Ugh.
So somehow last night while I was asleep, I a pulled a muscle. Okay, specifically, I pulled a groin muscle. This had to have happened sometime between 3:30am (when I woke up and got a glass of water (and bruised my elbow on the counter going into the kitchen)) and 7:48 (when I finally dragged my lazy ass out of bed). It seems like a very short window of opportunity.
This doesn't seem possible, it's not like I was running the 40 yard dash last night, I was asleep. And I don't remember any dreams about being chased by rabid clowns (for once, finally). But oh dear lord, when I did drag my ass out of bed, I took one step and collapsed onto the ground like I took a bullet to the knee. Or, y'know, groin. The pain, she is exquisite.
So today is my day of limping around and wincing. I could really use a cane right now.
Strike that - I really want a cane now. A really pimp cane, possibly with an eightball on top. But I think buying a cane is a little drastic. Plus, I don't even know where you'd find one. What sort of shop do you think pimps frequent that sells canes?
Wait.
Now I'm really intrigued. Where do pimps get all of their accoutrements? Big purple hats with feathers, velvet suits, fuzzy steering wheel covers, pimp canes - these things are not usually stocked in your normal stores. The only place you can get them is novelty stores, and I know no self-respecting pimp shops at a novelty store. They buy the genuine articles, hats with feathers that were created with serious, non-ironic intentions.
Is this what that song was about? It's hard out there for a pimp, to find a good pimp gear supplier?! That makes so much sense. I feel their pain now. Me and the pimps, we're like this now. [insert hand gesture representing closeness with pimps here. use your imagination.]
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Today I am a Jedi (and other embarrassing tales)
If you will look to your right there a bit, you will see a nice new widget on my sidebar, which is a neato little direct link to my most recently played music tracks on iTunes. In case I have not said it lately, I truly dig the Last.fm. Sadly enough, that little widget took about 2 hours to program in, because initially I changed everything around all dramatic and crazy and with offsets and framing...only to realize that it looked like crap and I should just go back to the original format and just change one line of code.
My HTML-fu is not so strong these days.
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Because I decided that the cave that suffices as my office was not quite full of enough humming fluorescent lights, I went around and replaced all the inset lights around my desk area. This left me with 3 burnt out fluorescent bars and a little free time.
This is a bad combination when you are alone. Because why not have a little mock lightsaber fight in the comfort of your own office? Only, when this is done, make sure your office door is closed. And for God's sake, don't make the little accompanying lightsaber sounds with your mouth. Dignity, man!
Whether or not I followed my own advice I will not divulge here. I will only say that from now on I'm getting into the office really early, and leaving really late. And never ever interacting with anyone else in the office. Just to be safe.
My HTML-fu is not so strong these days.
-----------------------------
Because I decided that the cave that suffices as my office was not quite full of enough humming fluorescent lights, I went around and replaced all the inset lights around my desk area. This left me with 3 burnt out fluorescent bars and a little free time.
This is a bad combination when you are alone. Because why not have a little mock lightsaber fight in the comfort of your own office? Only, when this is done, make sure your office door is closed. And for God's sake, don't make the little accompanying lightsaber sounds with your mouth. Dignity, man!
Whether or not I followed my own advice I will not divulge here. I will only say that from now on I'm getting into the office really early, and leaving really late. And never ever interacting with anyone else in the office. Just to be safe.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Addiction
Hi, I'm Jason and I have a tiny marshmallow addiction.
Hrm.
That should read "Tiny Marshmallow" Addiction, not Tiny "Marshmallow Addiction."
Because the addiction is not so tiny. It is large and powerful. It is the marshmallows that are tiny. Tiny and delicious.
They live inside my big bucket of hot chocolate mix that I keep on hand for my morning doses of Chocolate Coffee. During downtimes in my office, I carefully excavate the tiny marshmallows from the cocoa mix and then devour them. I am like an archeologist of marshmallows, only more hungry.
At this rate, I will run out of marshmallows long before I run out of cocoa mix. This is very bad, and yet I can't think of a solution. I can't imagine what will happen when I no longer have access to my tiny marshmallow fix.
I'm going to continue to live in denial for now, and pretend that there is no actual bottom to my bucket, and that the marshmallows continue all the way down the strata to China on the other side of the world.
Did you ever try to dig a hole to China in your backyard when you were a little kid? When I lived in Homer, Texas (Population: 46) my best friend from across the field (of course we had a field) and I decided to undertake this mission. Only we used the field, rather than the backyard. Mostly because my backyard was actually more of a forest than a yard.
I do believe we got exactly 3 feet into the ground before we recognized that the idea might be beyond the scope of our tools (one shovel and a spackling trowel, and each of us being about 4 feet tall) and went back to our extended imaginary world wherein we battled against invisible but ultimately evil beings who lived in the trees of the forest and were made mostly of mud.
I would say this shows that I was pretty pragmatic kid, but mostly it just shows that we were really, deeply weird. In any case, it also led to one the primary indicators of exactly how clumsy I would grow up to be: Despite the intense largeness of the field, I still managed to fall into that stupid hole at least three times while we lived there. The odds of that have got to be astronomical; I mean that field was frickin' huge.
(Aside: The other two main indicators? I managed to fall and break my nose twice before I hit the age of, like, 9. It's a miracle my face remains passable today. I'm still really self conscious of my nose, though.)
Wait, wasn't I talking about marshmallows?
Crap.
Hrm.
That should read "Tiny Marshmallow" Addiction, not Tiny "Marshmallow Addiction."
Because the addiction is not so tiny. It is large and powerful. It is the marshmallows that are tiny. Tiny and delicious.
They live inside my big bucket of hot chocolate mix that I keep on hand for my morning doses of Chocolate Coffee. During downtimes in my office, I carefully excavate the tiny marshmallows from the cocoa mix and then devour them. I am like an archeologist of marshmallows, only more hungry.
At this rate, I will run out of marshmallows long before I run out of cocoa mix. This is very bad, and yet I can't think of a solution. I can't imagine what will happen when I no longer have access to my tiny marshmallow fix.
I'm going to continue to live in denial for now, and pretend that there is no actual bottom to my bucket, and that the marshmallows continue all the way down the strata to China on the other side of the world.
Did you ever try to dig a hole to China in your backyard when you were a little kid? When I lived in Homer, Texas (Population: 46) my best friend from across the field (of course we had a field) and I decided to undertake this mission. Only we used the field, rather than the backyard. Mostly because my backyard was actually more of a forest than a yard.
I do believe we got exactly 3 feet into the ground before we recognized that the idea might be beyond the scope of our tools (one shovel and a spackling trowel, and each of us being about 4 feet tall) and went back to our extended imaginary world wherein we battled against invisible but ultimately evil beings who lived in the trees of the forest and were made mostly of mud.
I would say this shows that I was pretty pragmatic kid, but mostly it just shows that we were really, deeply weird. In any case, it also led to one the primary indicators of exactly how clumsy I would grow up to be: Despite the intense largeness of the field, I still managed to fall into that stupid hole at least three times while we lived there. The odds of that have got to be astronomical; I mean that field was frickin' huge.
(Aside: The other two main indicators? I managed to fall and break my nose twice before I hit the age of, like, 9. It's a miracle my face remains passable today. I'm still really self conscious of my nose, though.)
Wait, wasn't I talking about marshmallows?
Crap.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Freedom, Coke, and Cell Phones
Only four things today, because I had a very lazy week and didn't actually do anything that wasn't just a ton of work. So many times this week I got home and collapsed on the couch, only to realize later that it was past 7:00 and I hadn't even taken my work shoes off. And I hate my work shoes. That's how bad this week has been.
- New haircut looks less bad. But my head does not understand the concept of short hair. I guess it's just used to having a lot of cover, but every time a breeze comes by I get goosebumps all over my scalp. It's so disorienting, especially when it happens while I'm walking. You have no idea how many times I have walked into something this week because I just got a head chill (a head chill is the lesser cousin of a brain-freeze, but without the added enjoyment of ice cream).
- Movie Review: Freedomland - A step-by-step walking through of my thought process while watching this movie: Boring, boring, Julianne Moore is a good actress, boring. Samuel Jackson decided to bring it for this movie, eh? More boring, overuse of slow motion, racism, several scenes must have been cut here in the middle. Even more boring, okay that makes no sense. Wow, one intensely good scene. Edie Falco? Really? Oh no she di'n't! Wow, how is this still boring? And it's over. No wait, there's another scene. Now over. No wait! One more scene. Now over. Maybe? No. Now? Okay.
Please don't rent this movie, it makes you tired and isn't remotely interesting. - Thing Review: Coca Cola w/Coffee - No, this is not something that I just made up in my basement or whatever, this is an actual product offered by a multinational corporation. It is also the most vile thing I have ever put in my mouth. I love coffee. I love Coke. But never the twain shall meet. Because seriously. This is the worst invention EVER. Whoever designed this should be shot. No questions. It will be natural selection at its finest. We must think in terms of good of mankind.
- Book Review: Cell, Steven King - I can't decide if I love this book, or hate it. I think it's one of those love/hate things where it means that I actually really like it a whole lot. In it's favor: Tons of gore, fast paced, zombies!, compelling writing like you only get from Steven King. Against it: None of the usual extensive character studies and background that usually means Steven King, short by his standards, rather abrupt ending, a surprising lack of character attachment, mildly ludicrous plot (which can be forgiven, considering it is about a cell phone pulse that turns everyone who hears it into a zombie).
I really enjoyed the plot and pacing to a good degree, especially in the beginning, but there is a shift in the book about 200 pages in, where in his older works you would get the ramp up into the pulpy middle before the ridiculous denouement. And instead we get an abrupt ending to part two, and then a ramp up into a slightly disappointing and vaguely trifling ending.
Still genuinely creepy, sufficiently gory and King-ish, just not the best thing in the world. I am very looking forward to his next book, though. I really liked that handwritten excerpt thing at the end of this one. I'm glad he's having a retirement full of writing. Good for him.
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I have nothing else to say to any of you, except that I plan on taking this weekend off in earnest. Have fun.
Also, Go Mavs! For the love of God, Go Mavs. You are giving me a heart attack.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Hair and Vehicular Homicide
5 Days Later
Well it is done. I have neatly sidestepped all the hair issues and questions of highlights in the most straightforward way possible: I just cut it all off, real-world-Matrix-style minus the helpful head-jack. Which is as close to truth in advertising as you can get - My scalp is pretty much on display, in all its glorious oddly shaped pointiness. This harkens back to my early college years during the time when I was still rebelling against my high school days of really ugly long-hairedness. It has yet to be determined if this will usher in a similar return to overly wordy prose and a tendency for very emo behavior. All signs point to yes, though.
Mostly its just convenient, as it is already the summer of wicked hotness (4 straight days over 100 degrees) and my TOM still lacks what polite society calls 'Air Conditioning.' Also, this saves precious minutes in the morning trying to tame the residual bed head - even combed my hair still looks like I just rolled out 5 minutes ago. Already, though, I am very conscious of my ears. They're just so big and out there.
---------------------
Speaking (earlier) of the TOM, I did get a good bit of work done on the malfunction, but it was very 2 steps forward, 18 steps back. Oil was successfully changed without anyone dying in the process, fuel injector cleaned to hopefully forestall any further ugly scenes with ignition and whatnot, and the air conditioning was treated to work for a couple of days. All accomplished without grievous injury to my person, although at one point my face was covered with Freon and I thought I might have gone blind.
But in retribution the TOM managed to throw it all back in my face, as the compressor seemingly failed halfway through my weekend adventures and started shooting super-heated air out of the vents in an attempt to melt my skin off Raiders-of-the-Lost Ark-style. Eventually it kicked back in, but the air conditioning treatment is now gone. Sum total of air conditioned time in the TOM: 44 minutes. Good times. And the car died twice this morning at stop lights on the way to work.
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In seemingly unrelated news, I'm going car shopping later on this week. Isn't that eerie?
(More news later, I'm currently swamped.)
Well it is done. I have neatly sidestepped all the hair issues and questions of highlights in the most straightforward way possible: I just cut it all off, real-world-Matrix-style minus the helpful head-jack. Which is as close to truth in advertising as you can get - My scalp is pretty much on display, in all its glorious oddly shaped pointiness. This harkens back to my early college years during the time when I was still rebelling against my high school days of really ugly long-hairedness. It has yet to be determined if this will usher in a similar return to overly wordy prose and a tendency for very emo behavior. All signs point to yes, though.
Mostly its just convenient, as it is already the summer of wicked hotness (4 straight days over 100 degrees) and my TOM still lacks what polite society calls 'Air Conditioning.' Also, this saves precious minutes in the morning trying to tame the residual bed head - even combed my hair still looks like I just rolled out 5 minutes ago. Already, though, I am very conscious of my ears. They're just so big and out there.
---------------------
Speaking (earlier) of the TOM, I did get a good bit of work done on the malfunction, but it was very 2 steps forward, 18 steps back. Oil was successfully changed without anyone dying in the process, fuel injector cleaned to hopefully forestall any further ugly scenes with ignition and whatnot, and the air conditioning was treated to work for a couple of days. All accomplished without grievous injury to my person, although at one point my face was covered with Freon and I thought I might have gone blind.
But in retribution the TOM managed to throw it all back in my face, as the compressor seemingly failed halfway through my weekend adventures and started shooting super-heated air out of the vents in an attempt to melt my skin off Raiders-of-the-Lost Ark-style. Eventually it kicked back in, but the air conditioning treatment is now gone. Sum total of air conditioned time in the TOM: 44 minutes. Good times. And the car died twice this morning at stop lights on the way to work.
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In seemingly unrelated news, I'm going car shopping later on this week. Isn't that eerie?
(More news later, I'm currently swamped.)
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Wherein I Learn an Important Lesson About Myself
So I was reading over the last few entries I wrote, and I was all "Man, why do I always talk about so much gay stuff?" And I vowed to come up with something totally normal and mainstream and interesting.
And then got two paragraphs deep into a discussion about how much I want to get highlights in my hair before I realized something:
I am never going to be a normal boy.
-------------------
Yeah, I really want to get some highlights. My hair has passed its tipping point from mildly shaggy, to unbearably long. And I don't do long hair. It just looks horrible on me, it doesn't curl or arrange itself artfully around my face, it gets long and bushy and starts flailing out in all directions. Give it one more week and I'll start to get that mullet flip going on in the back, too.
But, as I was discussing with Frank yesterday, long straightened hair is very "in" right now (In my mind it is very Zoolander - "Long hair, it's so hot right now.") and if I actually got some nice lighter streaks going on... the possibilities are endless. The main problem being, I suck at getting haircuts. I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for someone that not only could cut my hair properly, but also color it. At this point, I'm just looking for someone who isn't certifiably crazy.
As this discussion was taking place in Blockbuster (otherwise known as My Second Home) I pointed out that two of the employees there have the exact kind of haircut I am looking for, highlights and all. I really wanted to ask one of them where they get their hair done at, but seriously, I cannot think of a gayer thing to say, short of asking them if they want to go make-out in the Community Favorites aisle.
Although as Frank pointed out, when checking us out at the counter the guy did feel the need to announce to the entire store our selections ("Glory Road and The L Word - Season 1, Volume 3!") so really, it would have been a lateral move, gay-wise, asking him about highlight selections.
So yeah, it's such a conundrum. Get a normal haircut, hopefully from someone who knows what they're doing, or go for the whole deal, coloring and all and pray that it doesn't backfire and I end up looking like a Backstreet Boy reject from 1999? I don't know if I can handle that sort of pressure.
And then got two paragraphs deep into a discussion about how much I want to get highlights in my hair before I realized something:
I am never going to be a normal boy.
-------------------
Yeah, I really want to get some highlights. My hair has passed its tipping point from mildly shaggy, to unbearably long. And I don't do long hair. It just looks horrible on me, it doesn't curl or arrange itself artfully around my face, it gets long and bushy and starts flailing out in all directions. Give it one more week and I'll start to get that mullet flip going on in the back, too.
But, as I was discussing with Frank yesterday, long straightened hair is very "in" right now (In my mind it is very Zoolander - "Long hair, it's so hot right now.") and if I actually got some nice lighter streaks going on... the possibilities are endless. The main problem being, I suck at getting haircuts. I wouldn't even know where to begin to look for someone that not only could cut my hair properly, but also color it. At this point, I'm just looking for someone who isn't certifiably crazy.
As this discussion was taking place in Blockbuster (otherwise known as My Second Home) I pointed out that two of the employees there have the exact kind of haircut I am looking for, highlights and all. I really wanted to ask one of them where they get their hair done at, but seriously, I cannot think of a gayer thing to say, short of asking them if they want to go make-out in the Community Favorites aisle.
