little very weird. But also, awesome, in the sense that people care.
Back to the business at hand.
Went to see The Family Stone over the weekend. I am Sarah Jessica Parker. Or, at least her character in the movie. Live and in person. Do you understand exactly how horrible that is? Probably only if you've seen the movie, but I'm going to go on and on about it anyways, because seriously, this has me at my wit's end.
SJP's character is almost utterly irredeemable. She is overly formal, has annoying mannerisms, talks inappropriately and for long periods of time, can be counted on to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, and has a tendency to act as her own little physical comedy routine. Each of these things taken one at a time are not necessarily damning, but by the end of the movie, more than likely, you physically loathe her character. Or at least I did.
And then we are five miles from the theatre when it hits me: I am the complete embodiment of her character. It's so mind-meltingly accurate that the realization almost took my breath away. Cast a boy with a bad haircut in the role and it would be like looking in a damnable mirror. The entire movie turned out to be a concentrated exercise in self loathing. Seriously, if you know me, go see it. It will blow your mind.
In any case, it depresses the hell out of me. Because damn. She was, like, the villain, practically.
Also, that dinner scene at the halfway point is literally, hands-down, flat-out and every other cliched term possible, the most embarrassing and uncomfortable moment I have ever had watching a movie. For perspective's sake, I have watched the first-gay-experience moment in A Home at the End of the World with my parents and I wasn't as uncomfortable as I was on Saturday. Seriously, I almost had to leave the theatre. Maybe I was just overly high-strung that night or something.
-------------------------
Okay, so that was worth waiting 11 days, right?
See you again in a couple of weeks!
Also, it's slightly disconcerting when people call to inquire about your welfare because "you haven't blogged in a while." That, my friends, is a little very weird. But also, awesome, in the sense that people care.
Back to the business at hand.
Went to see The Family Stone over the weekend. I am Sarah Jessica Parker. Or, at least her character in the movie. Live and in person. Do you understand exactly how horrible that is? Probably only if you've seen the movie, but I'm going to go on and on about it anyways, because seriously, this has me at my wit's end.
SJP's character is almost utterly irredeemable. She is overly formal, has annoying mannerisms, talks inappropriately and for long periods of time, can be counted on to say exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time, and has a tendency to act as her own little physical comedy routine. Each of these things taken one at a time are not necessarily damning, but by the end of the movie, more than likely, you physically loathe her character. Or at least I did.
And then we are five miles from the theatre when it hits me: I am the complete embodiment of her character. It's so mind-meltingly accurate that the realization almost took my breath away. Cast a boy with a bad haircut in the role and it would be like looking in a damnable mirror. The entire movie turned out to be a concentrated exercise in self loathing. Seriously, if you know me, go see it. It will blow your mind.
In any case, it depresses the hell out of me. Because damn. She was, like, the villain, practically.
Also, that dinner scene at the halfway point is literally, hands-down, flat-out and every other cliched term possible, the most embarrassing and uncomfortable moment I have ever had watching a movie. For perspective's sake, I have watched the first-gay-experience moment in A Home at the End of the World with my parents and I wasn't as uncomfortable as I was on Saturday. Seriously, I almost had to leave the theatre. Maybe I was just overly high-strung that night or something.
-------------------------
Okay, so that was worth waiting 11 days, right?
See you again in a couple of weeks!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Embarrassment (Part 875 in a series)
You know those days where something feels off? Like, you're getting ready to head out the door and everything is in place, but you feel like you're forgetting something? Today was that day for me. I had braced myself for the ridiculously freezing weather (by adding a scarf to my normal ensemble). I had my lunch, a book, my phone, my keys, and my contacts were in place. What could be off?
Belt - in place.
Hair - looking ridiculous (per usual), but brushed.
Lights - turned off.
No big things I needed to be worrying about, nothing pressing for the day.
Eventually I chalk it up to being a humongus dork (something which, of late, I am intimately accustomed to) and decide to go on with my day.
Which I do, without incident, for the majority of the day. Blah, blah, cold, blah, work, blah, oh dear lord there are people in my office and they are talking and why won't they just leave me alone, blah.
We make it all the way deep into the afternoon. Suddenly I am very very tired. I'm helping the new guy with some computer things in his office, when I'm struck by the intense need to yawn and stretch. Because it is late, and I have no shame, I go ahead and stretch to my hearts content.
New Coworker: "Uh, what's that?"
Jason: "What's what?"
New Coworker: "That. On your side?"
I realize that there is this huge bulge on my side, where my shirt tucks into my pants.
Jason's Mind: "Hmm, that's odd."
Now, a rational person would have just brushed it off and investigated at a later time, when they were alone and not in someone else's office. Maybe we haven't covered this today, but Jason, he's not exactly the most rational of beings.
