The Secret Arts of Targeting

Now I have had my share of bad jobs. I've worked carnival slides in 110 degree weather, I've served beer at concerts while standing in two feet of backed-up stadium water. I've guarded fashion shows and rode herd on a pack of horny 16 year-old boys at a summer camp.

But there is a level of disconnect to all of these things where you're allowed to laugh at the sheer absurdity of your required performance every once in a while. After the reigning Miss USA insults you to your face and then proceeds to get trapped in the cordon maze at the entrance to the fashion show, it's almost expected that you turn to the other guard, roll your eyes, and have a little snicker at her expense. When a counselor-in-training climbs into the rafters of your cabin and falls onto a bed, snapping the legs off it, it's okay to ask him if he recently donated his brain to science (dumbass) and then go out and play frisbee for an hour or so.

So I cannot say with any real level of empathy that I know what the cashiers at Target go through on Valentines Day. But I feel their pain on a very visceral level. Because you're right out there in the open at all times and you've got to maintain that efficient, friendly facade no matter what. There is no letting the customer see your reaction to the things they purchase. I don't know that I could handle not passing judgment on the customers that came through my line.

This leads to:

Yesterday after work, I stopped by Target to get my anti-Valentine's Day setup. I get in line and drop on to the conveyor belt: 1) really cheap bottle of white wine, 2) extra large family size tube of chocolate chip cookie dough, and 3) movie theatre size box of Goobers (I was denied my box set of Grey's Anatomy (sold out), which is the saddest part of this entire story). Which is a little embarrassing, but hey, I've got no shame.

However, there are also two guys in front of me in line. Guy A has: 1) bottle of red wine, 2)bouquet of roses, 3) little box of chocolates, and 4) seriously, the largest box of condoms I have ever seen in my life. Guy B, directly behind him has: 1) two bottles wine, one white and one red, 2) gigantic box of chocolates, 3) bottle of KY *ahem* personal lubricant and massage oil, and 4) box set of the first season of Queer as Folk(US).

How on Earth does a cashier go through all three of those customers and not spontaneously combust from holding in the laughter?

Kudos to you, Mr. Target cashier - you're a bigger man than I. (Because apparently I have the mentality of a 13 year-old.)

Valen-whats?

Because I've gone over, in exacting detail previously, how much I hate this "holiday," we're not going to discuss it anymore. I firmly plan on spending my night at home with a bottle of wine and my new copy of the first season of Grey's Anatomy and it's going to be awesome and only a little bit commercial. So there.

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

Instead, since I forgot to do it earlier, we're going to discuss the Oscars, and how much I love them. I mean, I understand empirically that they're basically worthless and go on forever, but the whole thing is still near and dear to my heart. And this year I was mucho impressed with the nominations, so it's doubly exciting.

Because I am feeling very detailed today, we will go through the whole damnable list:

Performance by an actor in a leading role
Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Capote"
Terrence Howard in "Hustle & Flow"
Heath Ledger in "Brokeback Mountain"
Joaquin Phoenix in "Walk the Line"
David Strathairn in "Good Night, and Good Luck."

Things you need to know beforehand: 1) I love Brokeback Mountain, 2) I refuse to see Walk The Line, for reasons that can only be called mean spirited, 3) In Cold Blood is a really good book.

Jason's Conclusion: Heath Ledger really needs to win this, but if Hoffman takes it, I won't whine too much. And I don't care how much I like Mssr. Phoenix, I really hope he doesn't come close. Aside: I love that Terrance Howard got nominated, just on principle, and Hustle & Flow is my next rental.

Performance by an actor in a supporting role
George Clooney in "Syriana"
Matt Dillon in "Crash"
Paul Giamatti in "Cinderella Man"
Jake Gyllenhaal in "Brokeback Mountain"
William Hurt in "A History of Violence"

Jason's Conclusion: I'm sorry, but I don't get the Clooney. Can't explain, but yeah no, nothing doing. And I hate Matt Dillon's face. I don't really like Paul Giamatti, but I can appreciate that he's a good actor, and I didn't come anywhere near A History of Violence. I thought Jake was very, very good and underrated in BM, so I hope he wins. But barring that (because...come on), I think Giamatti should get it.

Performance by an actress in a leading role
Judi Dench in "Mrs. Henderson Presents"
Felicity Huffman in "Transamerica"
Keira Knightley in "Pride & Prejudice"
Charlize Theron in "North Country"
Reese Witherspoon in "Walk the Line"

Jason's Conclusion: (Before anything else: I cannot believe that Gwyneth Paltrow did not get nominated for Proof. Easily the best bit of acting I saw all year, and...nothing. At any awards ceremony. She should fire her agent-type person. Anyways.) It finally comes down to it, a category wherein I haven't seen any of the movies nominated. Yes, I know, my reviewing card should be revoked. But that doesn't stop me from having an opinion. And it is - I love me some Reese Witherspoon and I love me some Keira Knightley, but again I'm anti-Walk the Line, so I root for Keira. Although if Reese wins, I will still feel a warm glow. Oh, and Felicity Huffman rules my TV world (do you people remember Sports Night? God, I loved that show.) but not my movie world. If she wins, that's cool too, though. I cannot lose in this round.

Performance by an actress in a supporting role
Amy Adams in "Junebug"
Catherine Keener in "Capote"
Frances McDormand in "North Country"
Rachel Weisz in "The Constant Gardener"
Michelle Williams in "Brokeback Mountain"

Jason's Conclusion: My deepest and darkest secret: I really loved Junebug, to a ridiculous degree. Like, I may like it even more than Brokeback. Seriously. So Amy Adams needs to win this award. Hard. That said, I love every other actress nominated, Constant Gardner was excellent too, and Michelle Williams rocked that role unlike anything else. Really, its another one of those categories that I can't lose in. But yeah, Amy Adams all the way. (Aside that will make no sense to anyone who has not seen the movie: He just wanted to tape the meerkats for her! Oh, Benjamin McKenzie...)

Best animated feature film of the year
"Howl's Moving Castle" Miyazaki
"Tim Burton's Corpse Bride" Tim Burton and Mike Johnson
"Wallace & Gromit in the Curse of the Were-Rabbit" Nick Park and Steve Box

Jason's Conclusion: Do we need to go over again how much I loved the Moving Castle? And how much I care that it didn't make a damn bit of sense (answer: none)? Good. So I want it to win. But I watched the Were-Rabbit last night, and it was pretty good, even though moving clay freaks me out. So it'll be okay if that one wins.

Achievement in directing
"Brokeback Mountain" Ang Lee
"Capote" Bennett Miller
"Crash" Paul Haggis
"Good Night, and Good Luck." George Clooney
"Munich" Steven Spielberg

Jason's Conclusion: Ang Lee should have won for Crouching Tiger and he needs to win this time too. Next!