Although as Frank pointed out, when checking us out at the counter the guy did feel the need to announce to the entire store our selections ("Glory Road and The L Word - Season 1, Volume 3!") so really, it would have been a lateral move, gay-wise, asking him about highlight selections.
So yeah, it's such a conundrum. Get a normal haircut, hopefully from someone who knows what they're doing, or go for the whole deal, coloring and all and pray that it doesn't backfire and I end up looking like a Backstreet Boy reject from 1999? I don't know if I can handle that sort of pressure.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
An Only Partially Fictional Conversation
Jason: So I think Sushi Girl and I are in a big fight.
Frank: What?! Why?
Jason: I went to pick up some sushi on Thursday and she didn't come over to give me my order.
Frank: Yes, obviously she hates you.
Jason: No, wait, there is more. So first she walks off from the take-out counter as I come in, and then she gets some burly guy to come over to get my food together. And then when I waved at her, she totally got this 'whatever' look on her face and wandered into the back.
Frank: Convincing evidence. What did you do to piss her off? *Gasp* What if she read your blog?! She knows that you like guys! And this is how she finds out! Everything fits!
Jason: Number one, I get maybe 10 hits on this site a day. The odds of Sushi Girl stumbling on the 2 paragraphs I wrote in March are somewhat... remote. Number tw--
Frank: No! It goes like this: So, Sushi Girl...wait, do you even know her real name?
Jason: ....not necessarily.
Frank: Riiight.
Jason: Whateva! Our love transcends her real name.
Frank: Yeah, okay. Anyways. So Sushi Girl is at home daydreaming one day, on the internet naturally, thinking about that nice boy she sees at work every once in a while, and she googles jason + sushi + dallas. Suddenly she clicks a random link and BOOM! There's your gigantic head right there in front of her!
Jason: Wait "gigantic?"
Frank: And she's all "Ooh, it's destiny! We are meant to be!" And then she reads the entry. And is crushed! You're a big old 'mo! And now she hates you for ruining her dreams!
Jason: Wow.
Frank: I know!
Jason: That has to be exactly what happened.
Frank: Way to ruin her life, fool.
Jason: Maybe I should get her a "I'm Sorry For Being a Homo and Ruining Your Dreams" Gift.
Frank: Maybe you should.
Jason: You'd think they would have that Hallmark card standardized by now. It must come up a lot.
Frank: Right. Just the parents it would apply to alone would be enough to justify it.
Jason: Yeah. A card would have been nice, back then.
.....
Frank: Heh. Your straight crush hates you now. That's perfect.
Jason: Sigh. This is exactly why I stick to guys. The second you fall in love with a raw-fish-serving girl, they read about your homosexual tendencies on the internet and break up your imaginary relationship.
Frank: It's fun inside your head, isn't it.
Jason: Like you wouldn't believe.
Frank: What?! Why?
Jason: I went to pick up some sushi on Thursday and she didn't come over to give me my order.
Frank: Yes, obviously she hates you.
Jason: No, wait, there is more. So first she walks off from the take-out counter as I come in, and then she gets some burly guy to come over to get my food together. And then when I waved at her, she totally got this 'whatever' look on her face and wandered into the back.
Frank: Convincing evidence. What did you do to piss her off? *Gasp* What if she read your blog?! She knows that you like guys! And this is how she finds out! Everything fits!
Jason: Number one, I get maybe 10 hits on this site a day. The odds of Sushi Girl stumbling on the 2 paragraphs I wrote in March are somewhat... remote. Number tw--
Frank: No! It goes like this: So, Sushi Girl...wait, do you even know her real name?
Jason: ....not necessarily.
Frank: Riiight.
Jason: Whateva! Our love transcends her real name.
Frank: Yeah, okay. Anyways. So Sushi Girl is at home daydreaming one day, on the internet naturally, thinking about that nice boy she sees at work every once in a while, and she googles jason + sushi + dallas. Suddenly she clicks a random link and BOOM! There's your gigantic head right there in front of her!
Jason: Wait "gigantic?"
Frank: And she's all "Ooh, it's destiny! We are meant to be!" And then she reads the entry. And is crushed! You're a big old 'mo! And now she hates you for ruining her dreams!
Jason: Wow.
Frank: I know!
Jason: That has to be exactly what happened.
Frank: Way to ruin her life, fool.
Jason: Maybe I should get her a "I'm Sorry For Being a Homo and Ruining Your Dreams" Gift.
Frank: Maybe you should.
Jason: You'd think they would have that Hallmark card standardized by now. It must come up a lot.
Frank: Right. Just the parents it would apply to alone would be enough to justify it.
Jason: Yeah. A card would have been nice, back then.
.....
Frank: Heh. Your straight crush hates you now. That's perfect.
Jason: Sigh. This is exactly why I stick to guys. The second you fall in love with a raw-fish-serving girl, they read about your homosexual tendencies on the internet and break up your imaginary relationship.
Frank: It's fun inside your head, isn't it.
Jason: Like you wouldn't believe.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Mmm, Snow Patrol
This post is brought to you by "Oh my God I just drank half a gallon of Starbucks coffee in 2 hours and now I can feel the Earth vibrating!" And also by the letter M.
It is Friday, which means review day. I'm gonna burn through as many things as I can think of, because it has been a while since I've reviewed anything. And I can think of a lot, because my brain is running at maximum velocity right now. Watch out!
Music!
Snow Patrol - Eyes Open
I never fully dug Snow Patrol. No actual reason, I just never quite caught on to their wavelength. This CD, however, is probably one my favorite things I've listened to all year long. It's ridiculously mainstream for all their indie cred, but I don't care. I like good music and this is good music. Lyrics are not the strongest in the world, but each song has a good hook to it, and a couple of the songs are outstanding. They played Chasing Cars on the season finale of Grey's Anatomy and it totally made me dissovle into a useless puddle. Highly recommended.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Show Your Bones
Considering Fever to Tell might actually by my favorite CD in the history of the world, I had intensely high hopes for this album. It's....not as good. Which sounds bad, but it shouldn't, because it's an excellent CD. There is almost none of the wailing, shrieking or feedbacking guitars that were so prevalent on FtT, instead there are actual songs and singing. Which is fine, y'know, if you're into that sort of thing. Independent of their last album, it's great, in comparison I am a little sad. Still recommended. Best song - Phenomena followed closely by Mysteries.
Bell X1 - Flock
The first of my imports. Bell X1 is an Irish band, and they sound like a cross between something like U2 and a crazy whiny emo band. Two things that I quite possibly dislike more than any other musical thing that is not Country. (Okay, that's a lie. I love whiny emo bands. I do hate U2, though.) But the combination is frickin' ridiculous. This album is just so slick. I cannot get enough of it. There is a rough edge to the lead voice that gives me shivers. (Also: Not on this CD, but you NEED to find and listen to it - their cover of Justin Timberlake's 'Like I Love You,' one of the best covers in the history of the world.)
Orson - Bright Idea
Hi, yeah, people who know me in the real worlds know that I will not shut up about this CD. So sorry people I know, but seriously, this album is so good it makes my teeth hurt. I will reveal nothing about how I may have come to be in possession of it since it does not come out until June 8th, but let us say that the insidious illegal supplier known as the Internet may have been...involved. Anyways, so this band feels like the summer immediately after I graduated from high school. Where me and my friends are just spinning our wheels before heading out to different corners of the world, staying up all night, running around doing stupid shit, being entirely inappropriate and full of big unrealistic dreams. Which is about as touchy-feely a description as Coffee-Addled Jason will ever come up with, but that doesn't make it any less real. I will pimp this album until the day I die. Download their single No Tomorrow and just try and tell me you aren't intrigued.
Gnarls Barkley- St. Elsewhere
A CD with 6 months of hype and the most overplayed yet still awesome single of the year (Crazy) has a whole lot to live up to. And scarily enough, it pretty much totally does. Ambitious is the word to use. Just jumps all over the place from catchy rock, to disco throwbacks, to serious blues numbers , and then throws in some very impressive rap just to even every track out. All that said, after a week I'm only still taken with three tracks: Gone, Daddy, Gone (the best thing on the CD), Smiley Faces (or as I call it - Kittens Yowling in Space), and Transformers (which is just sick in its complexity, not to mention very 80's cartoon-like). Not everyone's cup of tea, but, it is love to me.
Book!
Live Bait - P.J. Tracy
Okay, so last review time I had the first book in this series, Monkeewrench, which I dug. The second one is different but good. Better, actually. The focus shifts away from the interesting main characters, which seems like a horrible move, but the actual storyline that they are working with is just ace, so it completely works. It's a murder mystery that seems piled up and ridiculous, but then pays off so satsifactorily that I cannot complain at all. And you know I can complain about anything. Very well done. And the overall storyline begins to progress at a steady pace too, so it gets bonus points for a working universe of characters. Delicious pulp novel.
Movies!
Bee Season - #1: What the hell? #2: I really liked this. I mean, it's just so strange. Richard Gere is an annoying Jewish Mysticism professor, his son is a cellist with a lot of issues, his wife is insane and a klepto, and his daughter receives correct spellings for the bee by communing with God and the Word (which are one and the same in traditional Jewish lore). The whole movie sort of flails down its path, careening into the weirdest situations and scenes, but I liked the overall tone and its sort of open ended take on the faith issues. The little girl was excellent as well. Just, completely bizarre, though.
Date Movie - Lame. Lame lame lame. That said, I have a girl crush on Alyson Hannigan and there are worse ways to spend 72 minutes of your life. There are quite a few more better ways to spend them, though.
Over the Hedge - What a bizarre movie. Slickly produced, occassionally very funny, but just completely ill conceived at certain points. This is going to be one of those spoiler reviews, because my mind is just boggled: Why on earth should we be caring about either of the main characters? The raccoon is straight up manipulatively evil and has the most ridiculous quick and contrived change of heart in the end that I'm surprised the audience doesn't get whiplash. Then the turtle directly calls his so-called 'family' naive and stupid.
Wait. Looking that over, I can tell I'm a little too overly invested in what is completely a little kids' movie, but seriously. What's up with that?
Funny-ish, but unrecommended.
Transamerica - Felicity Huffman is amazing, let's get that out of the way right now. Also, I have an intense actual crush on Kevin Zegers, so that colors a lot of thinking as well. Great movie, great dialogue, intensely-intensely awkward scenes that almost made me physically ill. There is a scene in this movie that caused me to declare that I could think of nothing more traumatic in the entire world. Of course Frank was immediately able to correct me by thinking up something that was indeed quite a bit worse, but that's Frank for you - Always with the traumatic thinking. Anyways, really good, hilarious and touching a varying degrees and contains probably my favorite piece of dialogue in a movie this year:
It is Friday, which means review day. I'm gonna burn through as many things as I can think of, because it has been a while since I've reviewed anything. And I can think of a lot, because my brain is running at maximum velocity right now. Watch out!
Music!
Snow Patrol - Eyes Open
I never fully dug Snow Patrol. No actual reason, I just never quite caught on to their wavelength. This CD, however, is probably one my favorite things I've listened to all year long. It's ridiculously mainstream for all their indie cred, but I don't care. I like good music and this is good music. Lyrics are not the strongest in the world, but each song has a good hook to it, and a couple of the songs are outstanding. They played Chasing Cars on the season finale of Grey's Anatomy and it totally made me dissovle into a useless puddle. Highly recommended.
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Show Your Bones
Considering Fever to Tell might actually by my favorite CD in the history of the world, I had intensely high hopes for this album. It's....not as good. Which sounds bad, but it shouldn't, because it's an excellent CD. There is almost none of the wailing, shrieking or feedbacking guitars that were so prevalent on FtT, instead there are actual songs and singing. Which is fine, y'know, if you're into that sort of thing. Independent of their last album, it's great, in comparison I am a little sad. Still recommended. Best song - Phenomena followed closely by Mysteries.
Bell X1 - Flock
The first of my imports. Bell X1 is an Irish band, and they sound like a cross between something like U2 and a crazy whiny emo band. Two things that I quite possibly dislike more than any other musical thing that is not Country. (Okay, that's a lie. I love whiny emo bands. I do hate U2, though.) But the combination is frickin' ridiculous. This album is just so slick. I cannot get enough of it. There is a rough edge to the lead voice that gives me shivers. (Also: Not on this CD, but you NEED to find and listen to it - their cover of Justin Timberlake's 'Like I Love You,' one of the best covers in the history of the world.)
Orson - Bright Idea
Hi, yeah, people who know me in the real worlds know that I will not shut up about this CD. So sorry people I know, but seriously, this album is so good it makes my teeth hurt. I will reveal nothing about how I may have come to be in possession of it since it does not come out until June 8th, but let us say that the insidious illegal supplier known as the Internet may have been...involved. Anyways, so this band feels like the summer immediately after I graduated from high school. Where me and my friends are just spinning our wheels before heading out to different corners of the world, staying up all night, running around doing stupid shit, being entirely inappropriate and full of big unrealistic dreams. Which is about as touchy-feely a description as Coffee-Addled Jason will ever come up with, but that doesn't make it any less real. I will pimp this album until the day I die. Download their single No Tomorrow and just try and tell me you aren't intrigued.
Gnarls Barkley- St. Elsewhere
A CD with 6 months of hype and the most overplayed yet still awesome single of the year (Crazy) has a whole lot to live up to. And scarily enough, it pretty much totally does. Ambitious is the word to use. Just jumps all over the place from catchy rock, to disco throwbacks, to serious blues numbers , and then throws in some very impressive rap just to even every track out. All that said, after a week I'm only still taken with three tracks: Gone, Daddy, Gone (the best thing on the CD), Smiley Faces (or as I call it - Kittens Yowling in Space), and Transformers (which is just sick in its complexity, not to mention very 80's cartoon-like). Not everyone's cup of tea, but, it is love to me.
Book!
Live Bait - P.J. Tracy
Okay, so last review time I had the first book in this series, Monkeewrench, which I dug. The second one is different but good. Better, actually. The focus shifts away from the interesting main characters, which seems like a horrible move, but the actual storyline that they are working with is just ace, so it completely works. It's a murder mystery that seems piled up and ridiculous, but then pays off so satsifactorily that I cannot complain at all. And you know I can complain about anything. Very well done. And the overall storyline begins to progress at a steady pace too, so it gets bonus points for a working universe of characters. Delicious pulp novel.
Movies!
Bee Season - #1: What the hell? #2: I really liked this. I mean, it's just so strange. Richard Gere is an annoying Jewish Mysticism professor, his son is a cellist with a lot of issues, his wife is insane and a klepto, and his daughter receives correct spellings for the bee by communing with God and the Word (which are one and the same in traditional Jewish lore). The whole movie sort of flails down its path, careening into the weirdest situations and scenes, but I liked the overall tone and its sort of open ended take on the faith issues. The little girl was excellent as well. Just, completely bizarre, though.
Date Movie - Lame. Lame lame lame. That said, I have a girl crush on Alyson Hannigan and there are worse ways to spend 72 minutes of your life. There are quite a few more better ways to spend them, though.
Over the Hedge - What a bizarre movie. Slickly produced, occassionally very funny, but just completely ill conceived at certain points. This is going to be one of those spoiler reviews, because my mind is just boggled: Why on earth should we be caring about either of the main characters? The raccoon is straight up manipulatively evil and has the most ridiculous quick and contrived change of heart in the end that I'm surprised the audience doesn't get whiplash. Then the turtle directly calls his so-called 'family' naive and stupid.
Wait. Looking that over, I can tell I'm a little too overly invested in what is completely a little kids' movie, but seriously. What's up with that?
Funny-ish, but unrecommended.
Transamerica - Felicity Huffman is amazing, let's get that out of the way right now. Also, I have an intense actual crush on Kevin Zegers, so that colors a lot of thinking as well. Great movie, great dialogue, intensely-intensely awkward scenes that almost made me physically ill. There is a scene in this movie that caused me to declare that I could think of nothing more traumatic in the entire world. Of course Frank was immediately able to correct me by thinking up something that was indeed quite a bit worse, but that's Frank for you - Always with the traumatic thinking. Anyways, really good, hilarious and touching a varying degrees and contains probably my favorite piece of dialogue in a movie this year:
Toby: "Yeah, I'd probably be, like, disemboweled by a ninja."
Bree: "You don't have to say "like". "Probably disemboweled by a ninja" is sufficient."
Aaand, the coffee is still keeping me going, I could do this all freaking day long. Wheeee!
