Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Bloody Munchkin's Media Consumption
Reading – A co-worker lent this to me, and I’ve been kind of reading it off and on for about a week. Haven’t got that far, but immediate reaction? Meh. So far, I can’t be bothered to care. The two main characters introduced are just too…. British? I don’t know, it’s just not working for me.

Sadly Watching – I know that the way this year’s team turned out, we probably didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the division, but the Giants just kinda dangled it in my face, like “Maybe we’ll get the division this year, we’re not that far behind” and then, just as quickly they yank that chance, that hope away from me. I’m like a playful kitten given a very amusing string, only to have it yanked away from me. Le Sigh.

Listening To – I loved (Loved!) their first album. Fighting Nun still considers it one of his favorite albums. This one brings the same good poppy sound, if a bit more toned down. It’s a little edgier and doesn’t have the same sense of fun the first one had (Come On, C-c-c-cinnamon is probably one of the most fun songs in my collection), but it is still very good overall. Highlights: Invincible, A Million Ways.

Bummed but not surprised about – I finally find a show on Fox of all places that I’m interested in, and what happens? They can it. Screw You Fox! You can bite the fattest part of my ass for that one. I start to care about one of your shows on the fall line-up and you dump it before I can fully enjoy it. Bastards…

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Fighting Nun's Corner: Just Drink the Coffee!!!

My husband, Fighting Nun, enlightens us once more.

Whatever happens the one thing I can do is take a deep breath let my stomach
acids chew on the injustices of the world and take a long sip of coffee…. *

Ok, I know that was just a bunch of crap! I’m sorry I just let down all my fans of the world, even if my fan base only includes my dog and my pet nose goblins.** My dog is my greatest fan though. The dog can be fast asleep and in I say the right word he is halfway out the door with his leash hanging out of his mouth. He reminds me of a teenage girl at the latest boy band concert ready to wet her panties if the singer even glances her way….

Ok, I know that was just a way to make up a bunch of sexist crap! I’m sorry I just let down all of the feminists reading this article. Actually, I’m not, I think it’s really hot when the red cheeks on a short hair butch dyke start to flare up. ***

So, let’s see I’ve included sex, political issues and the love for furry animals, that meets my quota for the article this week.

But, coffee does have its side affects…. I mean how else does someone expect me to write an ode to the great pumpkin cookie?

* The Bloody Munchkin’s Editor’s Note 1: This statement proves that Fighting Nun was drinking a lot of coffee or under the effects of a lot of coffee when he wrote the rest of this.
** Editor’s Note 2: Hey, what about me? Am I chop liver over here? I thought I was a big part of the fan base!!! I guess me and your pet nose goblins are going to have to dissolve the fan club I was building in your honor!
*** Editor’s Note 3: Dude, don’t upset the short-haired butch dyke contingent. She might be the only reader we’ll ever have!

Sunday, September 25, 2005

Made-Up Band Names: Submission 3, 4
So this week has somehow revealed some, really juicy band names.
First up: Cheez Whiz Enema (TM Fighting Nun, don't ask.) I envision as a kind of Primus-meets-Ween sort of a band. Kicky bass lines with jokey lyrics. If somebody was to develop this band, I would totally come to their show, and buy a t-shirt.
Second up: Formerly Promiscuous (TM Date My Mom. Again just don't ask.) Girl Goth Band? A member of Blink-182's next gig? You be the judge.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Somebody made the TV show of my dreams

If this happens to be true, then I've died and gone to heaven. For years I've been saying that Mr. T needed to have his own show. And now he has one!!! I'm so happy I'm crying...

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Bloody Munchkin's Media Consumption
Reading - Quick read, fun read, the ending was a bit too tidy, but it was really enjoyable. Full review to follow.

Watching - Shut Up! It's not my fault. Ever since Dazed and Confused, I've been Adam Goldberg's bitch! I must watch anything that the guy who uttered the words "I'm just being honest about being a misanthrope." has ever done, except that bad show he did about the stock market and the two other movies he did with Matthew McConoughy that weren't Dazed and Confused. But other than that, I'm totally there. And yeah, Chris O'Donnell did take a dive in his career because of The Bachelor, but dude played a woman who became a man and slept with Charlie Sheen's Mother. He totally gained tons of good will from me for that role. Enough that is carrying over to this roll.