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original score)
"Brokeback Mountain" Gustavo Santaolalla
"The Constant Gardener" Alberto Iglesias
"Memoirs of a Geisha" John Williams
"Munich" John Williams
"Pride & Prejudice" Dario Marianelli

Jason's Conclusion: I can't believe I typed all that out just to say that I loved the music in The Constant Gardner and I hope it wins. My priorities are misplaced today.

Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original song)
"In the Deep" from "Crash" Lyric by Kathleen "Bird" York
"It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp" from "Hustle & Flow" Lyric by Houston et al
"Travelin' Thru" from "Transamerica" Music and Lyric by Dolly Parton

Jason's Conclusion: How do you not vote for Dolly Parton here? I mean, okay, yes it is very cool that a song with the word "Pimp" in the title made it, but we already had the shocking thing when Eminem won all those many years ago. I am very sad that that song from Brokeback Mountain didn't get nominated, though. That was my jam, yo.

Other things that I don't really feel like listing out: Brokeback should win for best adapted screenplay, I liked Match Point enough to root for it for Original Screenplay, and I hope Batman Begins wins whatever the hell it was nominated for, just on principle. Anything else I don't care about, but would like to see King Kong win a bunch of technical stuff just because.

And last and least interesting:
Best motion picture of the year
"Brokeback Mountain"
"Capote"
"Crash"
"Good Night, and Good Luck."
"Munich"

Jason's Conclusion: Brokeback Mountain by a country mile. Reasons herein. "I wish I knew how to quit you, indeed."

Meme Friday

Because I am both very sick and very tired, I'm not posting anything of consequence. What I am doing is a dumb meme, which provides the illusion of content in place of me having to think while my stomach is in a constant state of upheaval.

Four Jobs I've Had

1. Law Library Shelver - 4 consecutive years
   


2. Carnival Worker - 3 months, sporadically
   


3. Fashion Show Guard - Two, 2 week stints
   


4. Camp El Tesoro Store Manager - One glorious (hideous) summer
   

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over

1. Bring It On - "Follow me or perish, sweater monkeys!"
   


2. The Emperor's New Groove - "Why do we even have that lever?"
   


3. Mean Girls - "That's why her hair is so big, it's full of secrets!"
   
   
4. Center Stage - "Dance what you feel!"
   

Four Places I Have Lived

1. Chicago, IL - ages 0 to 1
   


2. Orange, TX - ages 13 - 18
   


3. Dallas, TX - ages 18 - 24
   


4. Homer, TX - ages 7 - 11
   

Four TV Shows I Love

1. The Office - my new obsession. I love me some Jim.
   


2. Arrested Development - my ire that this show is cancelled knows no bounds
   


3. Grey's Anatomy - Sandra Oh! There needs no more explanation. (But anyways: I *heart* George!)
   


4. Scrubs - "I would never swim in a pond, they are infamous for serpents."

Four Places I Have Vacationed

1. Galveston - the ugliest beach you ever did see
   


2. Orlando - or wherever the hell Disney World is
   


3. Arkansas Ozarks - my favorite vacation spot
   


4. Austin - you've got to admire their drunken spunk (also: excellent BBQ)
   

Four of My Favorite Dishes

1. Monte Cristo Sandwich - deep fried for maximum deliciousness
   


2. Buttermilk Pie - so sweet that it fuses your mouth shut
   


3. Peanut Butter and Pickle Sandwiches - contrasting flavors = awesome
   


4. French Toast - the one dish I can make perfectly every time
   

Four Sites I Visit Daily

1. Television Without Pity - to fuel my TV obsession through the written word
   


2. Damn Hell Ass Kings - a portal to so much funny
   


3. Penny Arcade - The only webcomic anyone will ever need
   


4. ESPN.com - Look how straight I am
   

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now

1. In my Bed
   


2. In a Bar
   


3. On my couch
   


4. Switzerland
   

Four of my favorite commenters I am tagging.

1. Frank - even my arch-nemesis needs things to occupy his time
   


2. Erin - obviously
   


3. Devon - because she promised to keep updating to keep me entertained during the day
   


4. Emily - because she needs to post. (guilt-trip!)
   

(Edit: I should do my research better.)

Unwanted Musings

I spent the morning really slowly eating a Yoplait Yogurt cup (by dipping the spoon into the yogurt but not actually scooping any of it out, and then carefully licking said spoon clean. Repeat ad inifinium) and pondering exactly how they are able to so accurately recreate the flavors that they offer.

I mean, yes, "Peach Cobbler" and "Key Lime Pie" are beautifully descriptive, in a way that delights the mind with possibilities of flavor, but in my Americanized mind I'm not expecting anything that would actually taste like what's being advertised. Except, it totally does. Peach Cobbler, despite containing nothing but peaches, still manages to have a cobbler-esque taste to it. And I'll be damned if I can't taste some pie-ness inside that Key Lime. This is uncharted territory for me and I'm not sure if I can get behind this truth in advertising.

When I was little, I was always enthralled by those 106 color Crayola boxes of crayons. I mean, with that amount of options it's like the world is at your fingertips, just waiting for you to grab the precise color that you need for any occasion. But I was always disappointed in the end result - "Raw Umber" and "Hot Magenta" were entirely superfluous versions of Brown and Red. And then when they added those descriptive names once I hit junior high, I truly became a cynic. "Macaroni and Cheese?" "Razzmatazz?" Yeah, really. No. Tell me another one, corporate America.

Was this going anywhere? I forget.

Anyways, so there was a good thirty to forty-five minutes of my morning, silently debating with myself the merits of flavors that actually were what they claimed to be. Somewhere near the end I decided that this was fine for yogurt, but most definitely needed to stop short of most anything else. In the real world I hate watermelon, but love what candy companies term "watermelon flavor." The same goes for Grape and Cherry. I mean, I love grapes and cherries in their real life manifestations, but would mourn the loss of the artificial versions as if they were my own children.

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

After I wore out that line of reasoning within my own head, I moved on to other stimuli. I've gotten to a point of almost Zen-like reasoning with my Sudoku.

Congratulations! You solved the Sudoku in 9 minutes, 51 seconds!
Hard puzzles
solved:
32
Your average time:
15:42
Your fastest
time:
9:51

I can't quite place what appeals to me so much about ordering these stupid numbers. I mean, it's not even as challenging as, say, a crossword puzzle. It's barely a step up from the games of my past (say, solitaire. Or the dreaded minesweeper). It's essentially just applying basic logic to a tiny set of integers. But there's still a residual thrill I get from forcing a Hard puzzle to my will in under 10 minutes. (For the last 10 games I have abandoned the "How am I doing" button until my Sudoku is complete, deciding that fact checking is for the weak. Yes, I'm aware that I've hit rock bottom in terms of geekdom. It's like declaring that you do crosswords "only in ink." This is what we in the industry refer to as hardcore lame.)

The whole thing puts me in the sort of mindset that I used to have, when I loved math once upon a time. Back when that was my declared major and before differential equations left me actively detesting word problems. Logical underpinnings and things that just suddenly fall into place once the rules are applied appeal to me greatly. Which is saying nothing except that I like it when I have confirmation that my brain hasn't turned completely to a pulpy mush under the combined strain of American Idol and 8 million Blockbuster movies.