Okay, I'll leave you to your Friday, just try to ignore my energetic humming over here.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Iron - It's good for what ails you
Just to get it out of the way - No, seriously, do they bake crack directly into Pocky sticks? If it weren't for my awesome metabolism I would easily weigh 250 pounds by 5:00 this afternoon. God bless my mitochondria, each and every one.
-----------------------
In addition to all my regular duties at the office, I get the special assignment of doing any bulk mailings that come out of our branch office. This entails all the printing, folding, stuffing, sealing, addressing, postaging, and carting-to-the-mailbox-ing of the items, which altogether can be very time consuming.
This week we had a special mailing of invitations that was going out to a few hundred people (or, 611 people to be exacting about it) and thus it fell to me to get them all completed in under two days, as the event is pretty soon and we're needing RSVPs. Which isn't necessarily impossible, but it takes a very concerted effort. And with the 346 other things that I also need to take care of during the day, a concerted effort can really only be maintained for about 37 seconds before the phone rings, or someone starts yelling about mortgage insurance directly into my ear. In other words: Outlook Not Good.
To top it all off, the printer of the invitations used some sort of Devil Paper Cutter to slice the invites up, because dear lord it was like handling shards of broken glass, trying to get these things into envelopes. Have you ever had a 80 lb weight piece of paper literally lodge itself into the skin on your hand? Because it happened 3 different times to me yesterday. We're not just talking paper cuts, we are talking paper gaping wounds. I'm not saying I hit, like, an artery or anything, but it was a fair bet that I could have passed for stigmata at certain points during the day.
In any case, I usually managed to keep the bloodflow on the invitations themselves down to a bare minimum, as we do not want people to get the wrong idea about our event due to iron-rich bodily fluids sprinkled liberally about the page. But a bit of splash-over is inevitable, particularly from the one big cut on the back of my right middle finger, which tended to gush whenever I attempted to pull open a new envelope.
Despite these hurdles, I managed to get them all out in under 3 days, just shy of my actual goal.
....
You thought that story was pointless, didn't you? Wait for it, I'm coming (very, very slowly) to the reason for it.
So it's pure folly to try and lick shut 611 envelopes by yourself. #1 it is crazy gross, #2 you will run out of saliva around the 90th one and be totally screwed, and #3 you will get a paper cut on your tongue and the pain will drive you to a multi-state killing spree road trip.
These are all hindsight bullet points, because that's totally what I tried to do right up to the 90th envelope.
Once I got back from said road trip (results: mixed, but cathartic. See: Fox, America's Most Wanted for additional insights), I explored alternate methods to sealants. First, the sponge, which turns out to be wholly ineffective. Maybe I just had a bad one, but to get it sufficiently wet enough to actually get the glue to work, I basically had to dip the envelope in a glass of water. Invitations that run and disintegrate before I get them to the mailbox are generally not effective.
Next, I acquired something called DabNSeal, which advertises "Good for gluing all paper products." This sounds like a ringing endorsement to me. And indeed, it worked like a charm, except for the fact that it haunts my dreams.
#1 it is in the most creepily phallic bottle I have ever seen outside of a Condoms-to-Go store. #2 it has an explanatory diagram of use on the back side that rivals biology text books in terms of sheer gross-out potential. Nevermind that it is showing how to apply glue to an envelope, I always come away with the same Where-babies-come-from-lecture feeling very reminiscent of 2nd grade. And #3 there is a anthropomorphized envelope on the front of the bottle, and it is the most disturbing inanimate object with eyes that I have seen since that Juicy Fruit commercial with the CPR dummy that came to life and tried to suck the gum out of that kid's face.
God, it is two years since that commercial came out and it's still the most whacked-out thing I've ever seen. Ugh.
So yeah, last night I totally had a nightmare that the envelope mascot came to life and was trying to kill me in my office with a bunch of huge sheets of razor sharp paper. And he had this crazy maniacal laugh and he could slide himself under locked doors, because he was paper-thin. Oh my God it was traumatizing.
Do you think I could claim Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from my company due to a bulk mailing? I need to consult me a PhD.
-----------------------
In addition to all my regular duties at the office, I get the special assignment of doing any bulk mailings that come out of our branch office. This entails all the printing, folding, stuffing, sealing, addressing, postaging, and carting-to-the-mailbox-ing of the items, which altogether can be very time consuming.
This week we had a special mailing of invitations that was going out to a few hundred people (or, 611 people to be exacting about it) and thus it fell to me to get them all completed in under two days, as the event is pretty soon and we're needing RSVPs. Which isn't necessarily impossible, but it takes a very concerted effort. And with the 346 other things that I also need to take care of during the day, a concerted effort can really only be maintained for about 37 seconds before the phone rings, or someone starts yelling about mortgage insurance directly into my ear. In other words: Outlook Not Good.
To top it all off, the printer of the invitations used some sort of Devil Paper Cutter to slice the invites up, because dear lord it was like handling shards of broken glass, trying to get these things into envelopes. Have you ever had a 80 lb weight piece of paper literally lodge itself into the skin on your hand? Because it happened 3 different times to me yesterday. We're not just talking paper cuts, we are talking paper gaping wounds. I'm not saying I hit, like, an artery or anything, but it was a fair bet that I could have passed for stigmata at certain points during the day.
In any case, I usually managed to keep the bloodflow on the invitations themselves down to a bare minimum, as we do not want people to get the wrong idea about our event due to iron-rich bodily fluids sprinkled liberally about the page. But a bit of splash-over is inevitable, particularly from the one big cut on the back of my right middle finger, which tended to gush whenever I attempted to pull open a new envelope.
Despite these hurdles, I managed to get them all out in under 3 days, just shy of my actual goal.
....
You thought that story was pointless, didn't you? Wait for it, I'm coming (very, very slowly) to the reason for it.
So it's pure folly to try and lick shut 611 envelopes by yourself. #1 it is crazy gross, #2 you will run out of saliva around the 90th one and be totally screwed, and #3 you will get a paper cut on your tongue and the pain will drive you to a multi-state killing spree road trip.
These are all hindsight bullet points, because that's totally what I tried to do right up to the 90th envelope.
Once I got back from said road trip (results: mixed, but cathartic. See: Fox, America's Most Wanted for additional insights), I explored alternate methods to sealants. First, the sponge, which turns out to be wholly ineffective. Maybe I just had a bad one, but to get it sufficiently wet enough to actually get the glue to work, I basically had to dip the envelope in a glass of water. Invitations that run and disintegrate before I get them to the mailbox are generally not effective.
Next, I acquired something called DabNSeal, which advertises "Good for gluing all paper products." This sounds like a ringing endorsement to me. And indeed, it worked like a charm, except for the fact that it haunts my dreams.
#1 it is in the most creepily phallic bottle I have ever seen outside of a Condoms-to-Go store. #2 it has an explanatory diagram of use on the back side that rivals biology text books in terms of sheer gross-out potential. Nevermind that it is showing how to apply glue to an envelope, I always come away with the same Where-babies-come-from-lecture feeling very reminiscent of 2nd grade. And #3 there is a anthropomorphized envelope on the front of the bottle, and it is the most disturbing inanimate object with eyes that I have seen since that Juicy Fruit commercial with the CPR dummy that came to life and tried to suck the gum out of that kid's face.
God, it is two years since that commercial came out and it's still the most whacked-out thing I've ever seen. Ugh.
So yeah, last night I totally had a nightmare that the envelope mascot came to life and was trying to kill me in my office with a bunch of huge sheets of razor sharp paper. And he had this crazy maniacal laugh and he could slide himself under locked doors, because he was paper-thin. Oh my God it was traumatizing.
Do you think I could claim Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from my company due to a bulk mailing? I need to consult me a PhD.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
How's It Feel to be a Member of a Horde?
Okay, it's not like I am an actually altruistic member of society, but I do remember a time when I had limits.
No, I don't recycle. And yes, I probably throw out enough empty Dr Pepper cans to singlehandedly ensure the downfall of humankind in about 150 years. But I at least buy them in bulk and don't throw out those little six-pack plastic ring things that are always killing dolphins or tuna, or whatever.
And no, I don't really do any charity work. I haven't been to a soup kitchen, trash pick-up, or Meals on Wheels event since high school. But I totally rock Donors Choose at least once every other month or so, and I have 4 kids that I sponsor for the Lions Club monthly events. Just so long as it doesn't require me to get off my couch and away from my bag of Cheetos, I'm all over it.
And no, I don't go to local grocers for my food, to support small business owners who are being out-sold by greedy multinational corporations. But I at least limited myself to primarily humanely run, non-evil mostly-local-to-the-South Big Businesses, like Kroger or Albertsons.
At least, until Frank introduced me to the Walmart grocer in our neighborhood.
It fills every single cliche you could possibly imagine. There are tiny children running throughout the entire place barefoot, screaming like banshees. Crammed shelves. Bad lighting. Wire carts with squeaky wheels. Children everywhere, climbing like monkeys. People wearing NASCAR T-shirts and cutoffs. Crazy, possibly-homeless woman on aisle 5. Did I mention all the wailing children with the dirty faces?
It is the evil incarnate, and we haven't even discussed the actual corporate issues that are the real source of my reprehension.
BUT
BUT
Ohmigod, the prices. And the food choices. It's unconscionable.
They have Honey Bunches of Oh's cereal, unlike every other store around here. And Lunchables at half the price of the competitors. Their frozen foods section is like walking down a hallway of slightly chilly but delicious dreams. And they have Pocky. Cheap Pocky.
I saved literally (not even an estimation, I did the math earlier today) 20.87% off my regular food bill for this week. I can't resist that. Do you see what has happened to me? Sold out to the lowest common denominator for a couple of boxes of Japanese biscuit sticks and cheap preservative-laden lunches.
I had no idea my soul went for so little. But then again, I haven't had many offers lately.
No, I don't recycle. And yes, I probably throw out enough empty Dr Pepper cans to singlehandedly ensure the downfall of humankind in about 150 years. But I at least buy them in bulk and don't throw out those little six-pack plastic ring things that are always killing dolphins or tuna, or whatever.
And no, I don't really do any charity work. I haven't been to a soup kitchen, trash pick-up, or Meals on Wheels event since high school. But I totally rock Donors Choose at least once every other month or so, and I have 4 kids that I sponsor for the Lions Club monthly events. Just so long as it doesn't require me to get off my couch and away from my bag of Cheetos, I'm all over it.
And no, I don't go to local grocers for my food, to support small business owners who are being out-sold by greedy multinational corporations. But I at least limited myself to primarily humanely run, non-evil mostly-local-to-the-South Big Businesses, like Kroger or Albertsons.
At least, until Frank introduced me to the Walmart grocer in our neighborhood.
It fills every single cliche you could possibly imagine. There are tiny children running throughout the entire place barefoot, screaming like banshees. Crammed shelves. Bad lighting. Wire carts with squeaky wheels. Children everywhere, climbing like monkeys. People wearing NASCAR T-shirts and cutoffs. Crazy, possibly-homeless woman on aisle 5. Did I mention all the wailing children with the dirty faces?
It is the evil incarnate, and we haven't even discussed the actual corporate issues that are the real source of my reprehension.
BUT
BUT
Ohmigod, the prices. And the food choices. It's unconscionable.
They have Honey Bunches of Oh's cereal, unlike every other store around here. And Lunchables at half the price of the competitors. Their frozen foods section is like walking down a hallway of slightly chilly but delicious dreams. And they have Pocky. Cheap Pocky.
I saved literally (not even an estimation, I did the math earlier today) 20.87% off my regular food bill for this week. I can't resist that. Do you see what has happened to me? Sold out to the lowest common denominator for a couple of boxes of Japanese biscuit sticks and cheap preservative-laden lunches.
I had no idea my soul went for so little. But then again, I haven't had many offers lately.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Rust
Blah blah, apology, blah.
Reviews!
Movies:
Pride & Prejudice - Do you like the ampersand? I think it makes everything much more modern. Anyways. This is such a kick-ass movie. I officially believe that Keira Knightly is a really good actress now, after this and the bounty hunter movie. As Frank can testify, nothing makes me break out in uncontrollable laughter quite as much as a well timed Victorian quip. Seriously, I could not stop laughing all the way through this movie. They are so dry! And yet hilarious. And it was so sweet. I will admit that the majority of the movie I was distracted by how very Bridget Jones it was, until I remembered that I had the exact same problem watching Bridget Jones thinking about how much it was like the novel of Pride and Prejudice. My mind is a scary place. But yeah, total love.
Hustle & Flow - People told me this movie was great. Did I listen to them? No. "It's about a rapping pimp. That's not great." I was such a fool. So good that my Sunday was mostly relegated to wandering through the house going "Man, that movie was so good," like I was in a fugue state. Terrence Howard is ridiculously good, as is DJ Qualls of all people. The actress who played Shug should have totally gotten a Best Supporting Actress nomination, I am totally serious, but entirely unsure of who I would kick out to make room for her. The meeting at the end is amazing for so many different reasons, but man. So effective. Just a perfect movie. You need to see this. In fact, it deserves caps: GO SEE THIS.
Books:
Monkeewrench, P.J Tracy - Do you know how long it's been since I've read just a standard thriller? Way too long. This one is pretty much straight boilerplate at first - A serial killer starts mimicking the staged deaths in a video game in real life. The mystery seems ready to go south very quickly, and the initial language is so horrible that I almost tossed the book away, reminding myself why I stopped reading these sort of books in the first place.
Then, a weird thing happened - the characters got interesting and compelling, the dialogue was just sarcastic enough for my taste, and the story actually picked up. Managed to finish the last 300 pages in just over a day. By the time all three main plots started going full pace, you barely even remember to think about the world around you. The book has too many characters and subplots and the ending doesn't quite pay off enough, but its a very solid read. And apparently it launched a series in the same world, which should be interesting. I will examine and report further.
Something Dangerous, Patrick Redmond - Okay, this book is bold, I will give it that. It concerns a boys boarding school and some unexplained atrocity that occurred in its past. The novel is very well written and realistic, the issues with the younger boys getting hazed by the upper years are all very vivid and the entire book sort of runs with this intense undercurrent of dread that is downright creepy. My only problem with the book (except for all the characters, dear lord, I think there are at least 15 primary players) is that the ending builds and builds and suddenly you hit the ending and it's utterly preposterous. I guess that shouldn't invalidate the rest of the story, but goddamn did it take me out of the moment. Overall well done, but unsatisfying. I really want to read something else by this author, though, and see what he can do.
Reviews!
Movies:
Pride & Prejudice - Do you like the ampersand? I think it makes everything much more modern. Anyways. This is such a kick-ass movie. I officially believe that Keira Knightly is a really good actress now, after this and the bounty hunter movie. As Frank can testify, nothing makes me break out in uncontrollable laughter quite as much as a well timed Victorian quip. Seriously, I could not stop laughing all the way through this movie. They are so dry! And yet hilarious. And it was so sweet. I will admit that the majority of the movie I was distracted by how very Bridget Jones it was, until I remembered that I had the exact same problem watching Bridget Jones thinking about how much it was like the novel of Pride and Prejudice. My mind is a scary place. But yeah, total love.
Hustle & Flow - People told me this movie was great. Did I listen to them? No. "It's about a rapping pimp. That's not great." I was such a fool. So good that my Sunday was mostly relegated to wandering through the house going "Man, that movie was so good," like I was in a fugue state. Terrence Howard is ridiculously good, as is DJ Qualls of all people. The actress who played Shug should have totally gotten a Best Supporting Actress nomination, I am totally serious, but entirely unsure of who I would kick out to make room for her. The meeting at the end is amazing for so many different reasons, but man. So effective. Just a perfect movie. You need to see this. In fact, it deserves caps: GO SEE THIS.
Books:
Monkeewrench, P.J Tracy - Do you know how long it's been since I've read just a standard thriller? Way too long. This one is pretty much straight boilerplate at first - A serial killer starts mimicking the staged deaths in a video game in real life. The mystery seems ready to go south very quickly, and the initial language is so horrible that I almost tossed the book away, reminding myself why I stopped reading these sort of books in the first place.
Then, a weird thing happened - the characters got interesting and compelling, the dialogue was just sarcastic enough for my taste, and the story actually picked up. Managed to finish the last 300 pages in just over a day. By the time all three main plots started going full pace, you barely even remember to think about the world around you. The book has too many characters and subplots and the ending doesn't quite pay off enough, but its a very solid read. And apparently it launched a series in the same world, which should be interesting. I will examine and report further.