Jason: (Because I'm brilliant.) "I don't know. Let's find out."
So I go rooting my shirt out of my pants, and digging through there to find the offense: somehow during my morning ritual, I managed to put on all my clothes without realizing that there were several socks statically attached to the inside of my shirt.
And by several, I mean 4 socks (all different kinds), and one paired set of socks, all lining my waist like some sort of deranged insulation.
It is somewhere around the reveal of sock #3 that I start to realize that, hey I'm not alone here, and this guy has only known me for roughly 6 hours, and I'm standing in front of him systematically pulling out socks from under my shirt, in the way a magician does with a multicolored handkerchief. But I couldn't really stop, the damage was already done.
And there not a lot you can say at that point - you've just revealed yourself as completely insane on the new guy's first day of work. Because let's face it, there are no rational explanations for why you have 6 socks attached to your body all day long and don't realize it. What?! I was cold and my clothes are really loose! I've lost a lot of weight recently! Leave me alone!
In any case, do I make AWESOME first impressions or what?
Belt - in place.
Hair - looking ridiculous (per usual), but brushed.
Lights - turned off.
No big things I needed to be worrying about, nothing pressing for the day.
Eventually I chalk it up to being a humongus dork (something which, of late, I am intimately accustomed to) and decide to go on with my day.
Which I do, without incident, for the majority of the day. Blah, blah, cold, blah, work, blah, oh dear lord there are people in my office and they are talking and why won't they just leave me alone, blah.
We make it all the way deep into the afternoon. Suddenly I am very very tired. I'm helping the new guy with some computer things in his office, when I'm struck by the intense need to yawn and stretch. Because it is late, and I have no shame, I go ahead and stretch to my hearts content.
New Coworker: "Uh, what's that?"
Jason: "What's what?"
New Coworker: "That. On your side?"
I realize that there is this huge bulge on my side, where my shirt tucks into my pants.
Jason's Mind: "Hmm, that's odd."
Now, a rational person would have just brushed it off and investigated at a later time, when they were alone and not in someone else's office. Maybe we haven't covered this today, but Jason, he's not exactly the most rational of beings.
Jason: (Because I'm brilliant.) "I don't know. Let's find out."
So I go rooting my shirt out of my pants, and digging through there to find the offense: somehow during my morning ritual, I managed to put on all my clothes without realizing that there were several socks statically attached to the inside of my shirt.
And by several, I mean 4 socks (all different kinds), and one paired set of socks, all lining my waist like some sort of deranged insulation.
It is somewhere around the reveal of sock #3 that I start to realize that, hey I'm not alone here, and this guy has only known me for roughly 6 hours, and I'm standing in front of him systematically pulling out socks from under my shirt, in the way a magician does with a multicolored handkerchief. But I couldn't really stop, the damage was already done.
And there not a lot you can say at that point - you've just revealed yourself as completely insane on the new guy's first day of work. Because let's face it, there are no rational explanations for why you have 6 socks attached to your body all day long and don't realize it. What?! I was cold and my clothes are really loose! I've lost a lot of weight recently! Leave me alone!
In any case, do I make AWESOME first impressions or what?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Old People are Awesome
I don't really have anything to add to this, but seriously, whatever ESPN writer came up with this title officially owns my heart:
Elderly Woman's Birthday Wish: Touch Smyth's Mullet
Oh, also:
"It was my wish to see Smitty," Hosking told the newspaper. "I can't believe he's here. I love to watch him skate up and down the ice and bang in goals. And I love his hair. I hope he never cuts it."
There is nothing about this story that does not completely rule.
Elderly Woman's Birthday Wish: Touch Smyth's Mullet
Oh, also:
"It was my wish to see Smitty," Hosking told the newspaper. "I can't believe he's here. I love to watch him skate up and down the ice and bang in goals. And I love his hair. I hope he never cuts it."
There is nothing about this story that does not completely rule.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Waxing Non-Eloquently About Pain
Lately I have been absolutely methodical in my never ending efforts not to bite my nails. This had been greatly facilitated by the fact that a dentist has spent most of last month drilling around amongst my teeth, thus necessitating a brief respite from anything resembling enough jaw power to cut through soft bread, let alone pure cuticle.
But now that my mouth is whole again, I find myself losing the battle yet again. Just now I was lax and not practicing constant vigilance against my subconscious, and thus began gnawing away at my thumbnail, like some sort of misanthropic beaver. And somehow I managed to split the thumbnail vertically along the quick in such a way as to cause the most pain possible, per pure acreage of painful area. And as such, the pain can only be described as. . . exquisite. It's a level of pain that I've discussed before at length, something that is just beyond the grasp of mortal words to explain, yet close enough that you feel compelled to try.