Breaking Point

An Open Letter to Anyone Who Has An Office and Children (But more specifically to the one who is located in the office next to mine):

Hi. I see you have an office. That's nice, I have one too. Ah, and I see that you have children. Again, that's nice. I do not have children, as I tend to think of them as a plague on humanity and one of the most unfortunate side-effects of needing to extend the life of our species. But like I say, to each his own - good for you, making a family, furthering your bloodline, etc. I'm sure you're very proud.

The part I take offense with is the fact that you have brought your small child to the office. Now I assume that this child is not some sort of mathematical or business-minded savant and is not acting as your employee. If this is actually the case, then I apologize and leave it to you and the child-labor board to discuss. But as the child is currently banging his head against the wall over and over and over again, I will go on with my assumption that he is not under your employ. And also that he is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, if you catch my meaning.

So I have to protest this little home-invasion scenario you've got going on here. I'm considerate enough to not bring my crazy roommate up to the office to throw things at me and insult the size of my head, so I would hope you'd show similar consideration in bringing your house to the office. But apparently that ship has sailed.

But really, the main part of my complaint (besides the fact that the repeated banging of his head is against the wall that is 18 inches from my body) is that you thought it wise to accessorize your small child with a one-note recorder, the musical instrument equivalent of an ice-pick to my brain. Because your child, erroneously believing that he has some measure of musical talent, has taken to playing the rhythm from Jingle Bells, over and over and OVER, on just that one note. While banging his head against the wall.

And we are very close to the moment in which I will enact some cubicle justice and snap that recorder in half. Which will probably cause the small child to cry, but let's face it, even incomprehensible wailing would be better than One Note Jingle Bells right now.

So in the future, let's all save each other some serious grief, and leave your family at home to be tended by the TV, like God intended.

Thanks,
Jason

Bulk Rate Verb Tenses

Otherwise Entitled

When Spam Email and A French Teacher Collide

OR

Add Inches to Your Conjugation!

Today's best spam email on my Gmail account is brought to us by one un-anonymous spammer, Liz Donne.

Liz writes:

Fw: Hows it been going?

L0 w and reasonable aPr !ces.

Valid for
24 hrs.
That flight attendant is not missing playing below the bridge at this exact moment.
Donna's daughter hasn't practiced playing yet.
Do you practice driving in London?
I don't miss jumping for three or four weeks.
Were those science teachers missing walking a few days ago?
I am not enjoying skiing among the trees at the moment.
Hasn't Buddy ever liked swimming?
Haven't you disliked reading?

Goodbye,
Liz Donne

I swear to God I had almost that exact list of sentences to translate for my final exam in French IV on irregular verb tenses. I expect Liz will soon write back, detailing my pronunciation faults and will make fun of the fact that I always pluralize nouns when I'm unsure of their gender. Y'know, just to complete the high school French experience.

The main question I have here is: What is she selling? There's no link. There's no questioning of my manhood, or even any mention of hot lesbian action. She's like the worst spam emailer of all time.

I do enjoy her statement that the pr!ces are both L0w and reasonable, though. I do love me some low prices on complicated verb conjugation.

Anatomy of a Horror Flick

A couple nights back, in my continuing effort to see every movie Blockbuster has ever stocked in the New Release section, I watched The Cave. Absolutely horrible. The only thing it has going for it is that I didn't technically see it until 2006, which means it didn't get to be listed as the Worst Movie of 2005 on my Big Movie Roundup. The whole thing is an utter mess and entirely unlikable.

But it did get me thinking (during the movie, which is a very bad sign) exactly why was I so offended by this piece of crap? And since I came up with a lot of reasons, I now present a rambling manifesto on what makes a good scary movie. (I love making sweeping uninformed pronunciations about things I know nothing about. Makes me feel extra special.)

The primary problem with The Cave is what's usually wrong with all really bad horror movies - they equate "Some Thing That is Scary" with "Something Scary."

Don't give up on my madness yet, I'm going somewhere here.

In the movie, the Thing that is Scary are these huge bat-like humanoids that fly around sightless in a cave. Yes, in general, giant bat-humans with Alien-type teeth are scary, in that empirical "anything that can disembowel you in the dark is scary" sort of way. But that does not mean that a movie about them will be scary. Or interesting.

To put it another way - Alien was not a scary movie because the creature was Scary (which it rightfully was). Alien was scary because the atmosphere in the ship, the interaction of the crew, and the resultant hunting that followed all combined together to create something creepy and realistic and stunningly scary.

The Cave starts with a Scary Thing, puts a bunch of people together that you don't really care about and has them get picked off one-by-one, expecting that the bats will do all the work for them, scare-wise. This is a colossal miscalculation on several levels - you only get flashes of the monsters initially and they aren't so much scary as just teeth, there is no sense of what they are or what they can do, all you know that they like to kill humans. It's not so much menace as it is just, y'know, violent.

Maybe the problem I really have is that there is a level of promise that you can almost see hidden behind the movie - the claustrophobia of being trapped miles underground in total blackness, the actually almost plausible concept of a closed ecosystem evolving in a bizarre manner, the resulting "infection" storyline - all the parts are there to be a much better movie than what resulted.

Instead of compelling dialogue and interesting character dynamics, though, you get stale lines and stereotypes that hurt the brain. Instead of ratcheting tension from dark and claustrophobic caves you have lighting everywhere and gigantic expanses and entirely gratuitous waterslides. Which I guess is a function of the action-movie side of things, but that doesn't make the movie any less bad.

I will admit, action-horror is a genre in itself and it's unfair to compare it to the more straight-up conventional horror, like say The Blair Witch or The Ring. This is your Alien, your Predator, or your AlienVsPredator (blech) type film, but still, the same rules still apply. You have to either make something directly relatable (tap into a real life fear - lost in the woods in Blair Witch), cohesive and atmospheric enough to work (implausible but still crazy scary like The Ring), or tensionally scary and frightening all the way through (Alien, Predator, or, in a different but similar way, The Grudge) to make me care. I need something to hang my horror on in a movie, and a bat with big teeth is not going to cut it.

------

Oh, and a final note, don't even try to spring a twist at the end unless you've earned it, for serious. Nothing raises my ire faster than an undeserved parting shot. In other words, I have seen The Sixth Sense, and you sir, are no Sixth Sense.

Movies that I forever hate due to just such an offense - Fallen, Ghost Ship, and The Cave just to name three.

Ranting for the Sake of Ranting

Two unrelated and almost purposely obtuse rants on things that annoy me today:

• Okay, how many times in the past week have I seen (usually in reality TV show interviews) someone say "Well, I know I did my best, so I feel fine," immediately after losing/getting kicked off/being rejected/etc? Approximately 1,000,000 times by my count. How is this comforting to people? "I did my absolute best and I totally got smoked! Score!" That is not something to be proud of, that your best was not good enough. That is crushing! Vow to get better. Make up an excuse, blame a judge, the media, or God. Heck, freak out in the middle of the interview all mad-scientist/Bond villain and declare that You'll Destroy Them All and One Day You'll See, You'll All See Mwha Ha ha. But whatever you do, please don't accept your mediocrity in front of a TV viewing audience. It makes me sad.