Something Dangerous, Patrick Redmond - Okay, this book is bold, I will give it that. It concerns a boys boarding school and some unexplained atrocity that occurred in its past. The novel is very well written and realistic, the issues with the younger boys getting hazed by the upper years are all very vivid and the entire book sort of runs with this intense undercurrent of dread that is downright creepy. My only problem with the book (except for all the characters, dear lord, I think there are at least 15 primary players) is that the ending builds and builds and suddenly you hit the ending and it's utterly preposterous. I guess that shouldn't invalidate the rest of the story, but goddamn did it take me out of the moment. Overall well done, but unsatisfying. I really want to read something else by this author, though, and see what he can do.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Head Trauma
(Note: I just spent over 3 minutes trying to spell "Trauma." True story.)
For the last three days I have been battling intense headaches all day long. Like, get-up-in-the-morning-and-throw-up headaches of epic proportions. These sort of things usually only occur when I am in the vicinity of a breed of long-haired cat, but unless Franklin has smuggled in something cute and furry and is hiding it in his hobo-room while teaching it to dance to Katherine McPhee songs (based on the music coming from his room, this is a distinct possibility), I'm thinking something else must be the cause.
I've been trying to root out the cause, just 'cause, y'know, there are better ways to spend my mornings than in front of a toilet. Weirdly, they tend to disappate as the day goes on and are usually gone by about 8:00 at night. This leads me to the deductive conclusion that it must be something in my bed that is causing it.
So last night I eliminated my blanket and sheet and pillow, instead opting for my old (wildly inferior) ancient bedclothes/pillow setup. This did absolutely nothing except make me very uncomfortable and wake up constantly through the night. Tonight I will try sleeping on the couch, eliminating ever other variable in the equation, but I'm not optimistic. Therefore I am stumped, and doomed to a life of pounding headaches and irritability.
Because when I've got a headache, two important things happen: 1) I lose the ability to smile without it looking like a ritcus of death and 2) my ability to laugh at non-funny things in a corporate setting disappears.
1) is not so important, but it's amazing how often 2) is required on an hourly basis. People make jokes in the office all the time. I use the term 'jokes' loosely; people laugh about things all the time. Etiquette dictates that you laugh along with them to keep a conversation going smoothly. When my head is pounding, I can't focus on the words coming out of anyone's mouth long enough to determine when I need my insincere laugh to activate. This is death in the corporate world.
That paragraph makes me sound like a robot. I'm not a robot, I'm just socially inept.
Also, I am chock full of every over-the-counter drug known to man right now, including some very powerful sedatives, so I should be given allowances for incoherency.
-------------------------
While the pain is still managable and I'm still a little high - Some notes on television, which rules my life now:
The Amazing Race is starting to amazingly piss me off, and the self-proclaimed Hippies have managed to make it all the way into the finals and seem hell-bent on jumping on my last (painfully throbbing) nerve. Hypocrisy is a time-honored pastime of mine, but even I have limits. Specifically, my limit being: Calling another team "bad people" for not leaving you anything in a RACE because all of your stuff got taken away in the last round (because you came in last place), after you put a Yield on them (time penalty) in the last round and tried to break up their relationship by insinuating that one member was hooking up with a different guy from another team. The gall. Oh how it burns. The hippies need to die.
American Idol has reached the stage where Franklin becomes a 12 year old girl, and things start getting awesome. The look on both Kat and Chris' faces when he was informed he was out was just so much fun. And thus was born the most awkward hug in the history of the world. Also, I am sad that Chris and his Minor Hotness is gone, while both The Troll and The Old Man continue to hang around. Doesn't anyone realize that Hotness is what really counts in an American Idol? Let's focus here, people.
(My favorite summation of the entire season: "This year, they can actually, you know. Sing. Without sucking. Even the Missing Link there has a good voice. Ugly as hell, with no moves at all. But A good voice.")
Survivor has become actual TV-watchable this year again, surprisingly, after the woman who professed a deep-seated fear of leaves in the opening episode has turned out to be a wickedly awesome schemer. Which of course means she will be the first voted out at Final 4, but it's brought the show back for me. Who would have guessed? (No, really. A fear of leaves. The mind, it boggles.)
The Office season finale is tonight. My level of anticipation is higher than it has been for any TV show in the last 2 seasons. I'm a little over-invested. This is one of those shows that I cannot resist, an Arrested Development type show, where when I'm watching it I lose the power to control my laughing. Like, it's inappropriately loud and gross guffawing. I'm so tacky watching this show. But it is love. Jim+Pam4EVA.
For the last three days I have been battling intense headaches all day long. Like, get-up-in-the-morning-and-throw-up headaches of epic proportions. These sort of things usually only occur when I am in the vicinity of a breed of long-haired cat, but unless Franklin has smuggled in something cute and furry and is hiding it in his hobo-room while teaching it to dance to Katherine McPhee songs (based on the music coming from his room, this is a distinct possibility), I'm thinking something else must be the cause.
I've been trying to root out the cause, just 'cause, y'know, there are better ways to spend my mornings than in front of a toilet. Weirdly, they tend to disappate as the day goes on and are usually gone by about 8:00 at night. This leads me to the deductive conclusion that it must be something in my bed that is causing it.
So last night I eliminated my blanket and sheet and pillow, instead opting for my old (wildly inferior) ancient bedclothes/pillow setup. This did absolutely nothing except make me very uncomfortable and wake up constantly through the night. Tonight I will try sleeping on the couch, eliminating ever other variable in the equation, but I'm not optimistic. Therefore I am stumped, and doomed to a life of pounding headaches and irritability.
Because when I've got a headache, two important things happen: 1) I lose the ability to smile without it looking like a ritcus of death and 2) my ability to laugh at non-funny things in a corporate setting disappears.
1) is not so important, but it's amazing how often 2) is required on an hourly basis. People make jokes in the office all the time. I use the term 'jokes' loosely; people laugh about things all the time. Etiquette dictates that you laugh along with them to keep a conversation going smoothly. When my head is pounding, I can't focus on the words coming out of anyone's mouth long enough to determine when I need my insincere laugh to activate. This is death in the corporate world.
That paragraph makes me sound like a robot. I'm not a robot, I'm just socially inept.
Also, I am chock full of every over-the-counter drug known to man right now, including some very powerful sedatives, so I should be given allowances for incoherency.
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While the pain is still managable and I'm still a little high - Some notes on television, which rules my life now:
The Amazing Race is starting to amazingly piss me off, and the self-proclaimed Hippies have managed to make it all the way into the finals and seem hell-bent on jumping on my last (painfully throbbing) nerve. Hypocrisy is a time-honored pastime of mine, but even I have limits. Specifically, my limit being: Calling another team "bad people" for not leaving you anything in a RACE because all of your stuff got taken away in the last round (because you came in last place), after you put a Yield on them (time penalty) in the last round and tried to break up their relationship by insinuating that one member was hooking up with a different guy from another team. The gall. Oh how it burns. The hippies need to die.
American Idol has reached the stage where Franklin becomes a 12 year old girl, and things start getting awesome. The look on both Kat and Chris' faces when he was informed he was out was just so much fun. And thus was born the most awkward hug in the history of the world. Also, I am sad that Chris and his Minor Hotness is gone, while both The Troll and The Old Man continue to hang around. Doesn't anyone realize that Hotness is what really counts in an American Idol? Let's focus here, people.
(My favorite summation of the entire season: "This year, they can actually, you know. Sing. Without sucking. Even the Missing Link there has a good voice. Ugly as hell, with no moves at all. But A good voice.")
Survivor has become actual TV-watchable this year again, surprisingly, after the woman who professed a deep-seated fear of leaves in the opening episode has turned out to be a wickedly awesome schemer. Which of course means she will be the first voted out at Final 4, but it's brought the show back for me. Who would have guessed? (No, really. A fear of leaves. The mind, it boggles.)
The Office season finale is tonight. My level of anticipation is higher than it has been for any TV show in the last 2 seasons. I'm a little over-invested. This is one of those shows that I cannot resist, an Arrested Development type show, where when I'm watching it I lose the power to control my laughing. Like, it's inappropriately loud and gross guffawing. I'm so tacky watching this show. But it is love. Jim+Pam4EVA.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Beard Watch - Day 6
It is day 6 of Beard Watch 2006, and we are nearing the end, I believe.
Of course, since no one is really aware of the Beard Watch until now, because I am a lazy bastard and never actually posted anything, this whole thing sort of loses its effectiveness. I shall start from the beginning.
So over the weekends I am always very lazy and never really shave unless I have a date, or a meeting, or a coronation to attend. As this weekend's largest adventure was a mission to see Stick It (Two word review: Eh, Nice.) I did not see the benefit of shaving. And when I got up late on Monday, again I wasn't really feeling it, thus the Beard Watch was born.
I usually don't go in for such things, as I've had very bad experiences with facial hair in the past (see: my sophomore year of college, the "goatee/soul patch of death" months. *shudder*). But since I am now ancient, I figure it is high time to see whether or not I actually can grow a worthwhile visage.
The answer is mixed.
I think it looks nice. Not great, but different. Scruffy is one thing, bearded is another. I am somewhere in the middle, but after 6 days we're leaning towards the latter.
Frank says it makes me look "Funny. And by 'Funny', I mean 'Queer'."
Hate Crime!
Anyways...
Devon occasionally would break out in fits of laughter around me, but refused to confirm that she was indeed laughing at my face. And she did mention something about Chris O'Donnell circa Grey's Anatomy (not necessarily a comparision but more a frame of reference. But I take everything said to me in the most absurdly complimentary light possible, even to the point of removing all context. Jason = Chris O'Donnell. Damn straight.) Therefore, I say the results are inconclusive.
The experience of having a beard is cool though. Morning time is drastically reduced, although it can be pretty itchy during the day. Random people I barely know stop me to discuss how I look, which as a huge narcissist I dig. And I can totally stroke my chin in thought and look wicked deep and introspective. It's only second to a pair of glasses in making me look smarter than I am.
But since I do have a date this weekend, we will be bidding farewell to my little friend soon enough, no doubt. Such a sad day. And such a lame story. Geez, maybe it was for the best that I didn't post anything.
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Oh, okay, also. I've been meaning to forever, but just this week finally got a pair of sunglasses. Long it had been that I was always wearing my normal "corrective lens glasses" (as all the cool kids call them), so shades were out of the question. Now that I've got my delicious contacts, I can once again enjoy the outdoors without wincing.
The particular sunglasses I got? A pair of smoking hot super-dark aviator style ones that cover at least half my face. I love them beyond words. Not only are they functional, I think they make me look totally bad-ass.
(Frank: "Those are the gayest things you own. And you own a lot of gay things. And since when are you a cop from a bad porn movie?" Way more information than I ever needed to know, that.)
Combined with the Beard Watch, I am truly pushing the envelope of fashion this week. I should totally be America's Next Top Boy Model. I am at least as pretty as every one of the contestants left on this season's cycle.
And Tyra would love me, for I am fierce.
Of course, since no one is really aware of the Beard Watch until now, because I am a lazy bastard and never actually posted anything, this whole thing sort of loses its effectiveness. I shall start from the beginning.
So over the weekends I am always very lazy and never really shave unless I have a date, or a meeting, or a coronation to attend. As this weekend's largest adventure was a mission to see Stick It (Two word review: Eh, Nice.) I did not see the benefit of shaving. And when I got up late on Monday, again I wasn't really feeling it, thus the Beard Watch was born.
I usually don't go in for such things, as I've had very bad experiences with facial hair in the past (see: my sophomore year of college, the "goatee/soul patch of death" months. *shudder*). But since I am now ancient, I figure it is high time to see whether or not I actually can grow a worthwhile visage.
The answer is mixed.
I think it looks nice. Not great, but different. Scruffy is one thing, bearded is another. I am somewhere in the middle, but after 6 days we're leaning towards the latter.
Frank says it makes me look "Funny. And by 'Funny', I mean 'Queer'."
Hate Crime!
Anyways...
Devon occasionally would break out in fits of laughter around me, but refused to confirm that she was indeed laughing at my face. And she did mention something about Chris O'Donnell circa Grey's Anatomy (not necessarily a comparision but more a frame of reference. But I take everything said to me in the most absurdly complimentary light possible, even to the point of removing all context. Jason = Chris O'Donnell. Damn straight.) Therefore, I say the results are inconclusive.
The experience of having a beard is cool though. Morning time is drastically reduced, although it can be pretty itchy during the day. Random people I barely know stop me to discuss how I look, which as a huge narcissist I dig. And I can totally stroke my chin in thought and look wicked deep and introspective. It's only second to a pair of glasses in making me look smarter than I am.
But since I do have a date this weekend, we will be bidding farewell to my little friend soon enough, no doubt. Such a sad day. And such a lame story. Geez, maybe it was for the best that I didn't post anything.
----------------------
Oh, okay, also. I've been meaning to forever, but just this week finally got a pair of sunglasses. Long it had been that I was always wearing my normal "corrective lens glasses" (as all the cool kids call them), so shades were out of the question. Now that I've got my delicious contacts, I can once again enjoy the outdoors without wincing.
The particular sunglasses I got? A pair of smoking hot super-dark aviator style ones that cover at least half my face. I love them beyond words. Not only are they functional, I think they make me look totally bad-ass.
(Frank: "Those are the gayest things you own. And you own a lot of gay things. And since when are you a cop from a bad porn movie?" Way more information than I ever needed to know, that.)
Combined with the Beard Watch, I am truly pushing the envelope of fashion this week. I should totally be America's Next Top Boy Model. I am at least as pretty as every one of the contestants left on this season's cycle.
And Tyra would love me, for I am fierce.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Know Your Audience?
I am intensely in love with the Mavs this year. The past couple of years I've loved their success in theory, but I absolutely could not watch them play a full game. It was sheer torture. Even in games where they were winning by 20, it would still stick in the back of my mind that at any second they could blow the entire thing. I would not put it past them for a second. They gave me palpitations worse than watching SMU basketball, if that's even possible.
This year they are fully minus 2/3rds of what I loved about them before (no Steve Nash, no Michael Finley) and suddenly I've been able to watch every single game, the full season. And even when they suck, I still enjoy watching. There are multiple reasons I've come up with, each more ridiculous than the last.
This year they are fully minus 2/3rds of what I loved about them before (no Steve Nash, no Michael Finley) and suddenly I've been able to watch every single game, the full season. And even when they suck, I still enjoy watching. There are multiple reasons I've come up with, each more ridiculous than the last.
- Dirk has totally become my favorite player in the whole world. Steve Nash will always hold a special place in my heart (specifically the wily, bad haired, Canadian-loving place) but Nowitzki has just become ridiculously good, making every important shot, while looking completely crazy all of the time. I make personal bets on when he will get the Wild Eye - where he goes all intense and starts flipping his hair everywhere and his eyes bug out like he's got the Red Fever from Alias, and it's almost always before the first half is over nowadays. I'm totally bitter that he did not (will not, whatev) win MVP. Did you people really think the Mavs were going to win 60 this year? Like I said, I love me some Steve Nash, but come on.
- They actually display confidence during their games. About three weeks before the end of the season, they were down by one at the Clippers with, like 7 seconds to go and they had the ball. Any other season and I would be completely unable to watch, because they always seemed so surprised to win a close game that I felt nothing but doom. In this case I sat riveted, totally knowing that Dirk would get the ball and we would win. Every single person in the stadium knew it too, and when it totally happened anyways, it felt very right. I have no experience with that, but: awesome. Same thing happened this weekend in the playoffs. (Although I will admit, I could not watch the second quarter, I was having such flashbacks). They get to the very end, look like they're flailing around with their heads chopped off, and suddenly Dirk has the ball and hits the three to tie. This is an utterly watchable team.
- All the post game interviews that they do on UPN after the game. I swear, I have no idea what the players or the interviewers are on, but it's just complete hilarity. Nowitzki shilling so obviously for Central Market, Jason Terry's completely blank open-mouthed stare when he obviously mis-heard the interviewer say "Bitched" instead of "Pitched," like he's five years old and the teacher just swore, and Avery Johnson making allusions to World War II like he's running some sort of platoon. They just seem like fun, and also completely out of their minds.
- Mark Cuban. Reaction shots from the sidelines, his blog, his TV show, the whole nine yards. He's become such a caricature of himself that it almost isn't worth mentioning, but how much does he seem like a spastic little kid who gets to do whatever he wants? When he was jumping up and down on the sidelines this weekend, I just wanted someone to go over and pat his head and be all "Well someone's going to sleep well tonight!"
I don't know if I love our chances of winning it all, or heck even getting out of the West, but I really love watching them play. Which makes this whole month much more palatable. I really cannot wait for the Spurs series, it is going to be so awesome.
