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:

• 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

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.

The Secret Arts of Targeting

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

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

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

This leads to:

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

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

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

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

Valen-whats?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meme Friday

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

Four Jobs I've Had

1. Law Library Shelver - 4 consecutive years
   


2. Carnival Worker - 3 months, sporadically
   


3. Fashion Show Guard - Two, 2 week stints
   


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

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over

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


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


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

Four Places I Have Lived

1. Chicago, IL - ages 0 to 1
   


2. Orange, TX - ages 13 - 18
   


3. Dallas, TX - ages 18 - 24
   


4. Homer, TX - ages 7 - 11
   

Four TV Shows I Love

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


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


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


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

Four Places I Have Vacationed

1. Galveston - the ugliest beach you ever did see
   


2. Orlando - or wherever the hell Disney World is
   


3. Arkansas Ozarks - my favorite vacation spot
   


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

Four of My Favorite Dishes

1. Monte Cristo Sandwich - deep fried for maximum deliciousness
   


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


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


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

Four Sites I Visit Daily

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


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


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


4. ESPN.com - Look how straight I am
   

Four Places I Would Rather Be Right Now

1. In my Bed
   


2. In a Bar
   


3. On my couch
   


4. Switzerland
   

Four of my favorite commenters I am tagging.

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


2. Erin - obviously
   


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


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

(Edit: I should do my research better.)

Unwanted Musings

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

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

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

Was this going anywhere? I forget.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Breaking Point

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks,
Jason

Bulk Rate Verb Tenses

Otherwise Entitled

When Spam Email and A French Teacher Collide

OR

Add Inches to Your Conjugation!

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

Liz writes:

Fw: Hows it been going?

L0 w and reasonable aPr !ces.

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

Goodbye,
Liz Donne

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

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

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

Anatomy of a Horror Flick

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

------

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

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

Ranting for the Sake of Ranting

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

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

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

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

There's No Shame on the Internet

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

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

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

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

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

There's another loud noise from the patio.

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

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

All Signs Point to Haircut

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wherein I Become a Seething Pile of Emotion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Best movie of the year. Even better than Serenity.

British-isms

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exfoliation

Or How I Officially Became a Gay Man

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

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

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

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

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

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