• Yes, I got a haircut. I'm glad that you can see that, I'm crazy narcissistic like that. But here's the thing - coming up to me and saying "Hey, you got a haircut!" drives me insane. Tell me you like it, tell me you hate it, tell me it makes my forehead look a mile long and my head like a half-crushed walnut, whatever, just don't stop with the declarative. I see what you're doing, don't think I'm stupid. You're trying to gauge what I think of it so that you can respond in kind. If I say "Yeah, I love it," you can paste a fake smile on your face and go right along. Or if I say "Eh, yeah, what can you do?" you're free to give in to your baser urges and comfort "oh, it'll grow out, it's not that bad."
  
  No No No! Quit hedging to see what I think, just grow a pair and tell me. As it stands right now, you remember that line in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy where Ford came up with a theory that people keep stating the obvious because they have to constantly talk to keep their brain functioning? That's what I'm thinking when you're* all "Your hair is different today! And will you look at that sky? It's blue!"

*(PS - By you, I mean all those other people. Not you. You know I love you. Always and forever. You complete me, baby.)

There's No Shame on the Internet

As last night was a Monday night after an exhausting day of working on what was technically a holiday, I was not exactly inclined to do much of anything. Basically I walked through the door, stripped out of my work clothes and changed into my pajamas. Threw something into the oven for dinner, then collapsed on the couch. Again, being Monday, there's not even a damn thing on television to watch, so me and Roommate Frank opted to watch M. Night Shyamalan's The Village, because he had never seen it before, and I love me that horrible movie.

Seriously, yeah I'll admit straight up that the movie is horrible. Sucktastic. L-to-the-izz-ame, as it were. But I can't get enough Bryce Dallas Howard and Joaquin Phoenix's character is just so damn cute. And yeah, okay, the movie does still freak me out a bit, despite the fact that I know exactly what happens. Sue me, I'm a little girl like that.

So we start watching the movie and it is sufficiently creepy. Made moreso by the fact that it's really windy outside, so there are these really loud noises coming from our patio, as all my sundry chairs and plants outside roll around in the wind. We pause the movie for a moment to lock the sliding glass door and for Roommate Frank to double-check the lock on the front door. Because we are awesome.

Movie continues, as do the sounds from outside. Roommate Frank becomes convinced that M. Night Shyamalan is out on our patio trying to make the movie scarier than it actually is. I do not technically disagree with him.

Movie ends, Frank bemoans how horrible the entire thing was. Again, I do not disagree. But sadly, to tell the truth, I am still a little on edge from the whole thing. That shit is scary, yo. What?! Don't judge me! Yet.

There's another loud noise from the patio.

Frank: [lying on the couch] Jason! Make M. Night Shyamalan go away!
Jason: [in as patronizing a tone as possible] Now Frank, you know full well that M. Night Shyamalan is just a make-believe story that people tell to scare little kids. See?
[Jason goes to pull the curtain aside to show that there is no one on the patio. He pulls it open, and SEES SOMEONE STANDING RIGHT THERE LOOKING AT HIM!]
Jason: GAHHHH! [Bounds backwards three feet while screaming like a little girl.]
Frank: What?!
Jason's Brain: Calm down you fool! You realize that was just your reflection in the glass door, right? Way to freak-the-fuck-out over what is practically your own shadow. You are the lamest lame who ever lamed. Frank officially thinks you've lost your mind. But maybe you can still pull this out.
Jason: Ha. Ha. Good one, right? Had you going there! Heh. [pause] Heh. Aren't I a good actor?
Frank: [Inquisitive head tilt] Huh?
Jason: Okay, yeah, I just freaked out over my own reflection.
Frank: Ha ha. 'Mo.
Jason: Hate Crime!

This week shall hereunto be referred to as Jason's Mondo Week of Embarrassing Scenarios.

All Signs Point to Haircut

Okay, so my hair is crazy long. Well, not by any normal standards, but by Jason's Hair Standards it's running as long as it's ever been in the past 5 years or so. This means it is not quite in my eyes, but if I try I can actually see the beginnings of the hair in my field of vision. I cannot handle long hair, as anyone who knew me in high school knows. I look like a really unfortunate sheepdog when my hair gets long. An ugly sheepdog.

I keep meaning to go to the barber/salon/Supercuts and let them do the same damage they always do, but I am easily distracted by things like movies, or video games, or lying on the couch insulting my roommate for being lazy (while I'm watching an infomercial because the remote control is just out of my reach). With such a super busy schedule things have just spiraled out of control, hair-wise.

Problem is, I absolutely cannot stand long hair. On my forehead or in my eyes, it drives me nuts. Thus, in my state of long-haired-ness I have devised a system to keep my hair out of the way when I'm at home. It involves my red SMU ear warming headband (given to me by the lovely Devon) carefully placed just above my hairline with all the hair collected inside its elasticity, effectively freeing me from any potential hair distractions while I'm slowing vegetating away to nothing on the couch.

Its the perfect solution, except with my hair being as long as it is now, my hair actually spills out over the top of the headband. So it sort of flops out, giving off a look not unsimilar to a stalk of broccoli or a particularly poofy fern, perched on the top of my head. Which my roommate is exceedingly quick to mock. But whatever, if I listened to things that Frank told me, I would have died long ago, probably of alcohol-poisoning or in a gay orchestra riot.

So last night I am watching Grey's Anatomy and Red Eye with Devon and getting my laundry done, basically your normal, very productive Sunday night. I am of course wearing the headband, because it is what I do when I am at home and also because I think it only polite to show people how much you appreciate any gifts they give you by using them as much as possible. Even if you're using them in ways not necessarily intended by God or man.

Not really thinking of much of anything, I run out to the laundry room to retrieve all the clothes from the dryer (aside: for once this is not a story of pain in the laundry room; actually the laundry room has been very good to me lately) on a commercial break. With record pace, I collect my clothes and head on back home. As I hit my hallway I pass by two very nice girls who are having a discussion.

Girl One: [holding a garbage bag] So where, again?
Girl Two: I'm not sure. We've got to get to that dumpster. [Notices Jason. Surprised eyes at the hair. Recovers nicely.] Oh hi. Excuse me. I'm your new neighbor. Any idea how we take the trash out? [Another discreet glance at his hair. Seriously, she's got some remarkable poise in the face of someone who looks completely out of their damn mind.]
Jason: [awkward (that goes without saying, right?)] Oh. Right. Yes. You have to go down to that gate and walk all the way around, unless you want to drive. They stopped picking up at the door last week.
Girl Two: Right I heard that. Drag. Well, cool, thanks, I'm your new next door neighbor, [yeah like I can remember her name through my embarrassment]. Nice to meet you.
Jason: Hi, Jason. [tries to point to himself, but fails, as he is holding a giant tub full of clothes. Almost drops it, but recovers.] Me. I mean, I'm Jason. My name. It's. Jason.
Jason's Brain: SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!
Jason: Nice to meet you too. [awkward pause]
Girl Two: [Another glance at the hair, which has taken on a whole new look, after the near drop of the tub. There are random strands of hair now in Jason's face, along with the whole vegetable top look.] Cool. Well. Later.