But it is wholly distilled, pain concentrated and strained carefully by Tibetan monks at high altitudes to preserve only the most painful parts, carefully passed down across the centuries and generations, each adding their own knowledge to the sum total wisdom of pain extraction until near perfection is reached, and then delivered down unto you in just such a way as to make you doubt your own sanity and purpose in life. Right there in the palm of your hand, or more specifically, on the back of your thumb.
Thus: OW. Fucking OW.
But now that my mouth is whole again, I find myself losing the battle yet again. Just now I was lax and not practicing constant vigilance against my subconscious, and thus began gnawing away at my thumbnail, like some sort of misanthropic beaver. And somehow I managed to split the thumbnail vertically along the quick in such a way as to cause the most pain possible, per pure acreage of painful area. And as such, the pain can only be described as. . . exquisite. It's a level of pain that I've discussed before at length, something that is just beyond the grasp of mortal words to explain, yet close enough that you feel compelled to try.
But it is wholly distilled, pain concentrated and strained carefully by Tibetan monks at high altitudes to preserve only the most painful parts, carefully passed down across the centuries and generations, each adding their own knowledge to the sum total wisdom of pain extraction until near perfection is reached, and then delivered down unto you in just such a way as to make you doubt your own sanity and purpose in life. Right there in the palm of your hand, or more specifically, on the back of your thumb.
Thus: OW. Fucking OW.
Self-Flagellation
I am a great believer in the cataloguing of all my flaws. Because (1) I'm not just a little crazy and (2) for the most part, I can live with them and enumerating them lets me feel like I have some control over how they effect me. So without further ado:
I am unbelievably clumsy, I make horrible jokes, I cannot cook to save my life, I have scary deep-set eyes. I play too many video games, I'm horribly shy, and as such am a ridiculously bad conversationalist. I'm cheap, I read too many books, I'm crazy pale. I use too many big words and can be a grammar freak. I can't make a decision to save my life. I make terrible first impressions and am very off-putting to a lot of people. I'm a huge dork. I tell long and meandering and boring stories with little-to-no relevance to anything in the actual world. I'm way lazy and watch too much TV and never exercise. I have bad fashion sense and usually look like I was dressed by a colorblind person with no concept of style. I have a very oddly shaped head, with multiple points where there should be none. My hair looks like a ski-slope.
This is me, carefully and considerably condensed into bite-sized chunks. And I'm mostly cool with that. Some of the things I am able to mask through the magic of pretending to act normal (I can maintain a facade in public, wherein I don't use any big words, correct peoples grammar, or talk excessively about TV), other things I embrace as little quirks that are naturally a part of me (basically anything physical, primarily because I'm way too cheap to get any sort of corrective surgery). Other things I actively hate, but can seem to do nothing about, no matter how hard I try (see: shyness, conversation skills, decision making, and fixing my goddamn hair into something other than a freakin' ski-slope configuration).
Aaaanyways, (I swear I was going somewhere with this) this is to give you some manner of a guide to what is constantly going on in my head when I meet new people. Because in normal everyday life around people I know, the list is just sort of the background noise that is my brain. Only when I do something hideously dorky amongst friends does my brain assert itself ("Wow! Stupid!" it says to me). But even then, these people know what to expect since, by God, they've been around this long it should be expected by now.
But with new people it's like one huge ticker-tape marquee loop in my brain: "Why aren't you talking?! You're too quiet! Say something! But nothing dorky! No stories! Quit looking so shifty! I swear to God, I'll go on strike if you mention anything about TV or grammar! Don't knock that thing over! Don't trip..." And on and on, forever.
Which I'm pretty sure should probably require some form of therapy, because, come on. Although mostly this just resolves into me looking incredibly shy, because my brain can't complain too much if I don't say anything. It just gets stuck on "Why aren't you saying anything?! Why aren't you saying anything?!" and I can totally handle that. Sometimes I even say very innocuous things.
And now that I've gone through all of that, let me just say: Oh my God, why am I so awkward? For serious, people. I should be studied.
(This exercise in self-hating has been brought to you by Jason's total lack of common social skills. And the letter Q.)
I am unbelievably clumsy, I make horrible jokes, I cannot cook to save my life, I have scary deep-set eyes. I play too many video games, I'm horribly shy, and as such am a ridiculously bad conversationalist. I'm cheap, I read too many books, I'm crazy pale. I use too many big words and can be a grammar freak. I can't make a decision to save my life. I make terrible first impressions and am very off-putting to a lot of people. I'm a huge dork. I tell long and meandering and boring stories with little-to-no relevance to anything in the actual world. I'm way lazy and watch too much TV and never exercise. I have bad fashion sense and usually look like I was dressed by a colorblind person with no concept of style. I have a very oddly shaped head, with multiple points where there should be none. My hair looks like a ski-slope.