---------------------------
Other basketball note - That last Lakers-Suns game was the most entertaining thing I saw last month. I still cannot get over that ending - They made tiny Steve Nash jump against Luke Walton after getting totally mugged on the sideline with the other Suns practically shaking the refs asking for a timeout? But good goddamn Kobe Bryant is wicked good at basketball. My heart cries out for poor Steve, but the Suns totally deserve what they got. Good times.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Cheating
Herein you get to see my craftiness. Since I have designated Friday as Day of Boring Reviews, by cleverly not posting for two days, I get to opt out of having to think of real things to write about until at least Monday. Y'all just watch out, my mad skilz are all on display today.
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Oh, asides: I had real reasons for not writing, as there were real life things going on for once, which is why I don't feel remotely guilty about not writing, despite my personal pledge to actually start writing consistently again. So there.
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Oh asides #2: Okay class, now can everyone say "Thank you, Mr. Cuban"?
"Thhhaaaank youuu, Mr. Cuuuubannnn!"
Remember a couple of weeks ago when Mark Cuban gave away free round trip tickets out of Love Field to everyone at the Mavs game? Well it pays to know people, apparently, as my boss's husband was at the game and he gave me his tickets in a fit of ridiculous generosity.
So now I have 3 days left to decide where and when I want to go (you can schedule your trip up to November, but they have to be booked by this coming Sunday). Never before have I loved Mark Cuban as much as today. Okay, maybe that day that he worked in the Dairy Queen, but certainly not since then.
Travel suggestions are welcome. (My four landing/return destinations are: Austin, San Antonio, Kansas City, and St. Louis.) I'm thinking St. Louis just for the sheer exotic factor, but we will see. (Other weird thing: I'm old enough to rent a car now, which makes this whole thing much more doable and optionable. I am very excited.)
------------------------
And now that we get down to it, I don't have a lot of reviews.
Breakfast on Pluto: Man, was 2005 just like the year for excellent movies? I completely dug this thing. Wickedly Dickensian (and not in a bad way, like Twist. Did I write about Twist? I should have. That movie was 12 kinds of fucked up. But Mmmm, Nick Stahl. *drool* ...Wait, what were we talking about?) by which I mean just so cute and full of crazy transvestites with hearts of gold. Or, y'know, orphans befriended by all sorts of colorful characters as they grow up and into their destiny. Take your pick.
Also, Cillian Murphy. That is all.
Proof: I tried to go back because I couldn't remember if I wrote about this back when I first saw it and I couldn't find anything. Which means nothing, since my search engine is shoddy at best, but it is unconscionable that I let this go by without comment. I love this movie so much. Gwenyth Paltrow turns out to not only be able to act, but puts in what I say is the best actress performance of last year. A complete travesty that she didn't get nominated for anything. Jake Gyllenhaal scales new levels on my hotness scale by broaching the subject of Cute Math Geeks, for which I apparently have a fetish. Anthony Hopkins feasts on every available piece of scenery he can get his hands on, which is all I ever ask of him. The movie is a little stagey, but the dialogue is just spot-on delicious. And I was actually kept in suspense about the plot, something that almost never happens nowadays, what with me being so cynical with a heart so black.
Silent Hill: Okay, fine, yes it sucked. Overly dramatic, crammed a storyline that really didn't fit together. Excessively gory, when creepiness would have served it just as well. Dialogue so bad it could stun a small bird. Sean Bean "acting" so hard that it made my head hurt.
All that aside: Surprisingly and intensely true to the video game on which it was based. At times, ridiculously scary to a shocking degree. Beautifully shot, perfect art direction. Pyramid Head. Those goddamn ash children and the twitching nurses. I'm sorry, but just I can't get my hate on entirely for the movie. Yes, it was not worth the money paid to get in, but since they only charged me a student price, I feel slightly vindicated.
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Oh, asides: I had real reasons for not writing, as there were real life things going on for once, which is why I don't feel remotely guilty about not writing, despite my personal pledge to actually start writing consistently again. So there.
------------------
Oh asides #2: Okay class, now can everyone say "Thank you, Mr. Cuban"?
"Thhhaaaank youuu, Mr. Cuuuubannnn!"
Remember a couple of weeks ago when Mark Cuban gave away free round trip tickets out of Love Field to everyone at the Mavs game? Well it pays to know people, apparently, as my boss's husband was at the game and he gave me his tickets in a fit of ridiculous generosity.
So now I have 3 days left to decide where and when I want to go (you can schedule your trip up to November, but they have to be booked by this coming Sunday). Never before have I loved Mark Cuban as much as today. Okay, maybe that day that he worked in the Dairy Queen, but certainly not since then.
Travel suggestions are welcome. (My four landing/return destinations are: Austin, San Antonio, Kansas City, and St. Louis.) I'm thinking St. Louis just for the sheer exotic factor, but we will see. (Other weird thing: I'm old enough to rent a car now, which makes this whole thing much more doable and optionable. I am very excited.)
------------------------
And now that we get down to it, I don't have a lot of reviews.
Breakfast on Pluto: Man, was 2005 just like the year for excellent movies? I completely dug this thing. Wickedly Dickensian (and not in a bad way, like Twist. Did I write about Twist? I should have. That movie was 12 kinds of fucked up. But Mmmm, Nick Stahl. *drool* ...Wait, what were we talking about?) by which I mean just so cute and full of crazy transvestites with hearts of gold. Or, y'know, orphans befriended by all sorts of colorful characters as they grow up and into their destiny. Take your pick.
Also, Cillian Murphy. That is all.
Proof: I tried to go back because I couldn't remember if I wrote about this back when I first saw it and I couldn't find anything. Which means nothing, since my search engine is shoddy at best, but it is unconscionable that I let this go by without comment. I love this movie so much. Gwenyth Paltrow turns out to not only be able to act, but puts in what I say is the best actress performance of last year. A complete travesty that she didn't get nominated for anything. Jake Gyllenhaal scales new levels on my hotness scale by broaching the subject of Cute Math Geeks, for which I apparently have a fetish. Anthony Hopkins feasts on every available piece of scenery he can get his hands on, which is all I ever ask of him. The movie is a little stagey, but the dialogue is just spot-on delicious. And I was actually kept in suspense about the plot, something that almost never happens nowadays, what with me being so cynical with a heart so black.
Silent Hill: Okay, fine, yes it sucked. Overly dramatic, crammed a storyline that really didn't fit together. Excessively gory, when creepiness would have served it just as well. Dialogue so bad it could stun a small bird. Sean Bean "acting" so hard that it made my head hurt.
All that aside: Surprisingly and intensely true to the video game on which it was based. At times, ridiculously scary to a shocking degree. Beautifully shot, perfect art direction. Pyramid Head. Those goddamn ash children and the twitching nurses. I'm sorry, but just I can't get my hate on entirely for the movie. Yes, it was not worth the money paid to get in, but since they only charged me a student price, I feel slightly vindicated.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Peer Pressurin' Mofos
I had been doing so freaking well. Yes, I was on an all cheese diet. And yes, the only supplement to that diet was caffeinated beverages of the highest degree (chocolate coffee in the mornings and Coca-Cola at all other times, day or night). But had I been eating candy? With the exception of what was in my Easter basket (what? you don't get an easter basket? why? just because you're over the legal drinking age? screw that. I am all over that shit. hollow chocolate bunnies own me.) I have been remarkably restrained in the area of refined sugars.
Then Jim comes to town and before you know it, he has placed Pixi Sticks in the cart at the grocery store. Suddenly it is the middle of the day on the Tuesday following and I am literally vibrating in my chair because I just finished off my second pack of Pixi Sticks in the last 36 hours, chased intermittently with Jolly Ranchers in all colors of the rainbow. Do you understand what this is like? Akin to quitting cigarettes cold-turkey and then suddenly people keep handing you delicious carton after carton of your brand, acting all innocent while all the time pelting you with lighters.
In reality, they are pushers of the highest order. "All the cool kids are eating sugar," indeed.
So, I'm wired out of my mind, twitching uncontrollably, and getting so much work done it's like I'm not getting paid by the hour anymore. This is obviously untenable. To borrow a line, we are in a run-out-the-clock situation here, 1.5% blood to sugar ratio or not. When you've finished every possible thing in the office and it's only 1:30 and you have to start dusting things to look busy, you know you've gone to a bad place.
I've reached that plane I used to need to get when I was on an all night programming binge, where everything has a sort of surreal glow and I can almost hear the command prompt whispering to me. Of course, in the real world, one does not need this plateau. When my most complicated task of the day involves the phrase "collating and stapling," priming my brain to "22 hours of graphical interface coding" is something like aiming a firehose at a teacup.
I blame all of you people, though. Bad influences, the whole lot. I was perfectly content with my cheese. As soon as I get out, they try to reel me back in. So sad.
Now if you will excuse me, I have got a box of Sweetarts to attend to, and wow, five envelopes to address and stamp.
Then Jim comes to town and before you know it, he has placed Pixi Sticks in the cart at the grocery store. Suddenly it is the middle of the day on the Tuesday following and I am literally vibrating in my chair because I just finished off my second pack of Pixi Sticks in the last 36 hours, chased intermittently with Jolly Ranchers in all colors of the rainbow. Do you understand what this is like? Akin to quitting cigarettes cold-turkey and then suddenly people keep handing you delicious carton after carton of your brand, acting all innocent while all the time pelting you with lighters.
In reality, they are pushers of the highest order. "All the cool kids are eating sugar," indeed.
So, I'm wired out of my mind, twitching uncontrollably, and getting so much work done it's like I'm not getting paid by the hour anymore. This is obviously untenable. To borrow a line, we are in a run-out-the-clock situation here, 1.5% blood to sugar ratio or not. When you've finished every possible thing in the office and it's only 1:30 and you have to start dusting things to look busy, you know you've gone to a bad place.
I've reached that plane I used to need to get when I was on an all night programming binge, where everything has a sort of surreal glow and I can almost hear the command prompt whispering to me. Of course, in the real world, one does not need this plateau. When my most complicated task of the day involves the phrase "collating and stapling," priming my brain to "22 hours of graphical interface coding" is something like aiming a firehose at a teacup.
I blame all of you people, though. Bad influences, the whole lot. I was perfectly content with my cheese. As soon as I get out, they try to reel me back in. So sad.
Now if you will excuse me, I have got a box of Sweetarts to attend to, and wow, five envelopes to address and stamp.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Today I am a Power Dialer
There is no shame on the internet. This is what I tell myself. It may be one of those self-evident things, since you can read about pretty much every single embarrassing event in the past two years of my life just by going through the archives there on the right-hand side.
I bring this up for the simple fact that I almost didn't write this entry due to my sheer mortification of what I'm about to say. It's that horrible.
So.
I voted for The American Idol.
Which, okay, may cause a slight gasp, maybe would require a fainting couch carefully placed for a delicate 17th century Victorian, but is not necessarily a deal breaker in terms of my complete sell-out into the low end of popular culture and the Coca-Cola juggernaut.
But let's go for full disclosure here: I voted for The American Idol 102 times. In a single hour.
No wait. Back up. I got through to American Idol 102 times in a single hour. You can't even begin to fathom how many times I actually called in to the AI.
You see that? That abbreviation? I have slang terms integrated into my mind about this show. The wheels have fallen off my cred vehicle.
I don't know how it came to this. I blame Frank, I blame Coke, I blame the ease of the redial button. I blame Television Without Pity for getting me overly involved with its scathing recaps, I blame Will Makar for not making it into the finals and thus implicating me in his demise since I did not vote for him. But most of all I blame the beautiful and alluring siren song of Katherine McPhee and her really hideous wardrobe department.
The only thing keeping me from flinging myself off of the nearest cliff in shame (except for the fact that the nearest cliff to Dallas is a pretty good ways off and would probably require an extended car ride and my radio is broken) is that I still maintain a modicum of decency: Any time someone uses the word "McPheever" around me, I go into a white hot rage that cannot be quelled. Even I, the saddest power-dialer in all the land, have my limits to fanatical fan-isms.
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And incidentally, I already miss the Ace Young and his wounded puppy dog eyes. Someone needs to put me out of my misery right now.
I bring this up for the simple fact that I almost didn't write this entry due to my sheer mortification of what I'm about to say. It's that horrible.
So.
I voted for The American Idol.
Which, okay, may cause a slight gasp, maybe would require a fainting couch carefully placed for a delicate 17th century Victorian, but is not necessarily a deal breaker in terms of my complete sell-out into the low end of popular culture and the Coca-Cola juggernaut.
But let's go for full disclosure here: I voted for The American Idol 102 times. In a single hour.
No wait. Back up. I got through to American Idol 102 times in a single hour. You can't even begin to fathom how many times I actually called in to the AI.
You see that? That abbreviation? I have slang terms integrated into my mind about this show. The wheels have fallen off my cred vehicle.
I don't know how it came to this. I blame Frank, I blame Coke, I blame the ease of the redial button. I blame Television Without Pity for getting me overly involved with its scathing recaps, I blame Will Makar for not making it into the finals and thus implicating me in his demise since I did not vote for him. But most of all I blame the beautiful and alluring siren song of Katherine McPhee and her really hideous wardrobe department.
The only thing keeping me from flinging myself off of the nearest cliff in shame (except for the fact that the nearest cliff to Dallas is a pretty good ways off and would probably require an extended car ride and my radio is broken) is that I still maintain a modicum of decency: Any time someone uses the word "McPheever" around me, I go into a white hot rage that cannot be quelled. Even I, the saddest power-dialer in all the land, have my limits to fanatical fan-isms.
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And incidentally, I already miss the Ace Young and his wounded puppy dog eyes. Someone needs to put me out of my misery right now.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Incidental Clown-Related Announcement
Just in case anyone was thinking of hiring me any time soon (a laughable concept based off of all my recent interviews, (another post in itself)), I just want to make it clear:
Much like P. Diddy, I have a strict "no clown" clause in all my contracts as well.
Don't say I learned nothing from my days as a carnie.
Much like P. Diddy, I have a strict "no clown" clause in all my contracts as well.
Don't say I learned nothing from my days as a carnie.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Behold the Power
I've undertaken a grand experiment, it seems. I will finally answer the age-old question that has long plagued mankind: Exactly what will happen if you go on an all cheese diet?
I didn't set out to answer this question, more the question found me. The stars all had to align just so for it to happen though. First, Albertsons ran my most favorite promotion, one that only happens about twice a year, their 10 string cheese sticks for $1 deal. Which is just ridonkulous, in terms of enjoyment per food price. I mean, not only is string cheese delicious, it's fun to eat and labor intensive in the good way. Nothing to cook or accidentally set on fire, just the careful dissection of your meal. And people can't even complain about me playing with my food - it's required. By God.
Plus. 10 for one dollar. Just think about that for a second.
Okay done? Doesn't it just give you goosebumps?
Anyways, so I did some quick mental math and tried to figure out how many cheese sticks I could buy at one time without looking completely insane. In the end I settled on 40, which seemed like a nice, small, round number. But upon completion of my shopping trip, the pile of 40 cheese sticks was incredibly huge on the checkout line. What can you do?
The checker was a little amused, but I had my cheese sticks so I came out ahead in the deal. I also went back later in the week to get an additional 30 just in case. (In my mind, what looks crazy: buying 70 cheese sticks at once. What does not look crazy: buying 40 one day and then coming back the very next day for 30 more.)
So I've already loaded up on cheese in the refrigerator and how; if you count the American cheese slices I stocked up on last week and the cream cheese left over from last week's bagel extravaganza, I would say better than 70 percent of the fridge was cheese based. (The other 30% being devoted to 25% Dr Pepper and 5% Condiments). The next step happened very accidentally, as Roommate Frnak really needed to go to Kroger for his specialty brand of Ramen noodles, a concept which stuns me to the core. Since I'm there (as I am chauffeur to the stars) I do some mild browsing and come upon my favorite thing in the entire world: Smoked Cheese Logs, half price!
As anyone who knows me knows, I have a sordid history. My family is strange and off-putting and we have very weird traditions. One of the primary traditions being The Cheese Log of All Secular and Religious Holidays. Doesn't matter what the occasion - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Arbor Day, we would have a cheese log available in the kitchen to celebrate. I don't claim to understand it, but I've come to love the cheesy goodness like it was my own offspring. Except tasty and eatable. (The metaphor has failed me. Moving on.)
So not only do I have well over a quarter of my weight in string cheese waiting for me in the fridge, I've got a delicious pound of cheese log which I am systematically decimating as the week goes by.