[She goes to shake his hand, but thinks better of it when he attempts to shift the tub again and almost bites it. Girls One & Two ride off into the night, Jason runs back into his apartment, where Devon proceeds to point and laugh at him for 15 minutes straight. Which he entirely deserves.]

Anyways, with that final spurring from God, I will be going to get my hair cut this afternoon. Rock on.

Wherein I Become a Seething Pile of Emotion

I was going to go back and update that damn mile long list of movies that I saw in 2005 to include the last few days of the year, which were a flurry of cinema (my final tally was 56 movies, up from 53), as there was not much else to do during the break.

I'm not, though, because I realized that I would have a new #1 movie, which would necessitate changing every single number in the post, which is just not on.

So Brokeback Mountain gets a whole (ginormous) entry to itself.

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

Okay first off, the movie itself is excellent. It's beautifully shot and paced. The intro is a bit long, but right. They expanded on the short story perfectly, adding some things that I really dug (Ennis's relationship with his daughter is a good example) without dragging the movie out. The acting is freaking ridiculous - Michelle Williams's performance makes up for every single bad movie ever made by a member of Dawson's Creek, up to and including Varsity Blues, which is saying possibly too much. Heath Ledger (from a goddamn Knight's Tale all jousting to Queen) made me cry. The ending was so completely perfect that it broke me. Each and every one of Anne Hathaway's wigs deserved an acting nomination for how perfectly Texas each one was. I cannot come up with enough good things to say about this movie.

I only have two annoyances. 1) Some of the later scenes were either shot in horrible light or the makeup was completely off, because Jake Gyllenhall looked like his face was melting off. I get that they were trying to age him, but come on people. If I can see the foundation, you know something is off. 2) I love that scene late in the movie where Michelle Williams confronts Heath Ledger about all his fishing trips and her little ploy to prove that he never actually fished (one of the best scenes and almost verbatim from the short story). But in the movie she has seen him and Jake hardcore making out in front of their house. I'm thinking that's a little better evidence than your clever ruse involving fishing lures, watching two guys trying to consume each other's faces on the front yard. But maybe that's just me. As Frank said "Maybe they were just really happy to see their good buddy." Because you know that's how I greet my old cowboy friends.

Anyways, I've gone on way too much about the faults.

There is something more about the story that gets to me, a way that some of the scenes were done that just lodges right inside me. I've already gushed at length about the movie itself, but I'm talking about how they work up the relationship between Jack and Ennis, heck how they show them individually too.

It's a matter that I claim some expertise in - growing up gay (in the South) with the religious stuff drilled in to your DNA that it's all a sin. To say that I feel where Jack and Ennis are coming from is an internet understatement of massive proportions. Ennis particularly - quiet, reserved, focused on the job, morally conflicted, etc.

But it's not even the same thing. When you add in the time period that they're in, it's magnified a million times - I don't deal with 1% of the stigma they're talking about in the 60's. The whole thing is almost too much for me to wrap my head around.

I'm rambling, so we'll cut to the scenes I want to talk about:

• Ennis's nervous waiting when Jack comes to meet him for the first time. Drinking beers, staring out the window all day with that jumpy anticipation. That whole - 'Jack's not that kind of guy, probably just go out to a bar' thing. The whole build up telegraphs his feelings so well that I could feel myself physically tightening up in response. And then the payoff when they actually meet on the steps - when I say the movie broke me, seriously. That much repressed emotion and hotness in one big burst. Ow.
• Jack's short little cruising scene after that first rodeo. So incidental to the rest of the movie, but exactly what it needed to be. Subtle in action, showing everything we need to know about him (overly brash despite his intentions - you get a shot of those guys from across the room and the ending of the movie is practically already laid out in my mind) and his differences from Ennis. He is louder, more physical, miles more direct in his intentions. There is this intense sadness where you know this is not going to work.
• And in that same vein, the corny (yet utterly delicious and perfect and already overused by me) "I wish I knew how to quit you" scene, where Jack is entirely angry at Ennis for ruining what could be perfect (in his mind, at least), but you know it would never work because of how Ennis has been raised and who he is and you feel completely for both of them but it doesn't matter because it's not going to be real and man look at me go on. Repeat after me: This is just a movie.
• We're not even going to get into the ending scenes with Jack's parents and the shirts and the breaking of my poor dorky heart, but it's ridiculous how affecting this whole thing is to me.

So yeah, that was a little uncomfortable, all that emotional spewing all over the internet, but I felt like I should say something, because it did mess with me in a way very few things can these days.

Best movie of the year. Even better than Serenity.

British-isms

Edit: You know, normally when someone writes one of these blowing-off-steam essays, once they've recovered they go back and delete them. Me? I go back, edit for punctuation and grammar, and then leave it up. I should be studied.

Today I have the worst (non-feline related) headache I have had in at least two years. It comes completely out of the blue with no apparent cause and it is ruining my life.

So much so that I missed the first hour of work today because I could literally not compel myself to stand up for more than 5 seconds without feeling violently ill. Thus I flailed at my alarm clock at least 5 times, each time hitting the snooze, completely unable to make the connection that I needed to actually turn the damn thing off.

I did manage to get into work around 9:30, though, because I need me some money and I can't be all slacking off just because my brain is trying to escape my skull by burrowing directly out from between my eyes.

The pain is now at least manageable, the problem now becomes that the things in a normal day which are everyday annoying now become brain-meltingly frustrating, to the point where one more stupid comment is liable to send me snapping into a crazy rage in all colors of the rainbow.

Boss creates a computer problem? Happens basically everyday. Only mildly annoying. Is moreso today with the aforementioned skull pounding, but manageable. The constant chatter and exhortation that I must fix said problem when there is no available solution? Intolerable. Telling me that "there must be something [I] can do" when there totally is not helps no one, especially not my rage.

And then when we get the IT email that indeed it is a corporate-wide server issue and cannot be fixed individually, one should not use the phrase 'well at least someone knows what they're doing around here' unless one wants one's assistant to quit in a blind rage, possibly after deleting every file in the entire office.

Don't tempt me, I'm so on the verge right now.

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Heh, anyways, aside from that, my stock response for dealing with everyone today has been to respond to any and all attempts at communication with me by tilting my head to the side and saying (in the most British way possible) : "Is that so? Is it really?" and then staring until they go away. Sometimes I rub the bridge of my nose just so, or at least did until my pen leaked blue ink all over my fingers, and I left a huge blue streak across my nose.