Sickly Watching - I haven't posted my regular posts that I want to right now because I've been super busy with moving my cubicle stuff into a new space at work (don't ask, long story) during which time I caught some Andromeda-strain head cold that had a grip on tmy grey matter so entirely that I felt as if I'd entered some strange version of The Puppetmaster, my thoughts not totally feeling my own, and Domo Aregato Mr. Roboto'ing everything I was doing. So I took some time to hide under the covers and sort of watch the two birthday presents I gave to myself over and over again. I love the fact Andrew Keegan gets kneed in the nadsack. I love the fact that there is actual, documentable proof that Val Kilmer did a movie that was actually funny for funny's sake, instead of laughable because it was awesomely bad. I like that he did a movie where he says lines like "Mind if I name my first child after you? Dipshit Knight has a nice ring to it." These things make me happy and allow me to sleep blissfully even when my head throbs steadily like a metranome.

Listening to - O.k. I can explain. This really has nothing to do with Rockstar: INXS, well it does a little, but I haven't been watching it, except for a snippet I caught awhile back, but the snippet got into my head, and so did the other INXS songs, so The Tigress made me a copy and added the snippet that was stuck in my head (I'm sorry, but JD's "Pretty Vegas" is pretty damn catchy). Plus, I think I've mastered a mighty fine Kareoke Rendition of "Need You Tonight" driving in my car. Somebody point me to the closest Kareoke bar cause I. Am. Ready. (Except don't, because I'm a terrible singer who only has dillusions of grandeur when in my car doing Careoke [Geddit? Geddit???] and should avoid Kareoke at all costs. Really. Trust me on this one.)

Sunday, September 18, 2005

Damn You Teen Movies!!!
Fighting Nun just does not get my preoccupation with teen movies. And to be honest, I'm not sure I get it either. Why is it that I’m a Sixteen-Candles-adoring, What-ever-saying, Empire-Records quoting, Jake-Ryan-wanting, Molly-Ringwald-wannabe (Seriously, I’ve dressed like Claire from Breakfast Club for Halloween three years running. Why? Because somehow I had the exact outfit she wore in my closet. Don’t ask. I have no idea how that happened.)? I watched them in my adolescence because they were funny and cute, and because they had John Cusack in them and life was good. But in my post-adolescence, I’m not sure why I’m still obsessed with them. I like to think that I’m clinging on to some kind of cine-nostalgia or something.

But then I read this. Then everything started making sense. No, I was never at a party like this. I pretty much never went to a party in high school. (Let me just say that accidentally running over a poodle that turned out to be the stoner’s unofficial mascot in my school can reek havoc on your social life). And when I did go, it was nothing like this at all. Being snubbed by the volleyball team, ignored by the football team because they were too busy doing keg stands and basically being relegated to the D&D section of the party because they were the only ones who would talk to me? No way to live out your adolescent partying fantasies. Also, sneaking around in the desert, getting your clothes torn up on mesquite bushes because cops in our small, no stop-light town had nothing better to do than to descend on the only decent party of the year like a pack of rabid hyenas who have just found a three-day-old zebra carcass? Also no way to live your adolescent partying fantasies. Going home before curfew because watching late-night movies on HBO beat any idea of a good time you and your friends could come up with on a Saturday night? Also no way to live out your adolescent party fantasies. (But thanks to HBO late night, I caught Zebrahead, which may or may not explain a couple of things about my life, including my obsession with redheads. Micheal Rappaport, call me!)

But I don’t think it’s just the 80’s movie partying fantasies that went unfulfilled that has me obsessed with teen movies. I think it’s the skewed view of romance portrayed in a lot of the teen movies 1980 to present that has me so screwed up. Don’t get me wrong. Fighting Nun knows romance. The man knows how to work the angles to, you know, get what he wants if you know what I'm sayin'. But the romance in the relationship is also tempered with this unfettered childlike amusement he has when it comes to picking on me that is best summed up in the following exclamation: “Penis in the face! Penis in the face! Gah! Penis in the Mouth! Penis in the eye!” But I don’t think it’s the current level of romance in my relationship versus that in movies that makes me sad, it’s that I didn’t have that kind of awesome good-girl-gets-the-hot-guy, Jake-Ryan-picks-me-up-in-his-car-on-my-birthday, John-Cusack-blairs-Peter-Gabriel-out-of-a-boom-box, AJ-promises-to-come-to-Boston-even-after-I-threw-myself-at-Rex-Manning, Preston-writes-me-an-awe-inspiring-utterly-sweet-letter, Seth-Green-hits-on-me-and-we-end-up-making-it-on-the-bathroom-floor kind of tempestuous love affair. Where the fuck was the guy who was willing to learn French for me when I went to high school? Where the hell is the guy who I wanted to continue language lessons with? Why the Hell couldn’t I have been a Sparks to somebody’s Eric Stoltz when I was in high school? Where was my Paul Rudd? That's what I want to know! Oh yeah, that’s right, he was Non-fucking-existent!!! There wasn’t a guy like that in my high school, not anywhere close. O.k. a few were kinda close, but they always had girlfriends who weren’t me and never even showed that they might even be a little bit interested in me. And the rest of the guys at my school, the single guys, who were interested in me? Let’s just say I had an unspoken rule with myself never to date anyone in my school who I knew for a fact ate paste in kindergarten. That ruled out every other available guy to me, and quite a few of the female persuasion, you know, if I had actually decided to go that route. The one guy from my school that I decided to date (only because he moved to my town sophomore year so I had no physical evidence that he had eaten paste so he was worth a shot) “accidentally” spit his gum down my dress at prom junior year so he could fish it out. On the dance floor. (Interesting side note to that story. Said guy is, if my sources are to be believed still in the same area, possibly a tweaker. Which, yeah. Man do I know how to pick 'em.)