With these two items, really, I have no need for any other food. I haven't touched the stove for anything (except last night to make some cinnamon rolls, a process that I am practically compelled to do at this point - I would not put it past the baking lobby to have put some sort of addictive agent in that frosting, I mean for serious) and haven't done the dishes in well over a week. The kitchen has reached the end of its usefulness now that I am no longer compelled to clean by the need to eat. Preprocessed cheese has led to its downfall.
So the question has not yet been fully answered, but from my findings so far I've got an initial working hypothesis - going on an all cheese diet will bring about the downfall of my civilization.
We'll see how it holds up in the coming weeks.
I didn't set out to answer this question, more the question found me. The stars all had to align just so for it to happen though. First, Albertsons ran my most favorite promotion, one that only happens about twice a year, their 10 string cheese sticks for $1 deal. Which is just ridonkulous, in terms of enjoyment per food price. I mean, not only is string cheese delicious, it's fun to eat and labor intensive in the good way. Nothing to cook or accidentally set on fire, just the careful dissection of your meal. And people can't even complain about me playing with my food - it's required. By God.
Plus. 10 for one dollar. Just think about that for a second.
Okay done? Doesn't it just give you goosebumps?
Anyways, so I did some quick mental math and tried to figure out how many cheese sticks I could buy at one time without looking completely insane. In the end I settled on 40, which seemed like a nice, small, round number. But upon completion of my shopping trip, the pile of 40 cheese sticks was incredibly huge on the checkout line. What can you do?
The checker was a little amused, but I had my cheese sticks so I came out ahead in the deal. I also went back later in the week to get an additional 30 just in case. (In my mind, what looks crazy: buying 70 cheese sticks at once. What does not look crazy: buying 40 one day and then coming back the very next day for 30 more.)
So I've already loaded up on cheese in the refrigerator and how; if you count the American cheese slices I stocked up on last week and the cream cheese left over from last week's bagel extravaganza, I would say better than 70 percent of the fridge was cheese based. (The other 30% being devoted to 25% Dr Pepper and 5% Condiments). The next step happened very accidentally, as Roommate Frnak really needed to go to Kroger for his specialty brand of Ramen noodles, a concept which stuns me to the core. Since I'm there (as I am chauffeur to the stars) I do some mild browsing and come upon my favorite thing in the entire world: Smoked Cheese Logs, half price!
As anyone who knows me knows, I have a sordid history. My family is strange and off-putting and we have very weird traditions. One of the primary traditions being The Cheese Log of All Secular and Religious Holidays. Doesn't matter what the occasion - Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Halloween, Arbor Day, we would have a cheese log available in the kitchen to celebrate. I don't claim to understand it, but I've come to love the cheesy goodness like it was my own offspring. Except tasty and eatable. (The metaphor has failed me. Moving on.)
So not only do I have well over a quarter of my weight in string cheese waiting for me in the fridge, I've got a delicious pound of cheese log which I am systematically decimating as the week goes by.
With these two items, really, I have no need for any other food. I haven't touched the stove for anything (except last night to make some cinnamon rolls, a process that I am practically compelled to do at this point - I would not put it past the baking lobby to have put some sort of addictive agent in that frosting, I mean for serious) and haven't done the dishes in well over a week. The kitchen has reached the end of its usefulness now that I am no longer compelled to clean by the need to eat. Preprocessed cheese has led to its downfall.
So the question has not yet been fully answered, but from my findings so far I've got an initial working hypothesis - going on an all cheese diet will bring about the downfall of my civilization.
We'll see how it holds up in the coming weeks.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Plant-icide
In terms of things that make me a freak, this is probably generally low on the list but for some reason I am reluctant to spell it right out.
Anyways, am I the only person in the world that thinks that the concept of potted plants is sort of cruel?
Wait. I should back up.
Okay, in my office, I'm in charge of keeping the plants alive. This is a horrible idea, assigning plant livelihood to me. I'm probably the only person in the world who can kill a plant within a single hour of our meeting. I am an anathema to plants, the mythical Brown Thumb of Doom.
But when I was interviewing for the job, I may have...slightly exaggerated my skills with plants in order to up my chances at employment. Okay, if we're being technical, I may have used the words 'green thumb' and 'awesome with plants,' but I really needed the job. I was working as a carnie, people. I was desperate.
I got the job. But I still suck at plants.
I don't think this is my fault, though. Potting plants is just cruel and unusual. Plants need pretty much only 3 damn things to survive: natural light, air, and water. Someone with a potted plant has just ripped away two of those things and expects everything to just be fine. Uh, no.
Every time I go to water the plants, I can feel their tiny leaves judging me, as I finally give them a portion of their essential ingredient for the day, since they can't get it for themselves. "Well, thanks for that," they say, all sarcastically. I am jailer to the plants, metaphorically delivering them sub-par meals of gruel through tiny slots in their metaphorical cell doors. The Oliver Twist comparison is just too apt to consider. Imagining my tiny little Croton, all cute and tiny and "please sir, I'd like some more" is enough to send a tiny plant-stake through my heart.
I'm only lucky that there's a big window available for them to sit next to - I'm not sure if I could stand the idea of having to come in to provide their light source also. It would be too much. The recriminations. Is there a PETP? (People for the Ethical Treatment of Plants) Throwing buckets of green paint on people wearing corsages? "Decoupage is murder," all of that?
This is also probably why I shouldn't be allowed to have a pet - they have actual faces, not just imaginary ones in my head. I would probably explode from all the empathy.
Anyways, am I the only person in the world that thinks that the concept of potted plants is sort of cruel?
Wait. I should back up.
Okay, in my office, I'm in charge of keeping the plants alive. This is a horrible idea, assigning plant livelihood to me. I'm probably the only person in the world who can kill a plant within a single hour of our meeting. I am an anathema to plants, the mythical Brown Thumb of Doom.
But when I was interviewing for the job, I may have...slightly exaggerated my skills with plants in order to up my chances at employment. Okay, if we're being technical, I may have used the words 'green thumb' and 'awesome with plants,' but I really needed the job. I was working as a carnie, people. I was desperate.
I got the job. But I still suck at plants.
I don't think this is my fault, though. Potting plants is just cruel and unusual. Plants need pretty much only 3 damn things to survive: natural light, air, and water. Someone with a potted plant has just ripped away two of those things and expects everything to just be fine. Uh, no.
Every time I go to water the plants, I can feel their tiny leaves judging me, as I finally give them a portion of their essential ingredient for the day, since they can't get it for themselves. "Well, thanks for that," they say, all sarcastically. I am jailer to the plants, metaphorically delivering them sub-par meals of gruel through tiny slots in their metaphorical cell doors. The Oliver Twist comparison is just too apt to consider. Imagining my tiny little Croton, all cute and tiny and "please sir, I'd like some more" is enough to send a tiny plant-stake through my heart.
I'm only lucky that there's a big window available for them to sit next to - I'm not sure if I could stand the idea of having to come in to provide their light source also. It would be too much. The recriminations. Is there a PETP? (People for the Ethical Treatment of Plants) Throwing buckets of green paint on people wearing corsages? "Decoupage is murder," all of that?
This is also probably why I shouldn't be allowed to have a pet - they have actual faces, not just imaginary ones in my head. I would probably explode from all the empathy.
Friday, March 31, 2006
Executive Decision
Because I exercise complete authorial control over this lovely space, I have made a command decision and decree that henceforth Friday's will be Annoying Review Days. Wherein I spew out my opinions on everything that I watched and read during the week. This way, you know exactly which day to avoid the blog. And also, I'm forbidding reviews on other days, to make sure that the boringness level is kept the bare minimum.
So.
ANNOYING REVIEWS!
She's The Man - You know, I just was talking last week about my irrational but unending love for What I Like About You, the Amanda Bynes Jennie Garth sitcom that has been on, against all rational odds, for like 6 seasons. With that written, the gods looked down upon me and laughed; the series finale of the show was on that very night.
But whatever, I'm trying to get to a point here that does not involve the gods tormenting me. I love Amanda Bynes completely. She seems like the most rational and down-to-earth of all the Lohans/Duffs/Olsens and is the only one who doesn't look like you could get cut on her collarbone. She has some really damn good comedic timing, and has mastered the art of the comic pratfall better than the Lohan could ever hope for.
So I had to go see the She's the Man. And you know what? It was actually pretty funny, even excepting my deep and abiding love. Okay no, she never once looks like a boy, sounds like a boy, or acts like a boy ever, in the entire hour and fourty-five minutes, but that's really beside the point of the movie (even though, purportedly, that's the entire point of the movie). She's got the timing and presence to carry the movie, the supporting cast is pretty impressive considering the B-side nature of the movie (Thank God for David Cross. (Aside: have you read this really old thing? He completes me.)).
There are a couple of gags that obviously looked better on paper than they came out on the screen (nerd girl fell very flat and she was used a lot) but the sum total was nice and happy and consistently funny, which is usually all I ask. Sadly, the main thing that I wonder the most about after the movie? How on earth did they find a boy who looked so much like Amanda Bynes as to be able to convincingly play her twin? Was there a casting call for "Teenage boy who looks like Amanda Bynes?" I cannot fathom the process. Maybe I'll finally discover the truth on the Making Of documentary once it comes out on DVD. Until then, I wait in anticipation.
Capote - Talk about two diametrically opposite movies. I put this one off until video, because I had no one to go see it with. Because really, who wants to see high pitched voice Philip Seymour Hoffman in any sort of movie?
Well, me, apparently. This movie was intensely good. Intensely. I read In Cold Blood ages ago while I was still in high school, and didn't really appreciate it all that much. I think I sort of glossed over the whole "non-fiction novel" part, which the whole thing, really. I started reading it again last week, and it has this whole other light now, that makes it amazing. The movie is compelling to me, not just because of the story, but because of its (however sensationalized) relation to real life. As crazy as the entire plot sounds, it is mostly very accurate.
(To shorthand it: Truman Capote reads an article about the murder of a family in Kansas. He goes out there with the intention of writing an article about it for the New Yorker. Instead, he ends up befriending (read: sort of falling in love) with the captured killers, gets the complete inside story and writes up a non-ficiton novel account of the entire thing. He also helps get the killers a decent attorney, only to turn around and remove his support in the end to get the ending that his story needs.)
So, the story - amazing. The acting - so amazing (both nominations entirely deserved). The pacing, shot selection, editing - top notch. Seriously one of the best movies I've seen in forever. At first you think there's no way you can handle the voice and mannerisms. By 7 minutes into the movie, I completely forgot about all of it. It really is a perfect performance. I mean damn.
As with all my "really good movie" reviews, I have no words to actually express anything. If you haven't seen this, you should. Now.
The Squid and the Whale - I'm taking the low road on this movie because my hands are tired:
So.
ANNOYING REVIEWS!
She's The Man - You know, I just was talking last week about my irrational but unending love for What I Like About You, the Amanda Bynes Jennie Garth sitcom that has been on, against all rational odds, for like 6 seasons. With that written, the gods looked down upon me and laughed; the series finale of the show was on that very night.
But whatever, I'm trying to get to a point here that does not involve the gods tormenting me. I love Amanda Bynes completely. She seems like the most rational and down-to-earth of all the Lohans/Duffs/Olsens and is the only one who doesn't look like you could get cut on her collarbone. She has some really damn good comedic timing, and has mastered the art of the comic pratfall better than the Lohan could ever hope for.
So I had to go see the She's the Man. And you know what? It was actually pretty funny, even excepting my deep and abiding love. Okay no, she never once looks like a boy, sounds like a boy, or acts like a boy ever, in the entire hour and fourty-five minutes, but that's really beside the point of the movie (even though, purportedly, that's the entire point of the movie). She's got the timing and presence to carry the movie, the supporting cast is pretty impressive considering the B-side nature of the movie (Thank God for David Cross. (Aside: have you read this really old thing? He completes me.)).
There are a couple of gags that obviously looked better on paper than they came out on the screen (nerd girl fell very flat and she was used a lot) but the sum total was nice and happy and consistently funny, which is usually all I ask. Sadly, the main thing that I wonder the most about after the movie? How on earth did they find a boy who looked so much like Amanda Bynes as to be able to convincingly play her twin? Was there a casting call for "Teenage boy who looks like Amanda Bynes?" I cannot fathom the process. Maybe I'll finally discover the truth on the Making Of documentary once it comes out on DVD. Until then, I wait in anticipation.
Capote - Talk about two diametrically opposite movies. I put this one off until video, because I had no one to go see it with. Because really, who wants to see high pitched voice Philip Seymour Hoffman in any sort of movie?
Well, me, apparently. This movie was intensely good. Intensely. I read In Cold Blood ages ago while I was still in high school, and didn't really appreciate it all that much. I think I sort of glossed over the whole "non-fiction novel" part, which the whole thing, really. I started reading it again last week, and it has this whole other light now, that makes it amazing. The movie is compelling to me, not just because of the story, but because of its (however sensationalized) relation to real life. As crazy as the entire plot sounds, it is mostly very accurate.
(To shorthand it: Truman Capote reads an article about the murder of a family in Kansas. He goes out there with the intention of writing an article about it for the New Yorker. Instead, he ends up befriending (read: sort of falling in love) with the captured killers, gets the complete inside story and writes up a non-ficiton novel account of the entire thing. He also helps get the killers a decent attorney, only to turn around and remove his support in the end to get the ending that his story needs.)
So, the story - amazing. The acting - so amazing (both nominations entirely deserved). The pacing, shot selection, editing - top notch. Seriously one of the best movies I've seen in forever. At first you think there's no way you can handle the voice and mannerisms. By 7 minutes into the movie, I completely forgot about all of it. It really is a perfect performance. I mean damn.
As with all my "really good movie" reviews, I have no words to actually express anything. If you haven't seen this, you should. Now.
The Squid and the Whale - I'm taking the low road on this movie because my hands are tired:
- The shortest movie that I think I've ever seen. Barely over an hour.
- Also wickedly good. Laura Linney is, as always, the consummate actress. Jeff Daniels made his character so perfectly unlikable I have to give him major props. And that kid who I used to really like from the execrable Get Real TV show acquits himself amazingly in a very difficult role.
- The dark-ish nature of the comedy is handled very well. Sort of like The Royal Tennebaums, only much more focused, because there are so few principle actors involved.
- Final estimation: Trifling, but flawlessly executed. Bravo.
--------------------
Well, that was painful, wasn't it? Tune in next time, wherein I discuss the worst interview I have ever had in my entire life. Which, as you probably know, is saying a whole damn lot.
He'll Always be 4 Stars to Me
There may have been plenty of things I've disagreed with Roger Ebert about lately, but I will always love him, as long as he keeps throwing out lines like
this:
this:
I cannot recommend the movie, but ... why the hell can't I? Just because it's godawful? What kind of reason is that for staying away from a movie?
from his review of Basic Instinct 2 (which, yeah, nice try, I'm still not gonna see it).
And also, he gave the Amanda Bynes movie 3 stars and a really good review, which I totally agree with. More on that later.
Shine on, Ebert, shine on.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
The Challenge is Gone
Usually when I go to write something in this here blog thing, I have to focus all of my will on making it even remotely interesting. There needs to be colorful metaphors, rambling asides, and exciting misadventures just to get people to stop by.
But today, the challenge is gone, because this story is so straight-up bizarre, there's no need for anything but the facts.
FACTS:
But today, the challenge is gone, because this story is so straight-up bizarre, there's no need for anything but the facts.
FACTS:
- My hair looks like crap. Too long on the sides, way too flat on top, I look like a Muppet.
- I've been meaning to get it cut for about a week now, but I keep forgetting and rote-memory driving home from work every day.
- Yesterday I got out of work wicked late, so when I got to the place I usually go to, it was closed and I had to look around for a different place.
- I find this tiny little salon wedged in a corner of the shopping center I'm at. The windows are very dark. There are red Christmas light strings just randomly hanging down from the ceiling in front of the windows. It looks pretty closed, but there is a "Welcome Open" sign in the door.
OPINIONS:
- I walk in [despite my grave misgivings] and poke around. This absolutely insane looking old woman, who's hair is a cross between The Bride of Frankenstine and Condoleza Rice and then spray painted silver, pops up from behind the counter and asks if I am there 'for the haircuts.'
- I reluctantly say yes. She grabs my arm in a death grip, steers me to the nearest chair, drapes a towel over my shoulders, and proceeds to start attacking my hair with a pair of scissors. And attacking is the only way to describe it - it's like my hair has done her wrong and she is carefully circling it and occasionally striking at it like a cobra.
- All the while, she keeps up a most impressive broken English monologue, mostly concerning how she likes my hair. Her thought process gets stuck on the word 'luscious' and she starts repeating it over and over like a record skipping. Luscious, luscious, luscious...
