Tuesday, December 19, 2006
UTILIKILTS!!!! Thanks to a friend of mine from work who I happen to have utterly strange and fascinating conversations with, I now know that these fanciful things exist. These are awesome. And I love the names and varieties they have for these. I mean The Mocker, The Survival Kilt, The Spartan, The Tuxedo. Let's just stop there for a moment. They actually made a kilt with a tuxedo stripe down the side. The kilt when you have a fancy suit and tie function to go to. If Sean Connery was still playing Bond, He would've worn this kilt instead of tuxedo pants. Or more to the point, he should've. Because Awesome!!! And then you have the Utilikilt they have lovingly deemed The Leather, with which they have captioned it "Pure Sex, Baby. 'Nuff said." True Dat. Very True Dat. I mean, did you see? With the corset pleating in the back? It's wrong and yet so right all in the same Utilikilt.
My only quibble? Not enough plaid. No plaid actually. But that's o.k. I forgive them that minor transgression, because these fine people put a tool belt on a kilt and that's fine by me!!!
First off, there's actually kilt shortage? In Scotland? Really? No, I mean, Really? O.k., so I get that the goverment contracted out to have the kilts made and because of govemental red tape, they aren't done. But couldn't said regiment, or troops, or army-kilt-wearing-guys just like, I don't know, run out to the local Scotsman's store (If it's not Scottish, it's Crap, or so sayeth the ole' SNL skit) and just buy a makeshift kilt that served their needs until kilts were made? Because, the thing is, the sharing of kilts? There is so much ew in connection with that statement, that there just isn't enough ew to go around. O.k., this might be a horrible stereo types, but aren't most kilts typically warn sans underwear? Does a poor regimental soldier really need to borrow a kilt that Shamus went commando in? And, if the guy's stationed in Iraq, there's the possibility that he not only went commandoed it up but had a rather sweaty time in it to boot. That is just so wrong.
Scottish goverment types; Fix this. Your army deserves better than to have to share sweaty, soiled, commandoed kilts amongst themselves.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Oh, you wanted to know about the movie. My bad. It's just that... It's really hard to... It's not that good. There I said it. Look, I'm not proud of it either. I know I hyped this one up, and therefore I made my expectations high, so its my own fault. I'm just not very happy with it. The casting is great. Jeremy Irons did better than I expected, especially given the material he had to work with, Rachel Weisz voicing Saphira was an especially nice touch and dear Jesus did Bigby just chew through as much scenery as he possibly could. The problem was very much not the actors but the script.
Look, I understand that the book is freaking huge. I poured over it. I have an estimation as
to how much ground they had to cover, but I was reasonably assured that they could cover such ground. Yes there, would have to be holes and many things left unsaid, but the important things could still be covered, but they weren't. And in some instances, things were brought up, but never explained fully. A lot of exposition was put out there, but it wasn't given the breadth and width the book gave it. Show, don't tell is what I'm saying. Don't get all expositiony about magic, and the words used to evoke it, unless you show more of it. Give me a two minute montage of him fighting and training and using magic with Brom, and I've got it. Don't say a bunch of crap about it, and then just glaze over it. That's cheap.
And don't introduce characters and then give them no context or texture for why they are introduced. Like the introduction of Murtagh. Fighting Nun was like "What was that all about? Hi I'm Murtagh. I'm weird and helping you escape." and I had to be all "Well, they had to introduce him, because he was really important, and is really important to the second book, oops I've said too much." And yeah, he is a key character, but the way in which he's introduced and dealt with throughout the rest of the movie makes him feel so one note. And Angela, good lord in heaven was that ever done wrong. First off, the book made her out to be less of a young mystic and more of an older wisened sage, so that was miscasting right there, secondly, her cat, lynx, whatever they heck it was, was never shown, and he had some integral things to add to the story, namely that Eragon could make thought connections to other animals, not just his dragon. But this was another way in which they dangle an important character/plot point in your face only to rip it away just as suddenly. If you're going to make mention of his future, go all the way with it, don't wuss out!
And then we have the whole deal with the Vardan. I thought"they've got to spend some time there. Eragon's got more training to complete, the twins to deal with (and the twins were never introduced, which I guess I should count my blessings there, seeing as how that would've been another thing they botched up), and *spoiler alert for those of you who haven't read the second book* a baby to bless. Surely some of that has to be covered." But no, they just went straight to the effing battle. And I guess I can forgive that if the battle scene was really good, but... it wasn't. It was o.k., but it all felt rushed to get straight to the battle with the shade, and that itself felt rushed. The way that battle took place was in and of itself totally wrong. And plus *another spoiler alert*, bitch better get cut by the shade's blade. It is important!!! But no, that's just another thing they didn't touch on. Grrr!