Which was even more effective at getting people to leave me alone.

All in all, quite an awesome day. If you will excuse me, I'm going to go lie down in the dark for several days until the pain dissipates, and the blue on my face is no longer noticeable.

Exfoliation

Or How I Officially Became a Gay Man

So Roommate Frank's not so subtle hint that I am turning into a crazy and weather-beaten old man was a Christmas gift of an exfoliation kit that promises to "return [my] skin to a youthful and healthy glow."

Just to be clear, my skin has never been youthful, healthy, or glowing. Unless you're speaking of some time before puberty, which I'm thinking is not exactly what they meant there. But in any case, the allure of nice skin is pretty tempting to someone as pizza-faced as me, so I went ahead with the whole regimen, figuring it is my duty as a proper homosexual to have multiple "products" and "treatments" applied to my "face" in order to "futilely chase my fleeting youth."

The thing is, what they don't tell you on the box, is that exfoliation is just a fancy word for "let's sandpaper your face." Seriously. Only instead of actual sandpaper, they helpfully provide this tube of cream which contains, I swear to God, little grains of aluminum that you're supposed to rub all over your face for "90 to 120 seconds, never staying in one place for too long." Presumably they include that last part because if you did, you would rub straight down to the bone.

Once your face is consistently scoured of all remains of actual skin, they give you the best part of the procedure, a moisturizing lotion which I assume is made from kittens or bunnies or something equally cute and fuzzy, because dear lord it is divine and soft and almost but not quite makes up for the steel wool portion of the day's procedure.

The whole process is like a voluntary torture regimen. "Rip all the skin off my face? Don't mind if I do!" The part that really gets to me is that this is an accepted practice across the globe. People do this all the time. I am mind-boggled over the entire thing, although I suppose I should not be. Diets, high heels, and lifting really heavy things over and over again for no good reason all exist for an exactly similar purpose. I guess I'm just a little behind the times catching up on my masochism-for-beauty events.

And unfortunately? It totally works. I've been using this stuff for nigh onto 11 days now and I literally do have nicer, more glowing skin. Not counting today, where I somehow sprouted a zit of teenage epic proportion just below my lower lip and it looks like I have herpes, but whatever. The rest of my skin around said 'herpes' is absolutely glowing.

2005 Movie Round Up

(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.

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.

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.)

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:

• 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.

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.

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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!

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.

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Okay, so that was worth waiting 11 days, right?

See you again in a couple of weeks!

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?

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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.

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

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*

Spiffy is a nice word for it, if wildly inaccurate

Well that was refreshing, no?

It was a Thanksgiving of epic proportions, with at least 3 kinds of stuffing, 5 kinds of pie, and more random bits of pure deliciousness than I can properly count. And as much as it pains me to say it, I very well may have been singularly responsible for the decimation of literally (actual literally, not fake 'literally') 2.5 of those 5 pies. And all of one of the kinds of stuffing. How I am not some sort of beached whale after my shenanigans this weekend is a mystery for the ages.

I went over to my parent's house on Thursday morning, because Dallas traffic on Wednesday night was like a scene out of War of the Worlds, only without all the laser beams and less creepy Dakota Fanning. I made it by noon and we proceeded to take the path of greatest resistance - putting up all the Christmas lights during the day, while we waited for our ginormous turkey to properly roast itself. This led to me dangling off the side of their house on a 20 foot ladder with a hammer in one hand, a screwdriver in the other, a hook clenched in my teeth, and a string of multi-color lights wrapped around my arm.

Despite this virtual recipe for disaster, I came out of the entire thing unscathed, except for an incredibly sore back from when I insisted on raking the front lawn. Because apparently I have some weird sort of latent OCD when it comes to leaves. I also managed to get the bejesus freaked out of me, when it turned out that the wire-light-up reindeer that my dad installed in the front lawn was animatronic. There was a mad crazy moment there when I was all The-Shining-topiary-animals-out-for-revenge bugging out, because I was just standing there minding my own business, admiring our handiwork on the house, when the supposedly inanimate glowing reindeer turned its head and looked at me. Do you have any idea what that can do to a man's psyche? For one thing, it makes one scream like a little girl.

This was luckily witnessed by very few people, all of which I have enough dirt on to purchase their silence for life. Except when it's just our family at the dinner table, where they are free to mock me forever, and I them. We're very warm to each other, you understand.

In any case, the lighting of the house was followed by the Thanksgiving dinner from the gods, discussed earlier, followed by a mass exodus of all our family to the various parts of the state. With the exception of lazy me, who sat around and planned on loafing about for at least another couple of days. Because really, who needs a mortgage the day after Thanksgiving? No one I need to associate with.

Friday I was left to my solitary devices as even the people who lived in the house decided to make a run for the border or what have you. They invited me along, but as this run entailed at least 7 hours on a yellow school bus, I naturally declined. Family bonds only take you so far, you understand. Instead I stayed at home and managed to basically eat everything that ever was and potentially ever will be again. This was where those additional pies disappeared. Along with the majority of the dark meat from our prodigious turkey and all the broccoli casserole and that jar of olives. What can I say? It was Thanksgiving, it's practically required.

Saturday was pretty self-contained, as my family made our yearly pilgrimage to the Thanksgiving sales, only a day later than usual. There was precious little actual present shopping to be had, but I managed to pretty much double my wardrobe of 'Things that are acceptable to wear in a public setting' in just one, really thorough trip to Old Navy, otherwise known as My Mothership.

So yeah, flawless good times, good family, good thanks, and a lack of injuries.

Pretty spiffy, I'd say.

What was that, again?

There is a wicked long post just itching to spew forth, about my latest dentistry exploits, my inability to talk like a normal person, and my tendency to get caught doing really embarrassing things.

But my mood is a too insanely good right now for such things. Who would have thought a thing was even possible? If you've never seen my stupidly goofy smile, now's the time. It's a pretty rare thing, in general.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Back with more stories next week.

Blatantly Obvious

Being able to see is awesome.

Yeah, okay, I know, and that water stuff, I hear it's pretty wet. But follow along.

Previous to this week (AKA - the time before contacts), the only method I had to improve my vision besides Furious Squinting (the name of my 3rd album) was applying my glasses to the task. Glasses which were coming up on 6.5 years old, bent at about a 45 degree angle, and really, painfully, truly, dorky looking. Also, it can now be revealed, in a women's style. I picked them up at the start of my senior year of high school, when I realized that it really shouldn't be that difficult to read a chalkboard, especially when you're a suck-up and sit in the front row of desks (High school was an unfortunate time for me).

The result was a dramatic raise in my smartness-looking quotient (and a bit in the actual smartness area, since I could again see the board), but also upped my geekery to near astronomical levels. As one once said, the phrase uber-nerd was not necessarily out of the question.