INSANITIES:
- I am very very frightened.
- She finishes the sides [I guess] and sort of rounds off the edges on my neck and around my ears. "Now, now now, the top!" She starting rubbing my scalp really hard with the handle of her scissors.
- I do not run screaming from the building. [This is a mistake in hindsight.]
- After about three cuts, she begins her monologue anew. I will try to recreate it here from memory: "You, you, your hair. I like this. This, this hair, it is good. Good good, like like like like like [I'm not even kidding, the 'like's went on for a good two minutes] like like I should not be cutting this hair, it it it, it is lovely. You know what what what I will do? I I I I I I am going to only cut this first half. I am texturizing [the word texturizing has never sounded more menacing, ever] this this top part, here here here right here [a particularly vicious strike with the scissors accompanies each 'here' and then I am nearly impaled through the head on the 'right here'] and and and I will cut it no more. It is perrrfect the way it is." [just to note, she never once stopped jabbing at my hair with the scissors the entire time the monologue was going on.]
- "AND AND AND [wild gestures with the scissors as she whips the towel off of my shoulders] I will only charge you half the price, because because you only had HALF of a haircut.
- I feel as though I have witnessed some sort of experimental avant garde art installment, wherein I was an unwitting prop. I keep expecting her to take a bow.
- But nothing of the sort happens, I run from the store only ten dollars lighter, and the cut really isn't that bad. Sort of a little chunky on top, and a little longer than I like. But since I got to keep my life as part of the deal, I'm pretty okay with the whole thing.
I knew I should have just gone with the bald.
Friday, March 24, 2006
Catch Up, The Second
Continued from below
More Movies
Dorian Blues: You have to understand, there are entirely different standards that exist in the world for gay movies, among my people. (The homos, in case I lost you there.). Meaning, yes, a certain level of suck is expected in any gay themed movie. Poor production quality, lame acting, or contrivedness, all are given allowances just because the subject matter is in place. I'm not saying it's a good thing, I'm just stating the fact.
That out of the way, this movie is good under normal standards and under the standards of independent gay film, it's amazing. It's sort of like low-expectation theatre, I was expecting horrible, so when I got pretty good, I was blown away.
Facts about this movie: It stars Michael McMillian, my TV boyfriend from Amanda Bynes' What I Like About You, a show that I know has no right to still be on the air, and yet still love unconditionally. It's one of those 'gay coming-out and coming-of-age' movies that have been done to death, chronicaling his life from a senior in high school up through the midpoint of his college career, and contains every possible cliche, from the parents, to the priest, to the psychiatrist, and beyond.
All of which sounds like enough to send any rational person heading for the nearest exit. But, whatever, the entire thing is excellent. Michael actually carries the movie beautifully, he some some damn fine comedic timing. His relationship with his brother is the cornerstone of the movie and is refreshingly well-written. Actually, the entire script really does dialogue well. The overall arch of the movie isn't the best, but the individual conversations are spot on and just the right amount of witty and realistic.
Plus there are some literal laugh-out-loud moments, some cringe-in-complete-understanding moments, and an amazing Billie Holiday impersonation, all of which makes for a really good movie. Color me ridiculously impressed.
The Book Reviews
The Time Traveler's Wife: Okay so I realize that I've become a more emotional person as of late. I can get choked up easier, I let myself get caught up in things quicker, movies can affect me pretty fast. But nothing in the world could prepare me for this book.
The book is a straightforward (heh, only completely shuffled around) love story between an artist named Claire and a librarian named Henry. The twist being that Henry is a time-traveler - times of extreme emotion can cause him to randomly jump through time. This is set up early in the book and then pretty much taken at face value throughout the rest of the novel. Which I can dig, just give me the rules and lets get going.
It's an immensely readable book, compelling and interesting. The weird thing is that the main characters are...well... sort of unlikable. I mean, not completely, but he's sort of a dick and she's got all these issues, and they're both some serious hipsters and it's just a strange road to take.
But anyway, the story goes on and it's varying degrees of cute and serious and funny and awesome. Just a really good read. And then.
About 100 pages from the end, it becomes the goddamn saddest book in the history of the world. I am not entirely ashamed to admit that I have cried at the end of a book. On multiple occasions. The written word is very powerful to me. But this book. Not even exaggerating in the slightest, I was about to bawl through the entire last 1/5. I'm talking a good two hours of reading, choked up beyond any rational measure. And the ending? Totally ashamed, but whatever: cried like a baby. Harder than pretty much anything ever.
And I didn't even like the characters! It's maddening beyond words. But I just report the news, I don't get a say in the truth. I guess I have to recommend it, and it was pretty damn awesome, but ouch ouch ouch. So frickin sad.
Assassination Vacation: Quite possibly the quickest non-fiction read I've ever had. Sarah Vowell has presidential assassinations on the brain and goes through a sort of Americana tour of all the significant locations involved in the first three American presidential assassinations.
It's just perfectly written, conversational, wicked informative, and extremely funny. It's what I always want non-fiction to be and never is. I finished the entire book on two connecting plane rides. I cannot recommend it enough. I have a copy if you want to borrow it.
High Fidelity: Man, usually I love Nick Hornby with utter abandon, but I could not get into this book. It had its seriously great moments, and some really perfect lines, but the overall story just did not sit with me right at all.
No doubt you've seen the movie (I am apparently the only person in the world who has not) but in short form: guy owns a record store, is unlucky in the love, sort of hapless, and takes on a quest to find out if he's entirely incompatible with all women after his girlfriend leaves him for the guy upstairs. The dialogue is good, it flows along pretty well, but so much of the book is taken over by whining and generic ruminations, I was over it all pretty quick. No one cares about your generation and their relationship woes. Or maybe people do, but definitely not me. I wish more of the book could have been focused on the friendships and the record-banter: all the top five lists and the discussions thereof were just top notch and hilarious. Oh, and the ending just annoyed me to the very core of my being.
Not on the same level as anything else he's written, but still pretty good. If you've got some free time, perfectly fine to read, but not until you've exhausted About A Boy.
Quick Music Review
Sun, Sun, Sun - The Elected. Based off of this sort of positive review, I picked this up, because I love me some Rilo Kiley and it sounded interesting. I cannot stop listening to this CD. I have no real reason why, other than that the songs are pretty catchy, but I love it so much. As I was trying to explain to Roommate Frank, if more country music sounded like this, I would totally listen to it more often. ("Except this isn't country." - Frank "My point exactly" - Jason)
I don't know. His voice isn't the best and there is gratuitous use of a slide guitar, but I dig the whole thing way too much. Highlights: 'Do Me Good' s sort of 50's blues feel, the really sweet melody behind 'Fireflies In A Steel Mill' and the gratuitous use of the phrase "and I don't fuckin' care" on 'Not Going Home'.
Yet another thing I cannot recommend enough.
-----------------
Damn man, I'm just running off at the mouth today, aren't I? I'll leave the etiquette question for another day. This is what happens when I don't write anything for two weeks. I get backlogged in garbage writing.
More Movies
Dorian Blues: You have to understand, there are entirely different standards that exist in the world for gay movies, among my people. (The homos, in case I lost you there.). Meaning, yes, a certain level of suck is expected in any gay themed movie. Poor production quality, lame acting, or contrivedness, all are given allowances just because the subject matter is in place. I'm not saying it's a good thing, I'm just stating the fact.
That out of the way, this movie is good under normal standards and under the standards of independent gay film, it's amazing. It's sort of like low-expectation theatre, I was expecting horrible, so when I got pretty good, I was blown away.
Facts about this movie: It stars Michael McMillian, my TV boyfriend from Amanda Bynes' What I Like About You, a show that I know has no right to still be on the air, and yet still love unconditionally. It's one of those 'gay coming-out and coming-of-age' movies that have been done to death, chronicaling his life from a senior in high school up through the midpoint of his college career, and contains every possible cliche, from the parents, to the priest, to the psychiatrist, and beyond.
All of which sounds like enough to send any rational person heading for the nearest exit. But, whatever, the entire thing is excellent. Michael actually carries the movie beautifully, he some some damn fine comedic timing. His relationship with his brother is the cornerstone of the movie and is refreshingly well-written. Actually, the entire script really does dialogue well. The overall arch of the movie isn't the best, but the individual conversations are spot on and just the right amount of witty and realistic.
Plus there are some literal laugh-out-loud moments, some cringe-in-complete-understanding moments, and an amazing Billie Holiday impersonation, all of which makes for a really good movie. Color me ridiculously impressed.
The Book Reviews
The Time Traveler's Wife: Okay so I realize that I've become a more emotional person as of late. I can get choked up easier, I let myself get caught up in things quicker, movies can affect me pretty fast. But nothing in the world could prepare me for this book.
The book is a straightforward (heh, only completely shuffled around) love story between an artist named Claire and a librarian named Henry. The twist being that Henry is a time-traveler - times of extreme emotion can cause him to randomly jump through time. This is set up early in the book and then pretty much taken at face value throughout the rest of the novel. Which I can dig, just give me the rules and lets get going.
It's an immensely readable book, compelling and interesting. The weird thing is that the main characters are...well... sort of unlikable. I mean, not completely, but he's sort of a dick and she's got all these issues, and they're both some serious hipsters and it's just a strange road to take.
But anyway, the story goes on and it's varying degrees of cute and serious and funny and awesome. Just a really good read. And then.
About 100 pages from the end, it becomes the goddamn saddest book in the history of the world. I am not entirely ashamed to admit that I have cried at the end of a book. On multiple occasions. The written word is very powerful to me. But this book. Not even exaggerating in the slightest, I was about to bawl through the entire last 1/5. I'm talking a good two hours of reading, choked up beyond any rational measure. And the ending? Totally ashamed, but whatever: cried like a baby. Harder than pretty much anything ever.
And I didn't even like the characters! It's maddening beyond words. But I just report the news, I don't get a say in the truth. I guess I have to recommend it, and it was pretty damn awesome, but ouch ouch ouch. So frickin sad.
Assassination Vacation: Quite possibly the quickest non-fiction read I've ever had. Sarah Vowell has presidential assassinations on the brain and goes through a sort of Americana tour of all the significant locations involved in the first three American presidential assassinations.
It's just perfectly written, conversational, wicked informative, and extremely funny. It's what I always want non-fiction to be and never is. I finished the entire book on two connecting plane rides. I cannot recommend it enough. I have a copy if you want to borrow it.
High Fidelity: Man, usually I love Nick Hornby with utter abandon, but I could not get into this book. It had its seriously great moments, and some really perfect lines, but the overall story just did not sit with me right at all.
No doubt you've seen the movie (I am apparently the only person in the world who has not) but in short form: guy owns a record store, is unlucky in the love, sort of hapless, and takes on a quest to find out if he's entirely incompatible with all women after his girlfriend leaves him for the guy upstairs. The dialogue is good, it flows along pretty well, but so much of the book is taken over by whining and generic ruminations, I was over it all pretty quick. No one cares about your generation and their relationship woes. Or maybe people do, but definitely not me. I wish more of the book could have been focused on the friendships and the record-banter: all the top five lists and the discussions thereof were just top notch and hilarious. Oh, and the ending just annoyed me to the very core of my being.
Not on the same level as anything else he's written, but still pretty good. If you've got some free time, perfectly fine to read, but not until you've exhausted About A Boy.
Quick Music Review
Sun, Sun, Sun - The Elected. Based off of this sort of positive review, I picked this up, because I love me some Rilo Kiley and it sounded interesting. I cannot stop listening to this CD. I have no real reason why, other than that the songs are pretty catchy, but I love it so much. As I was trying to explain to Roommate Frank, if more country music sounded like this, I would totally listen to it more often. ("Except this isn't country." - Frank "My point exactly" - Jason)
I don't know. His voice isn't the best and there is gratuitous use of a slide guitar, but I dig the whole thing way too much. Highlights: 'Do Me Good' s sort of 50's blues feel, the really sweet melody behind 'Fireflies In A Steel Mill' and the gratuitous use of the phrase "and I don't fuckin' care" on 'Not Going Home'.
Yet another thing I cannot recommend enough.
-----------------
Damn man, I'm just running off at the mouth today, aren't I? I'll leave the etiquette question for another day. This is what happens when I don't write anything for two weeks. I get backlogged in garbage writing.
Catch Up
In the best interests of you, my viewing public (as it were), I'm going to get all the boring stuff I want to write about out in one big dumping pile of a post. It's all reviews and bitching, so feel free to skip over it and wait for the next action-packed entry (which at the current rate of posting will appear sometime in mid-July).
Onwards!
Movies:
The Hills Have Eyes: Not remotely kidding, easily the most traumatic experience I have ever had in a movie theatre. Within the first 15 minutes I was tensed up into a tiny ball and basically remained that way until the literal end. And at the end, when I stood up I was absolutely drenched in sweat and looked like I had been mugged. The entire thing was horrific and so intensely disturbing that any skills that I might possess in language fail completely in trying to describe it.
The storyline is pretty straightforward - classic midwest family on a cross-country mobile home trek gets trapped in the Arizona desert by a bunch of mutated cannibalistic hillbillies who proceed to pick them off one by one. You know, like ya do. Weirdly enough, though, it's actually some sort of message movie about the dangers of nuclear-testing, oppressive governments, and man's inhumanity against man. Which seems incredibly out of place in movie that prominently features the eating of a live parakeet straight from its cage, but I digress.
As traumatic as it was, I have to give props for a few things: the acting is ridiculously good for something that basically amounts to a gore-fest, the special effects are tightly done and realistic, and yeah, big points for being successful at working up a visceral reaction in your audience. Man.
So yeah, it was unendingly horrible, but well done. Talk about your walking contradictions.
(Real Life Aside: I went to see it with someone, who (if such a thing is possible) was even less able to cope with the movie than me. At one point she had to physically leave the theatre, due to the trauma. With her gone, the entire row of seats I was in was empty. So when the woman who was sitting behind her shifted positions and kicked the back of the seat next to me, I freaked out in a manner that I usually reserve for only the most private of situations: literally yelping, flailing my arms and almost flying out of my seat like a startled cat. I like to think that my little spasm helped ease the tension in the theatre a bit, everyone got to have a nice little laugh at my expense before the next dismemberment. Good times.)
A History of Violence: Again, why do I not have people who point me in the direction of these good movies? I thought I had a good system of knowledgeable people in place, but maybe we've all just stopped going to see things nowadays. Anyways, a rockingly well done movie.
This one also sort of lacks any sort of dramatic plot: Viggo Mortensen is small-town diner guy who becomes a local hero after thwarting some would-be robbers, and then his past catches up with him in most dramatic and bloody fashion. It also goes comes with a message, about (obviously) violence and how it can be passed on and one's inability to escape it, on multiple levels.
But I liked the parallels in the story, it's practically allegorical in some parts but not too heavyhanded about it (*cough*Crash*cough*) and the acting was just out of the park. Maria Bello jumped roughly 9,000 points in my estimation, and she was already pretty high just due to her work in Coyote Ugly. I was a surprised by how little William Hurt did in the movie (although his part was excellent); really if you're giving out award accolades Maria was light-years ahead of everyone else, but I can see how Supporting Actress was a much deeper field this year.
I highly recommend this one, even if the ending is a bit abrupt for my taste.
V for Vendetta: And here's where my network actually worked out - I was recommended this movie by everyone on Earth practically, and would have never gone to see it without their spurring (despite my unending Natalie Portman love). Apparently everyone on Earth has good taste, the movie was most excellent, if a little contrived.
In 2020, plague has forced Britain into a totalitarian regime and one man in a ridiculous mask decides to take a year to try and overthrow said regime. Natalie Portman plays his weird love-interest/sidekick/bald person and rocks the part hard. I dug most everything about the movie - the pacing, the action, (again) the message, the tight acting all over the place, the way overblown audio throughout, even the lesbianism was cute.
I quibble with a few of the key motivations, but nothing that really detracts from the overall feeling of the movie. I will say this though - Hugo Weaving has an incredibly distinctive voice, which really takes the shock factor out of a pivotal point in the movie.
But I complain unnecessarily. Great movie, entirely worth the 8 bucks it cost to get in, which was really all I was looking for.
(Sort of Real Life Aside: Natalie Portman's hair is still wicked short ages after the movie has wrapped. Do you think she's keeping it that way on purpose, or is she just a really slow hair grower? I'm inclined towards the former, because it looks awesome short so I like to think it's a fashion choice, but I'm not willing to rule out the latter. Inquiring minds want to know.)