My main problem with the movie adaptation is that Paolini crafted a very lavish, expansive story that I thought was made for the big screen, and the way this movie approached the material made it feel as if that expansiveness, the feeling Paolini captured so well in the book, wasn't worth trying to capture on film. Overall, I give it a B-, more like a C+. It pains me to do so, given the high hopes I had for it, but that's all it deserves.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
But its actually decent. It gets the girl-trying-to-be-one-of-the-guys-whilst-still-being-a-girl dichotomy pretty well. And it gets that guys club thing down pretty well too. I mean, I pretty much lived that during college. Only difference was that Fighting Nun and I were in a committed relationship and there was never that girl-trying-to-be-one-of-the-guys-whilst-crushing-on-one-of-the-guys tension there. I was and still am in some respects the girl in the guys club. I go to Hooters. I let Fighting Nun and Driver's License ogle the girls and make jokes. I fit in with that realm of things rather well, so its nice to see that it's represented well in this series.
Here is my one quibble with the show, and its not so much something thats wrong with the show as something that might be wrong with me. Kyle Howard. No listen, let me explain. There is nothing wrong with him, or with him in the role. He's quite good actually. It's just that I kept watching the show the whole time like "Who's the reasonably hot, scruffy guy she happens to be crushing on? Kyle Howard? I know I know that name. How do I know that name? He looks like that cute kid from The Paper Brigade but all growed up and cute and stuff. That can't be possible can it? Can it?" Turns out it can be possible. Which makes me feel impossibly old. And I'm not old. We're the same age, Kyle and I. It's just that the three roles I happen to know him from date me. I mean The Paper Brigade? Baby Geniuses? (Yes I saw this. Shut up!) Orange County? Prove my age both literally and mentally. Do I have any good excuse for seeing The Paper Brigade in college when I was somewhat mature and should've known better? No. Do I have any good excuse for watching Sky High every time it comes on cable now (I blame Bruce Campbell myself. I mean Sonic Boom? Awesome!)? No. But have I watched such veritae and do I continue to do so for no good reason at all? Yes. Yes I do. And I have no good reason for doing so other than I am still mentally 14 years old. So I'm at odds with myself about this show for this one reason. I like the show. I recommend it actually but I'd like it more if I didn't have to grapple with the romantic lead in the show being the same kid in The Paper Brigade. That makes no sense at all does it? I have unbelievably odd Pop Culture fixations, don't I? Sigh. Yeah, I kind of figured.
Fighting Nun: But its my justice pillow. It has to go on your face.
Bloody Munchkin: Your justice pillow?
Fighting Nun: Yeah my justice pillow. I no longer have the underwear, so now I have to have a justice pillow.
Bloody Munchkin: Justice underwear? Like Justice League underwear? We've been together since the Clinton administration. In that time, I have never known you to own Justice League underwear.
Fighting Nun: I didn't say I've had them in the recent past. But I did have them.
Bloody Munchkin: At the time that you had them, could they may have technically been called Justice League Underoos?
Fighting Nun: Look it. They were Justice League Underwear. I could *Fight Crime* in them.
Bloody Munchkin: *Snerf, Spfff* Bwahahahahahaha.
Fighting Nun: Look. I could. The only thing they weren't impervious to were taco tracks. I was done in by the cafeteria Chimichanga. So good. So evil.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I'm assuming that this becomes part of a very long numbered list of strange oddities I would love to see that Fighting Nun has no earthly intention of seeing whatsoever. Said list includes, amongst many forgotten oddities:
1. LL Cool J ("Momma Said we gotta go to this one." "No." "Aw Come on. Going Back to Cali, to Cali, to Cool J?" "No!")
2. Billy Idol. Apparantly Fighting Nun has no predilection to see an aging rocker who has abused peroxide to the point that should be a punishable offense strut his stuff in leather and or pleather pants he has no earthly business stuffing into. Who knew?