To be fair, I totally got that guy in college, and that guy turned into Fighting Nun and he has hit all the right notes since the consequently, which makes my life better than the movies. That's right fuckers! I said it!

So I guess I totally blew my chances at the awesome, only-in-movies teenage romance when I was a teenager, but that’s only because the movies set the bar so damn high that normal adolescent tomfoolery seemed unworthy somehow. Damn you teen movies!!! Why’d you have to screw me up like that?
Made-up Band Name: Submission Two

This weeks band name:

"Dyslexic Coffee Monkey and the Shoelaces, featuring their hit single "Decaf is for wussies and truffle-eating fools."

(tm Fighting Nun, Let's just say we have wierd e-mail discussions and leave it at that...)

Thursday, September 15, 2005

Best Lines of the Night

"Did God teach you that porno face?" (tm Fighting Nun)

"I just got anally raped by a wooden spoon." (tm Micheal Vartan)

Why can't I make up dialogue like this people? This is why I am not a New York Times best seller. Because I do not possess the skills of wit like my husband and that dude from Alias...

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

The Bloody Munchkin's Media Consumption

It is no doubt obvious that I'm knee deep in media. Books, movies, music, tv. I'm all about it. This week in my media consumption, I'm all over the map.
Finished Reading - So, Eldest. When I read Eragon, I picked it up mostly because I read the dust cover, and found that the author starting writing the book when he was 15. I guess I just wanted to see if the kid had chops. After reading the first one, my immediate reaction was that it was good but a bit immature, like the writing hadn’t totally grown into itself yet, if that makes any sense.

Well, I saw no signs of that whatever in this second book. Kid has chops by the pound in this one. The prose was a lot more grown up and the story itself was elegantly crafted. The second book is so good in fact, and so intricately woven in with the first one, that I might have to read the first one again. Paolini makes certain things from the first book plot points in the second book that I never would have guessed at. And the ending, Jesus! I won’t give it away, but I will say that from the beginning of the book, I had kind of guessed at it, but even when my assumptions became true it was still a shock, more like a total and utter blow. I’m blaming that mostly on Paolini’s slight of hand that he pulled through the whole book, but that’s neither here nor there. He pulled everything off brilliantly and I tip my hat to him, and I anxiously await the third installment.

In summation, I only hope I can be as good a writer at 40 as this young man is at 20. Buy both books, read them. They are good. 8.5 out of 10.
Watching - Matt is a kickass. A kickass I tell you. He had the coolest opportunity in the world, being Tommy's roommate and all. Fighting Nun was envious. And, not like I need to say it, but the tutor was scorching.

Tivo'd but not watched yet - I'm only interested in it to see if David Boreanez can, like, not brood for five seconds. If he's all broody in this series, then I'm out. I already spent five years of my life watching him brood, I shall not invest another second unless he shows me he can pull off more than two emotions in a given episode.

Listening to - Eee! Yet even more Eee! Relistening to Republica is like all the sudden meeting up with the old boyfriend from high school that you always lent money too, never paid you back but was the only cool guy in school so you dated him anyway and when you meet up again, years later, you're all like, "damn he was cheesy, but still get it why I was into him?". Yeah, that's how this album is for me. It never fully pays the listener off but it's still awesome as hell. And the other? Billy Idol is a Rock and Roll God whom you should kiss the feet of and bring sacrafices to. You can argue with this contention all you like, but it won't do any good. He sneers people! And he rhymes words like "fact" with "sex attack"! Case closed.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Fighting Nun's Corner

This is the weekly segment where my husband, The Awesome Fighting Nun, gets to air his insights. The intellect will astound...
It's better to be a poet vs. a rockstar:

You don’t need to take drugs to write your crap(Ed. Notes: BUt some times your crap is so crappy that the audience should be required to be on copious amounts of drugs just to read it. See: Ode to a Grecian Urn.) and you don’t have to be drunk
during your performances, you just need large amounts of caffeine.