Since then, I have grown, well, incredibly old and feeble (in many ways, mind) but directly correlated to my vision, all while maintaining the same level of dynamic dorkiness. This deterioration is best evidenced by my new-found, seemingly super-vision. Post Contacts, I can: see gas prices from the highway, pick out people that I know in a crowd from a distance greater than arms length, and watch sports on TV without really needing announcers to let me know what was going on. We won't even get into the part where I can actually see things while driving at night; I don't want to scare any of my previous passengers any more than they already have been.

Also, according to two people, my level of sexiness has gone up dramatically, sans glasses. Of course, there are others who say that the contacts make me blink too often and give me an insane-like quality, but since when do we listen to the naysayers? He also tells me that I have no ass when I wear jeans, whereas I believe I have a fantastic one. Which I'm pretty sure moves our conversation outside of the normal sphere of roommate relations, but no one ever said we were normal.

I just like the concept of not needing to go on a mission throughout the house to find your glasses, despite the fact that they're in your damnable front shirt pocket the entire time. Contacts add a whole new dimension to the adage of not being able to lose one's head, since it is already screwed on to one's neck.

And somehow (to continue the cliches at a record pace), contacts are just like riding a bicycle - it's easy to fall off, with a tendency to cause scarring. No, wait. I mean, you never forget how to work them: in and out in under 30 seconds.

The convenience is staggering.

Goblet of Awesome

It may have been 12:01 in the middle of the night and I may have been utterly exhausted beyond words. My eyes may have been ridiculously sore since I was wearing contacts for the first time in over two years. We may have been surrounded by more Highland Park High Schoolers than I knew existed in the world, and one of them may have been dressed as Draco Malfoy. It may have been at Cityplace, the worst theatre EVER, one to which I vow never to go to again, with no working surround-sound and only two front speakers that were horribly imbalanced so that the background effects were occasionally louder than the actual dialogue. And the projection room light may have been turned on with about 40 minutes left in the movie, so a huge yellow glare was projected onto the screen during the entire climax of the movie.

All these things may be true, but the important part is even more true: Last night I got to go see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. And it was awesome.

Let me preface that by saying that if you haven’t read the book, this movie will not make a damn lick of sense, the ending will feel ridiculously cheated, and you will have nothing but questions at the end.

But the movie is excellent, condensing practically every important part of a 700+ page book into two and a half hours of (amazingly surprisingly) good acting and effects. At first, I was sort of disappointed in the result. As the credits rolled, it felt more like a companion popup book to the novel, bright and exciting pictures to go along with the high points of the story with no substance. But really, if I were asked to work up a treatment of GoF, it would have been at least thirty minutes longer and 15 times worse.

Also, it doesn’t hurt that this movie is ridiculously funny. One thing that has been extremely lacking from the film version of HP is the quirkiness inherent in Rowling’s writing, and this movie is practically nothing but nice, well-delivered jokes interspersed with tasty action sequences.

There were a few things that I categorically disagree with: I hate their characterization of Dumbledore with a fierce passion (Dumbledore does not constantly shout and yell at people, he is quiet and effective and self-possessed) and it’s the only part of the movie that I think is actually at odds with the spirit of the book. I also really wish they would have used Snape more, and not just because I have a huge man-crush on Alan Rickman. I think that the dynamic there is really vital to the book, and just using him for a couple of (okay, really good) scenes is a big waste, artistically. My only other major complaint is about the really weird disconnect in the rising action up to the final task – it was like 4 completely random scenes that needed playing, but there was no way to link them together, so lets just drop them right in and move on. Just…weird. But not deal-breaking.

Something that is neither here nor there: it feels like the movie is utterly lacking in characterization for all the new characters (Cedric, Fleur, Krum, the Headmasters) and I was all ready to ding the movie for that, until I realized that the exact same thing is true in the book. Rowling’s characters are often excellently drawn, but done so broadly that you naturally can ascribe anything you want to them, even though they never have any characterization through the whole book you come out at the end with a fully-formed picture in your mind, regardless. Which makes me re-evaluate my entire theory on why I like the books, but that’s an entirely different long-winded essay.

And just to round it out, the things that I loved:

• Actual acting by all the principles that was really good, even by Daniel “HE WAS THEIR FRIEND!” Radcliffe. And Emma Watson sort of insanely rocks. In fact, all the casting was just top-notch (my dislike for the Dumbledore interpretation notwithstanding).
• So much Neville that I practically wanted to weep with joy. He’s easily my second favorite character and I was incredibly gratified to see him get some nice screen-time.
• The entire, utterly cracked-out, Yule Ball scene, which was both incredibly true to the book, and completely awesome. There’s a level of delicious awkward-ness to the entire affair that speaks to a place deep within me.
• Those two scenes about figuring out the egg. First with Cedric seemingly hitting on Harry to an insane degree (“mull it over in the hot water?” If that’s not a come-on, I don’t know what is.) and then Myrtle all “sexual harassment 101” in the bathroom? I know that they both were practically verbatim from the book, but man, put in video form and it was just… so damn perfect that it brought a tear to my eye.
• And okay, basically all of the jokes, which I won’t spoil here, but they just put me in an excellent mood for the entire movie. I don’t need a word-for-word reenactment if you’ve got some nice comedic timing. I am easily amused, don’t ya know
  

So, anyways. LOVE. Go see it. And take me with you.

The Rhythm Finally Got Me

There is a new and disturbing wrinkle in my daily routine, here in the land of mortgages and bored attorneys. The management of our office building has decided that there is but one thing that is truly missing from our total office experience - elevator music.

Because our elevators previously contained nothing but the comforting whir and clank of ancient cables inching their way up the stories, always wondering if this would be their final hurrah before they gave up, you would think that some level of music, no matter how banal, would be a welcome distraction from the question of impending doom that comes with each additional floor.

You would be wrong.

Because this music is loud. Incredibly loud. Ridiculously loud. So loud that I can hear it in my office. Which is down a long hallway, through a door, and across a lobby from the elevators. And it's not just elevator music. It is elevator music via a calliope/deranged carnival. Instead of muted Muzak, we've got jaunty carousel songs that sound just out of tune enough to put you in mind of pure evil. Seriously, my clown avoidance senses are off the charts at all times of the day now. It's utterly maddening.

Plus, to top it all off, they've patched it in to the downstairs lobby too, so you can hear it all the way from your car. Trust me, you haven't experienced horror until you've walked through a darkened parking garage with distorted carnival music echoing off the stone walls.

This is not my beautiful office life.

On the Outs

Last Tuesday I went in for extremely minor oral surgery to finish work on a root canal process, and remove one of my wisdom teeth that was preventing the final cap from getting placed on said root canal. It's hard to quantify exactly how much this whole thing disturbed me, right down to my very (semi-sweet chocolatey) core, but man-oh-man I will try.

Because I don't like drills, or needles, and I really hate cutting, and then the scraping, and the numbness all day long followed by just intense pain, and the blood, and geez I'm grossing myself out and I haven't even gotten to the part where the dentist started singing along to Avril Lavigne during the procedure, ruining all Canadian singer/songwriters for me for life.