3. Rent or any other musical on the face of God's Green Earth, and definately not Momma Mia. I have always wanted to see Rent, especially live, but Fighting Nun has some sense of self-preservation or something that keeps him from having to do anything with musical theatre. We rented The Producers not too long ago, and at certain points of the movie I had to keep lethal objects out of his for fear of the bodily harm he would do to himself or me for agreeing to watch the movie in the first place. Broadway Musicals? Definately out of the question. Broadway Musicals featuring the lyrical stylings of ABBA? There is no way . No. Way. Not. One.
4. SUMO! He just doesn't get Sumo's genius. I've tried to explain the coolness, the importance of it to him, on several occasions in fact (o.k., not several, and the explanation basically involved me yelling SUMO! really loudly over and over again. Probably not the dissertation that was going to convince him, if you know what I'm saying).
So El Vez will probably be added to that list. But see, He's wearing a red pleather jumpsuit, with a belt that looks like a WWE title belt The Rock misplaced, side burns that ate Pittsburgh, a pompedor that is eating his humongous fivehead (a fivehead, for those of you not savvy and in the know is a forehead that is so big its a fivehead. Learnt somethin' today didn't ya?), and has a mustache that I would otherwise detest but somehow completes the outfit. It's a must see! Aw come on Fighting Nun. How about Xanthia? Come on Xanthia, you have to see the genius in this! Takers? Any takers at all?
Fine, I'll just sulk in the corner, somehow content in the realization that I'm the only one who understands the good to be had in this.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Hee. Hee Hee. *Giggle* O.k. I can't hold it in anymore. Bwahahahahahahaaa. Man, If I had only created a Divorce pool with my friends I would've so been on the money on this one. I knew this marriage had the shelf life of a bunch of sea monkeys. Four Months. FOUR. FREAKING. MONTHS. That's it. I think there might be a box twinkies left on a display counter somewhere that is now officially older than your marriage.
What happened Pamela? Did he started comparing you to Jamie King again? Did you get tired of all the BPR's and cigeratte butts lieing around all over the place? Could you just not take anymore Lynard Skynard? Be honest, was there another stripper incident that hasn't made inot the news yet? Did you finally have enough of his greasy, limp hair? Where'd all that love you had for each other four months prior go? You went through the hassle of having three separate weddings, the leat you could've done was wait until the calander year ended. Sheesh.
I'm sorry Pamela. That was harsh. I didn't mean to kick you while you were down. I realize this letter is in poor taste. I apologize for being so sarcastic. I'm sure you've got a lot to deal with, between your imploding marriage, your coyly denying your involvement or noninvolvement in Borat, your coyly dodging Tommy Lee's horn-doggedness, and everything else and all. I really thought you two crazy kids could've made it work. I had so much hope and faith in your union. I mean you two really were a match in trailer-park heaven. I just couldn't believe it couldn't last. O.k. Now I have to apologize for being sarcastic again. Sorry.
Can you just do me a teensy leettle favor? Try not to get married for the rest of the year Mmmkay? That way maybe I can make a New Years Resolution not to bag on you anymore and I might be able to keep that resolution until maybe March. I'd appreciate it.
Tell Tommy Lee 'Sup for me;
The Bloody Munchkin.
Happy post Turkey Days everybody. I hope to have a marathon movie review posted sometime this week regarding all the above-par, par, and sub-par movies I've seen recently. Stay tuned.
So today I walk in when I hear what sounds oddly like a motor in one of the other stalls. I was unsure how to procede. Was there work being done? Was the bathroom now a construction zone and I wasn't told? Had our company somehow tracked down some motorized toilet brushes we were trying out? I'm a little uncomfortable but I sit down in the empty stall anyway. Out of curiousity, I look down to see a pair of feet at the stall next to me, women's shoes. That ruled out construction. I was still considering the motorized toilet brush until another thought popped into my head. What other motorized object would somebody be running in a bathroom? They wouldn't be running THAT KIND of a battery operated object in the company bathroom this early in the morning would they? WOULD THEY? I hear no moaning, but I'm still a tad suspicious. These days you can never tell.