And okay, I totally lied at the beginning of this thing, it's going to take two posts to get all this out, since I've already written 9 miles of junk and I just finished with 3 movies. One more movie review, 3 more book reviews, and one lingering office etiquette question to come, as soon as I catch my breath.
Onwards!
Movies:
The Hills Have Eyes: Not remotely kidding, easily the most traumatic experience I have ever had in a movie theatre. Within the first 15 minutes I was tensed up into a tiny ball and basically remained that way until the literal end. And at the end, when I stood up I was absolutely drenched in sweat and looked like I had been mugged. The entire thing was horrific and so intensely disturbing that any skills that I might possess in language fail completely in trying to describe it.
The storyline is pretty straightforward - classic midwest family on a cross-country mobile home trek gets trapped in the Arizona desert by a bunch of mutated cannibalistic hillbillies who proceed to pick them off one by one. You know, like ya do. Weirdly enough, though, it's actually some sort of message movie about the dangers of nuclear-testing, oppressive governments, and man's inhumanity against man. Which seems incredibly out of place in movie that prominently features the eating of a live parakeet straight from its cage, but I digress.
As traumatic as it was, I have to give props for a few things: the acting is ridiculously good for something that basically amounts to a gore-fest, the special effects are tightly done and realistic, and yeah, big points for being successful at working up a visceral reaction in your audience. Man.
So yeah, it was unendingly horrible, but well done. Talk about your walking contradictions.
(Real Life Aside: I went to see it with someone, who (if such a thing is possible) was even less able to cope with the movie than me. At one point she had to physically leave the theatre, due to the trauma. With her gone, the entire row of seats I was in was empty. So when the woman who was sitting behind her shifted positions and kicked the back of the seat next to me, I freaked out in a manner that I usually reserve for only the most private of situations: literally yelping, flailing my arms and almost flying out of my seat like a startled cat. I like to think that my little spasm helped ease the tension in the theatre a bit, everyone got to have a nice little laugh at my expense before the next dismemberment. Good times.)
A History of Violence: Again, why do I not have people who point me in the direction of these good movies? I thought I had a good system of knowledgeable people in place, but maybe we've all just stopped going to see things nowadays. Anyways, a rockingly well done movie.
This one also sort of lacks any sort of dramatic plot: Viggo Mortensen is small-town diner guy who becomes a local hero after thwarting some would-be robbers, and then his past catches up with him in most dramatic and bloody fashion. It also goes comes with a message, about (obviously) violence and how it can be passed on and one's inability to escape it, on multiple levels.
But I liked the parallels in the story, it's practically allegorical in some parts but not too heavyhanded about it (*cough*Crash*cough*) and the acting was just out of the park. Maria Bello jumped roughly 9,000 points in my estimation, and she was already pretty high just due to her work in Coyote Ugly. I was a surprised by how little William Hurt did in the movie (although his part was excellent); really if you're giving out award accolades Maria was light-years ahead of everyone else, but I can see how Supporting Actress was a much deeper field this year.
I highly recommend this one, even if the ending is a bit abrupt for my taste.
V for Vendetta: And here's where my network actually worked out - I was recommended this movie by everyone on Earth practically, and would have never gone to see it without their spurring (despite my unending Natalie Portman love). Apparently everyone on Earth has good taste, the movie was most excellent, if a little contrived.
In 2020, plague has forced Britain into a totalitarian regime and one man in a ridiculous mask decides to take a year to try and overthrow said regime. Natalie Portman plays his weird love-interest/sidekick/bald person and rocks the part hard. I dug most everything about the movie - the pacing, the action, (again) the message, the tight acting all over the place, the way overblown audio throughout, even the lesbianism was cute.
I quibble with a few of the key motivations, but nothing that really detracts from the overall feeling of the movie. I will say this though - Hugo Weaving has an incredibly distinctive voice, which really takes the shock factor out of a pivotal point in the movie.
But I complain unnecessarily. Great movie, entirely worth the 8 bucks it cost to get in, which was really all I was looking for.
(Sort of Real Life Aside: Natalie Portman's hair is still wicked short ages after the movie has wrapped. Do you think she's keeping it that way on purpose, or is she just a really slow hair grower? I'm inclined towards the former, because it looks awesome short so I like to think it's a fashion choice, but I'm not willing to rule out the latter. Inquiring minds want to know.)
And okay, I totally lied at the beginning of this thing, it's going to take two posts to get all this out, since I've already written 9 miles of junk and I just finished with 3 movies. One more movie review, 3 more book reviews, and one lingering office etiquette question to come, as soon as I catch my breath.
Monday, March 20, 2006
The California Roll that is my Heart
So I think I'm in love with the girl who takes my order at the sushi restaurant by my office.
Okay, maybe not real love, she is a girl after all, which presents some serious issues, but something like a facsimile of love. Love-ish. Faux-Love. Love-Lite. All I know is that she can recognize my voice in a second over the phone and knows my order by heart, despite my going there only about once a month. And whenever I go to pick up the order, we have a round what I would normally call flirting but is actually closer to what Bring It On would refer to as Cheer Sex. (Sushi Sex? That just sounds really gross. And our love is so pure, it seems crass to nickname it.)
And okay, I don't necessarily want to lead anyone on. That's not how I roll, I'm all about full disclosure. But there's already something of a language barrier going on. When I can't exactly explain the concept of "I work in the building next to yours, setting up mortgages" without getting some important verbs lost in translation, I think it would a really bad idea to try and present the concept of "While I do dig you, I sort of like kissing boys more." I think there are several layers of intimacy being skipped there, and there's really no clean way of expressing the term "big old homo" in easy-to-understand game-of-charades-terms, without me getting punched in the face, and possibly attacked with a sushi knife.
In any case, seriously, she is so cute, and she makes these little jokes about how I always get the same, really safe, thing and one time she fed me a sample of something that was very raw and sort of bluish and actually pretty tasty.
So we live in this weird little limbo, of jokes and smiles and the very meaningful passing of sushi plates between us. It's not necessarily bad, but the simple fact that I have a crush on the sushi girl is just so sad. I am a disgrace to my people. They're gonna make me turn in my membership card.
Oh well. Anyone up for some edemame? I know a great place.
Okay, maybe not real love, she is a girl after all, which presents some serious issues, but something like a facsimile of love. Love-ish. Faux-Love. Love-Lite. All I know is that she can recognize my voice in a second over the phone and knows my order by heart, despite my going there only about once a month. And whenever I go to pick up the order, we have a round what I would normally call flirting but is actually closer to what Bring It On would refer to as Cheer Sex. (Sushi Sex? That just sounds really gross. And our love is so pure, it seems crass to nickname it.)
And okay, I don't necessarily want to lead anyone on. That's not how I roll, I'm all about full disclosure. But there's already something of a language barrier going on. When I can't exactly explain the concept of "I work in the building next to yours, setting up mortgages" without getting some important verbs lost in translation, I think it would a really bad idea to try and present the concept of "While I do dig you, I sort of like kissing boys more." I think there are several layers of intimacy being skipped there, and there's really no clean way of expressing the term "big old homo" in easy-to-understand game-of-charades-terms, without me getting punched in the face, and possibly attacked with a sushi knife.
In any case, seriously, she is so cute, and she makes these little jokes about how I always get the same, really safe, thing and one time she fed me a sample of something that was very raw and sort of bluish and actually pretty tasty.
So we live in this weird little limbo, of jokes and smiles and the very meaningful passing of sushi plates between us. It's not necessarily bad, but the simple fact that I have a crush on the sushi girl is just so sad. I am a disgrace to my people. They're gonna make me turn in my membership card.
Oh well. Anyone up for some edemame? I know a great place.
Sunday, March 05, 2006
Seriously? Crash? Crash?!
Oh, the injustice. The hideous, hideous injustice of it all. Robbed, I say! So much so that I have informed Frank that we are no longer allowed to watch Miss Congeniality because it stars Sandra Bullock, who was also a star in Crash. I almost said that we were also never allowed to watch Cruel Intentions again, but even horrible injustices have their limits. I don't think I can live in a world without Cruel Intentions. Mmmm, Ryan Philllllllipe...
Wait, what were we saying? Right.
THE INJUSTICE! I demand a recount and a swift punching in the head of everyone who voted for Crash over Brokeback Mountain for Best Picture.
I mean, not that it was a horrible movie (I think if we dig up the archives I put Crash in at around 25 on my list of movies from last year, and ranked it at 'Good') but better than Goodnight and Goodluck? No. Better than Munich? NO! Better than Brokeback? Hells NO!
My brain is full of white hot rage and whatnot. But I'm pretty sure I'll be over it by the morning, so I need write it out now.
Other than that, The Oscars are so damnably boring that I can no longer watch them all the way through. Glad that Rachel won, although I would have rather Michelle Williams or Amy Adams have taken it. I watched Walk the Line yesterday and totally agree that Reese deserved all of that award. I didn't realize exactly how much I wanted Jake to get Supporting Actor until George Clooney got up there and I felt the near uncontrollable urge to punch him in the throat. Since when do I hate the Cloones? Right now, apparently. In terms of crazy dorky things, I was happy to see some of Peter Jackson's guys win those technical awards - I feel like I know them intimately after watching the associated 45 hours of Lord of the Rings documentaries that I own. Dolly Parton? Also robbed.
And that is that. Stupid Oscars, getting me all het up. And I didn't even watch all of them! Jon Stewart was okay, though. He can stay.
--------------------------------
Side note: This entry is coming to you from the sexiest thing on the planet currently: my new computer. I would write at length about it, but I know that's boring. Or, more boring than what I usually write about, if such a thing is possible. But it is so hott. And it has a flat panel monitor, which I theoretically understood to exist in the world, but never comprehended how truly awesome they were.
Whatever. I'll try to post more this week. No promises. I've had a lack in the funny lately, but I'll be trying to bring it, as such, in the coming days.
Wait, what were we saying? Right.
THE INJUSTICE! I demand a recount and a swift punching in the head of everyone who voted for Crash over Brokeback Mountain for Best Picture.
I mean, not that it was a horrible movie (I think if we dig up the archives I put Crash in at around 25 on my list of movies from last year, and ranked it at 'Good') but better than Goodnight and Goodluck? No. Better than Munich? NO! Better than Brokeback? Hells NO!
My brain is full of white hot rage and whatnot. But I'm pretty sure I'll be over it by the morning, so I need write it out now.
Other than that, The Oscars are so damnably boring that I can no longer watch them all the way through. Glad that Rachel won, although I would have rather Michelle Williams or Amy Adams have taken it. I watched Walk the Line yesterday and totally agree that Reese deserved all of that award. I didn't realize exactly how much I wanted Jake to get Supporting Actor until George Clooney got up there and I felt the near uncontrollable urge to punch him in the throat. Since when do I hate the Cloones? Right now, apparently. In terms of crazy dorky things, I was happy to see some of Peter Jackson's guys win those technical awards - I feel like I know them intimately after watching the associated 45 hours of Lord of the Rings documentaries that I own. Dolly Parton? Also robbed.
And that is that. Stupid Oscars, getting me all het up. And I didn't even watch all of them! Jon Stewart was okay, though. He can stay.
--------------------------------
Side note: This entry is coming to you from the sexiest thing on the planet currently: my new computer. I would write at length about it, but I know that's boring. Or, more boring than what I usually write about, if such a thing is possible. But it is so hott. And it has a flat panel monitor, which I theoretically understood to exist in the world, but never comprehended how truly awesome they were.
Whatever. I'll try to post more this week. No promises. I've had a lack in the funny lately, but I'll be trying to bring it, as such, in the coming days.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Smooth
I cannot flirt to save my life. As it goes, I spend the majority of my life around people I am interested in trying to make sure that I don't come off creepy and insane; there is no time available to flirt. Plus, whenever I do try, it comes off as horrible and fake, like a socially inept 14 year old girl trying to talk to her senior crush in front of his locker.
Ahem. What I'm saying is, I'm a little awkward in the real world. As you may know.
------------------------------
So yesterday I got home from work and went to check my mail before hitting the apartment, as is my way. On the approach to the mailbox, I happen by this cute guy who is walking his ginormously-even-cuter dog. (Thing the First that you should know about me - a guy with a cute dog is instantly 50 time more attractive to me than one without. I am weak like that.) The dog proceeds to try to eat my face with the power of friendship and dog slobber, and thus we are forced into at least polite conversation.
As I continue on my way, now weighing at least 5 additional pounds from all the saliva, we engage in what I come to suspect is actually flirting. I mean, I've never actually worked it out firsthand, but I imagine this interaction is what flirting would feel like. There is banter, and mild entendre, and more than necessary eye contact, and smiling.
I can dig it.
I get to the mailbox, pop in the key, and yank out all the mail. Which on this day consists of exactly one item: The Victoria's Secret Valentines Catalogue. (Disclosure: it is addressed to LaSister, who used to live with me, but had yet to have her mail forwarded.) As one would expect, this item is huge, pink, and features a mostly naked woman on the cover.
Now, like I said, I don't have a lot of firsthand knowledge of flirting, but I'm pretty sure nothing in the world can kill off some innocuous homosexual flirting like the sudden appearance of the Victoria's Secret catalogue in one of the banterer's hands. Cute Guy and his Cute Dog were gone in one of those cartoon-like puffs of smoke and I was left standing out in the park next to my apartment wondering exactly when God decided he hated me.
"It's...uh...not mine?"
Ahem. What I'm saying is, I'm a little awkward in the real world. As you may know.
------------------------------
So yesterday I got home from work and went to check my mail before hitting the apartment, as is my way. On the approach to the mailbox, I happen by this cute guy who is walking his ginormously-even-cuter dog. (Thing the First that you should know about me - a guy with a cute dog is instantly 50 time more attractive to me than one without. I am weak like that.) The dog proceeds to try to eat my face with the power of friendship and dog slobber, and thus we are forced into at least polite conversation.
As I continue on my way, now weighing at least 5 additional pounds from all the saliva, we engage in what I come to suspect is actually flirting. I mean, I've never actually worked it out firsthand, but I imagine this interaction is what flirting would feel like. There is banter, and mild entendre, and more than necessary eye contact, and smiling.
I can dig it.
I get to the mailbox, pop in the key, and yank out all the mail. Which on this day consists of exactly one item: The Victoria's Secret Valentines Catalogue. (Disclosure: it is addressed to LaSister, who used to live with me, but had yet to have her mail forwarded.) As one would expect, this item is huge, pink, and features a mostly naked woman on the cover.
Now, like I said, I don't have a lot of firsthand knowledge of flirting, but I'm pretty sure nothing in the world can kill off some innocuous homosexual flirting like the sudden appearance of the Victoria's Secret catalogue in one of the banterer's hands. Cute Guy and his Cute Dog were gone in one of those cartoon-like puffs of smoke and I was left standing out in the park next to my apartment wondering exactly when God decided he hated me.
"It's...uh...not mine?"
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Two More Reasons To Be Scared of Google Users
I've been getting a whole bunch more hits than usual up in this place ("Hi new people!") because I got trawled by the unstoppable assimilation machine that is the Google engine recently.
Thus I present to you the two most disturbing ways that people have reached my site in the past 48 hours:
Search for : "Jason Frank Predator"
That's just a little too specific to suit my tastes. It has a very National Geographic feel to it - "While Jason and Frank enjoy their leisure time watching movies and making fun of each other, little do they know that their one natural predator waits in the shadows, biding his time."
AND
Search for : "songs related to "the lug wrench""
Okay, this is less disturbing and more funny, but note how "the lug wrench" is in quotes; we're very specific in what sort of songs we want to relate to. I also love how popping that into Google gives you me, followed by a wikipedia recap of a particularly gripping episode of The Incredible Hulk - wherein there is a injury that may or may not be lug wrench related.
------------------------
And in other non-surprising news, I don't have a damn thing to talk about today.
See ya.
Thus I present to you the two most disturbing ways that people have reached my site in the past 48 hours:
Search for : "Jason Frank Predator"
That's just a little too specific to suit my tastes. It has a very National Geographic feel to it - "While Jason and Frank enjoy their leisure time watching movies and making fun of each other, little do they know that their one natural predator waits in the shadows, biding his time."
AND
Search for : "songs related to "the lug wrench""
Okay, this is less disturbing and more funny, but note how "the lug wrench" is in quotes; we're very specific in what sort of songs we want to relate to. I also love how popping that into Google gives you me, followed by a wikipedia recap of a particularly gripping episode of The Incredible Hulk - wherein there is a injury that may or may not be lug wrench related.
------------------------
And in other non-surprising news, I don't have a damn thing to talk about today.
See ya.
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