You can be sure that the girls you take home are as cute as you think they are because your not drunk off your ass (Ed. Notes: Yeah, but as a poet, can you be relatively sure that you could actually, you know, get some action? At least if your Tommy Lee, your reasonably assured to get some action. If you're this guy, there is no guarantee your artistry could get you laid, and if your this guy, there'd no guarantee that what your getting laid by is actually a woman ).

Rockstars when reaching old age are called pathetic losers, aka Rolling Stones (Ed.
Notes: Opinions expressed here not that of the rest of the Bloody Munchkin staff), and may cause years of trauma (if you live that long).(Ed. Notes: But the point of being a rock star is not to live that long. Die young and leave a beautiful corpse Damn It!) But, as a Beatnik you’ve been called a pathetic loser all your life so when you reach old age and still hanging out in coffee shops it comes as no shock to you when somebody comes to call you a pathetic loser.
So there you have it. The Fighting Nun's piece of wisdom for the day!

Monday, September 12, 2005

New Blog + Dog = Insomnia

So I've got a blog now. This blog has got me really excited and yet realy nervous at the same time. One part of my brain is all "Eeeeee! I've got a blog. This is excellent! I'll get to be more creative and I should write about this and that" blah, blah, blah. You get the picture. The other half of my brain is all "Are you kidding me? This going to take planning and organization. We got work to do bitch!" So I'm trying to work stuff out between the two parts of my brain, which probably takes thirty or forty minutes of me lying in bed, trying to be the moderator between both trains of thought. Finally, when I've got a reasonable cease-fire established between both sides of my brain, my dog.

I love my dog, as one look at my profile would tell you. But bitch is noisy ya'll (that sounded way to colloquial, I apologize). Just as my brain inevetibly shuts down and I've relaxed enough to get some shut eye, I hear it. Let me give you an example of what I hear. For anyone who turned into The Family Guy last night, there's that whole scene where James Woods is at the foot of the bed and Peter is all "Look Lois, he's dreaming that he's running." as if it's the cutest thing in the world. That's my dog. Except my dog is not James Woods (Thank God, because Yee-ach!) and it has ceased being cute. He runs in his sleep, and he whines. And it's not a cute little breathless whine either, it's a full on three-alarm-fire, bring-out-the-fire-trucks kind of whine. The prolonged "uu-uu-uuuuuu" that just will. Not. Quit. So I have to roll over, reach down the side of the bed to where his bed is and pet him awake, which to my brain is the equivalant of a terrorist attack that ends the cease-fire.

When I do finally get to sleep, I'm usually out. It sometimes takes an act of God to rouse me from my eight hours. But last night, not the case unfortunately. Thanks to me being a total square and all, I had a dream about blogging, which woke me up. (This, strangely, has not been the first time I've woken up because of a nerdy dream. Back when I worked for a tax office I had a disturbing dream about W-4's that woke me up. Yeah, I know. Spell it with me folks: D-O-R-K.) This also ends the cease-fire and I'm back at it, thinking about the blog for another thirty minutes or so. Then, the dog again. Licking himself, or chewing himself, or scratching himself, or walking to the other room, where he licks himself, scratches himself, and chews himself more. There are some days I just can not catch a break.

So in an abrupt change of subject, I was struck by the fact that I decided to start my blog on 9-11. I was also struck be the fact that on that date four years ago, I was prompted by the events of 9-11 to write in my hard cover journal. It's a morbidly eerie coincidence, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

Getting these thoughts out here is making me late for work. So this is me signing off.

Sunday, September 11, 2005

Made-Up Band Names: Submission 1

So, I've always had a thing about band names, or more-over finding that the craziest word combinations ended up making really great band names. Fametracker's dead and buried yet totally lamented forums had an awesome (Awesome!) thread about the same subject, where I met people with the same adoration of crazy names as me. Said forum thread gave me such juicy band names as "Spork" and "Kurt Vonnegut and his Bitches".
Once a week, I'll post some random tidbit or something that I think would be an awesome band name. This week: Heaven and Hell Cotillion.
(Thank You Rushmore)
Welcome to The Bloody Munchkin's Random Thoughts, the site where I will attempt to make sense of the wierd pop culture melting pot that is my brain (Warning: Won't always be pretty).

It'll be one part wit, two parts snark, three parts random movie quotes, and one part trying to make meaning out of my life. Come for The Goonies love,stick around for snippets of short stories I'm trying (in vein) to write, stay for wierd and strange tales about my dog's love of french fries.

Until then...

Wish I was windsurfing;

The Bloody Munchkin