The whole thing was made infinitely worse by my necessity to be in the office all week long, including but not limited to, the three hours immediately following the procedure and the morning following. Other things that caused me issue during the adventure:

• The pain medication is, of course, awesome, but puts me in a state that isn't so much "out of it" as it is "out of it completely, with a tendency to drool onto the fancy new couch." Which, y'know, LAME.
• Not eating solid foods doesn't seem like a huge issue, until you try to find soft foods that actually have some sort of nutritional value. Campbells condensed soups provide basically nothing that you need to survive in the world, except 105% your daily recommended allowance of sodium, which I assume I was already getting from all those salt-water mouth rinses. And yogurt? I'm sorry, but Yoplait only has 100 calories per huge bucket of goop. Yes it was delicious, but damn man, my metabolism is such that I burned those 100 calories just trying to rip the little foil cover off the container. Not an exaggeration in the slightest, I dropped 4 pounds by Thursday when I got home from work.
• After my boss warned me of the horrors that were associated with the dreaded 'dry socket' I went online to read up and make sure I was doing everything right with my aftercare and not dooming myself to "intense pain and unpleasant odor of the mouth." And the Internet put me in such a right freak-out state that I'm still pretty much ruined. To express it in proper mathematical notation:
  
  Let x = the amount of time that I spend obsessively worrying about the hole in my mouth to the point of ruination of everything else in the world.
  
  Let y = the amount of time since tooth out.
  
  With p = time while at work,
  k = time spent hopped up on pain pills,
  And z = time while is asleep.
  
  Final Equation:
  x = y
  
  Because not only does it consume my every waking hour, I even compulsively dream about the hideous hole in my mouth. Unwieldy issues is what I'm getting at.

In any case, things are basically better, I get the stitches out tomorrow, and so far I'm pretty sure the whole dry socket thing has been avoided, because there is no pain associated with the hole, although the underside of my jaw still hurts like nothing else. But after tomorrow, the cap should be in place and I won't have to worry about any more dental hijinks. At least until January, when the other three wisdom teeth will be coming out.

Save me, Jebus.

Old and Prosaic

Now that I'm nice and old (just short of a quarter-century, now), I had planned on waiting until there was something of actual import to write, rather than just blathering on at the fingers to get something down, so it doesn't look like I've fallen off the face of the earth. With age should come discretion and the good sense of when to speak.

But that just doesn't wash. Normal weekend ramblings commence now.

In no particular order:

• Went to the Pigskin Review (yearly SMU band homecoming concert) which was delicious in musicality, if not in food. Other good things included an open bar, actual funny comedy, and a banjo, all of which added up into a totally enjoyable experience. I also got a new CD and managed to pretend to dance to a polka without falling once, which is a mini-miracle in itself.
• Saw Jarhead, which was good but taught me nothing except that I spend a little too much time nowadays focusing on perceived homosexual subtexts in everything I watch. Because...seriously. Bunch of marines in the desert and a mostly naked Jake Gyllenhaal? They make it too easy for me. Also, Peter Sarsgaard is a really good actor. Not that you necessarily need me to tell you that, but still.
• I bought Mario Dance Dance Revolution, because I love both DDR and Mario games with an unhealthy passion. Plus the review basically spoke directly to me: "With a short story mode that serves as a fun, linear introduction to sequential stomping, Mario Mix is suitable for a child, or for an uncoordinated friend."(emphasis mine, obviously) Because come on, if ever there was an endorsement for a game made with me in mind...

Later on there will be a discussion on exactly how much being old sucks, but it will have to wait until I get all my notes in order. The mind isn't what it used to be, you know.

Cliched Post of the Day

My new favorite referral log:

Search for: homoerotic dialogue in Firefly

You've come to the right place my friend, welcome home.

Dead to Me

So yesterday when I got out of the dentist's office, I had to head right back into work. As half of my face was completely numb and I am the only one in the office to answer the phones, I imagined it would be just utter fun.

But I found that if I just pulled my tongue very far back into my mouth and moved my lips as little as possible, I could easily be understood, I just had to focus really hard at forming words.

Thus, I get into the office and call my boss to let her know that I am back and busy doing mortgage related things and not slacking off like the slacker that I am. About two minutes into the conversation she asks "So, you went to the dentist for a root canal, right? Didn't they numb you up?" And I was very much, "Uh yeah, that's why I'm talking so funny."

Her response: "Huh. I understand you a million times better right now than when you usually talk."

DEAD TO ME.

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I look back and realize that I should have seen all of this coming. Several people even commented on it - "You know, you haven't had a major injury in a long time, you're really due for one." And thus as they predicted, I've gotten three in the span of about 2 weeks.

Wait, you say. Three? Burned hand, drilled and throbbing jaw, that's only two.

New major injury update: Monday night I was sitting at my desk, minding my own business and typing away when I went to pull my chair closer to the desk. Somehow I managed to scrape my burned hand on the pointy edge of the desk, ripping all the skin off of my just-then-mostly healed electrical burn. Which not only counted as an ugly injury, it all bled like nothing else and all over everything in my room. I guess the nerves still weren't really responding, because I wasn't actually aware of the injury until I noticed the blood on my keyboard a couple of minutes later. This is not my beautiful life.

Oh, and to top it all off, I don't have any regular bandages in my house to treat the wound. No, I only have the ones that are covered in Scooby Doo characters. Which are, naturally, bright neon green. Nothing says "Professional Mortgage Consultant" like cartoon character Band-Aids.

Uh, Ow?

Okay, I love my dentist.

ALTHOUGH

He did make some horrible jokes. Terrible in fact. ("You have very deep grooves in your teeth. One might even say that you were 'groovy'." That sound you hear is the pun-capacitor in my brain exploding.) And there was one point at which there was a literal cloud of tooth dust hanging over my head and bits of tooth on his protective glasses and there was this horribly acrid stench in the air... and he was singing along to a Journey song on the radio. And he shot me up with so much anesthetic that my entire mouth was numb for 4 hours after I left the office, ensuring that I would talk extra crazy for my client meeting. And instead of referring to it as "pain" he would only call it "discomfort." As in, "I'm about to jam this needle directly into the exposed nerve of your tooth, so you may feel some discomfort."

BUT

The first appointment was a rousing success, in that he was awesomely able to save my tooth without breaking anything, and we might be able to finish the entire process in just one more visit. Including wisdom tooth extraction and capping. Which is pretty sweet.

ONLY

Now my jaw hurts like a sumbitch and I've got some intense...discomfort going on in the bottom of my tooth as the magical medicine particles kill off whatever nerve endings are still left in the gaping maw that used to be my back left molar. I mean seriously, I am tearing up just sitting here not even moving my jaw.

BUT

My awesome dentist gave me a nice prescription for some tasty pain medication for the night, which I get to go pick up on my way home from work. Ah, delicious pain-numbing drugs, how I've missed thee.

ANYWAYS

So yeah, my dentist, he is awesome.

And everyone better be extra nice to me today, because I am a brave little trooper.