This is me, carefully and considerably condensed into bite-sized chunks. And I'm mostly cool with that. Some of the things I am able to mask through the magic of pretending to act normal (I can maintain a facade in public, wherein I don't use any big words, correct peoples grammar, or talk excessively about TV), other things I embrace as little quirks that are naturally a part of me (basically anything physical, primarily because I'm way too cheap to get any sort of corrective surgery). Other things I actively hate, but can seem to do nothing about, no matter how hard I try (see: shyness, conversation skills, decision making, and fixing my goddamn hair into something other than a freakin' ski-slope configuration).
Aaaanyways, (I swear I was going somewhere with this) this is to give you some manner of a guide to what is constantly going on in my head when I meet new people. Because in normal everyday life around people I know, the list is just sort of the background noise that is my brain. Only when I do something hideously dorky amongst friends does my brain assert itself ("Wow! Stupid!" it says to me). But even then, these people know what to expect since, by God, they've been around this long it should be expected by now.
But with new people it's like one huge ticker-tape marquee loop in my brain: "Why aren't you talking?! You're too quiet! Say something! But nothing dorky! No stories! Quit looking so shifty! I swear to God, I'll go on strike if you mention anything about TV or grammar! Don't knock that thing over! Don't trip..." And on and on, forever.
Which I'm pretty sure should probably require some form of therapy, because, come on. Although mostly this just resolves into me looking incredibly shy, because my brain can't complain too much if I don't say anything. It just gets stuck on "Why aren't you saying anything?! Why aren't you saying anything?!" and I can totally handle that. Sometimes I even say very innocuous things.
And now that I've gone through all of that, let me just say: Oh my God, why am I so awkward? For serious, people. I should be studied.
(This exercise in self-hating has been brought to you by Jason's total lack of common social skills. And the letter Q.)
Friday, December 02, 2005
Totally Smart, Stupid
Do you have any idea how boring today has been? I might physically collapse due to the lack of interest.
To give you just a taste, I actually took one of those damnable blog quizzes.
AND I'm posting the results.
It's quite the low point around here, in terms of actual content. But it's that level boring today.
Anyways, I'm totally smart! I have evidence.
Of course, the quiz didn't ask me about yesterday when I tried to add 5 + 6 and ended up with 14. But maybe they aren't measuring that type of smart.
To give you just a taste, I actually took one of those damnable blog quizzes.
AND I'm posting the results.
It's quite the low point around here, in terms of actual content. But it's that level boring today.
Anyways, I'm totally smart! I have evidence.
Of course, the quiz didn't ask me about yesterday when I tried to add 5 + 6 and ended up with 14. But maybe they aren't measuring that type of smart.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
It's Christmas Time, Y'all
Seriously, I did miss a memo somewhere? I guess I knew empirically that we were getting there, but shit, yo. Twenty-four days out? I literally have the (awesome, glowing, fiber-optic) Christmas tree up and decorated in my house, and yet it didn't quite sink in that, y'know, I might need to do a little Christmas planning.
There are no presents bought.
I have not organized my Christmas music playlist.
We haven't even started planning gingerbread house making night yet.
All the Christmas lights are still sitting in the closet.
And I still don't know how to make egg nog.
I'm slacking off on my favorite time of the year and I didn't even realize it. What can I say, I've been ridiculously distracted as of late. (Insert goofy smile here.)
I'm going to try to make some inroads this weekend, get the house in order, maybe do a little shopping on Saturday, get a time set for the gingerbread-fest, and all that jazz. But man. It's the most wonderful time of the year and I'm totally missing out! Lame.
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Oh, and in general round-up news:
There are no presents bought.
I have not organized my Christmas music playlist.
We haven't even started planning gingerbread house making night yet.
All the Christmas lights are still sitting in the closet.
And I still don't know how to make egg nog.
I'm slacking off on my favorite time of the year and I didn't even realize it. What can I say, I've been ridiculously distracted as of late. (Insert goofy smile here.)
I'm going to try to make some inroads this weekend, get the house in order, maybe do a little shopping on Saturday, get a time set for the gingerbread-fest, and all that jazz. But man. It's the most wonderful time of the year and I'm totally missing out! Lame.
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Oh, and in general round-up news:
- Only one final tooth thing next week and I will be finished until the new year. Huzzah for no more dentist. This gaping hole in my mouth is out to drive me insane, though.
- Contacts continue to rule my world, even if I do blink a whole lot more nowadays. I'm like a deranged owl, but I can see for miles.
- I'm finally getting a new phone, to replace my at-least-14 year old one. I'm wicked excited, and not just because it will end all those "Is that your giant, ancient cell phone in your pocket or are you just happy to see me" comments.
- How good has TV been lately? Apprentice, ANTM, Lost, Survivor, Grey's Anatomy all being awesome at once? It almost makes up for The Amazing Race sucking so hard. Almost. *Sniff*
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