I go to wash my hands and a co-worker pops out of the other stall, brushing her teeth with a motorized toothbrush. She was in the other stall. Brushing her teeth. Brushing. Her. Teeth. Over. A. Toilet. Why would you? How? Did she conduct other business while running the toothbrush? Could she not do both separately? Does she like combining the two activities? I don't understand. I am glad to see that both the motorized toilet brush and the other motorized gadget theory were both discredited, don't get me wrong. But I was also disheartened to find that it happened to be a tooth brush. Look, I'm a fan of oral hygiene don't get me wrong, and I realize that most oral hygiene prep takes place in the bathroom, but unless I'm totally out of bounds, it does not take place over or around a toilet. Furthermore, that sort of activity should NOT be conducted whilest hovering over the crapper. Sometimes my gag meter is a little uncalibrated and I can tend to get grossed out by some strange stuff. I mean Airborne in a glass tends to give me the heebs and tests my reflex more than it should be tested and I have no idea why. It's not like I'm being forced to drink a hair clog or anything but I just can't hack it.
But still, it just seems off somehow. Listen I don't doubt that I haven't done the brush and pee. I can't think of any recent examples, but lets just say I wouldn't put it past myself during my college days. I was living with two dudes. Decorum wasn't a huge issue for myself. And besides, back in those days, most of us probably came face to face with two side effects of the all-night rager; extremely stale beer breathe and an overwhelming urge to pee. I get that truly. But in the work place? Do they, should they really combine? Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe she realized her coffee breathe was kind of menacing the same time that second cup kicked in and it couldn't be helped. There could be any number of circumstances, I don't doubt that.
But here's the kicker. She tried to have a conversation with me as she was finishing up at the sink. Gah! Don't do that! Just don't. There is nothing more annoying than trying to talk to someone with a toothbrush and a head of foam and toothpaste in their mouth who isn't my husband. Because I tend to look at your mouth while you are talking, so I am watching you brush your teeth and talk at the same time, and it ain't an enjoyable thing to watch. In fact it's the opposite of enjoyable. So lady, even though I like you and we get along amiably, I'm asking, I'm begging you; don't conduct your oral hygiene business over the bathroom stall and don't talk to me whilst still in the midst of your oral hygiene business. It's testing my gag reflexes and not in a good way (is there a good way to test gag reflexes? I'd venture that there isn't, but I don't want to find out.). Just don't. Thanks.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Dear Short Stuff;
Once upon a time, I was very convinced that wherever you led, I would follow. My devotion was that blind, that deep. You were in The Gate for crying out loud, the only horror movie I watched during the whole of my childhood (I hate horror movies) because you were in it. Of course I didn't know you were in it until years later, but still. And this went on for years, through crappy made-for-tv movies and a couple straight-to-vidoes that aren't worth mentioning. But I watched them all. And one in particular I watched over and over, without remorse and I even bought the sountrack. It was that strong Stephen, it really was.
And then, well I don't know whether it was Space Truckers, FeardotCom, or your relationship with Pamela Anderson, but I became less blind. I could see the light. And the light eventually led to a revelation that while you're still cute, you aren't worth the effort. Sure, there's be a movie here or there that you redeemed yourself with, but for every sunshiney day, a little rain must fall. For every Entropy, there must be a Alone in the Dark. And pretty soon, there was more rain on your C.V. than sunshiney days. As much as I worship the ground you walk on for being a part of The Power of One, I can not forgive you for the blight of some of C.V. credits. But I wasn't totally deterred, I was more vigilant, better able to determine the duds from stars, but not deterred.
I wasn't enamored with you any more at that point. I wouldn't force Fighting Nun to watch a Stephen Dorff movie just for the sake of you being in it after that. I only Tivoed and rewatched that video of Britney's you were in a few times (What? Don't give me that look Fighting Nun. He. Was. Shirtless. The Abs. And then there was that scene in the bathtub where Britney was essentially naked and he dove in to get her. I just. I... I just... I didn't have a choice. I don't judge you every time you pause a football or basketball game to ogle cheerleaders. Don't judge me. Besides, that was more than three or four years ago. I get a pass.). You've been like an old high school crush who I run into at the local Town and Country while I'm buying gas and then I spot you dispensing a not so moderate helping of nacho cheese on a plate of nachos and get a good look at you. I realize that, whilst still cute, you've become the victim of "The Spread" and one too many Slim Jims. I no longer see you with rose colored glasses anymore, but I can see what it was about you that the younger, more naive version of me was so enamored with.
But now you've crossed a line and I don't even see that anymore. Where to begin? (you might want to click this link Fighting Nun. It's a video clip so you won't have to, you know, read and stuff.) First off, since when would you date a woman that would think Steve-O was a suitable boyfriend in any way, shape, or form? The dude, amongst his many misdemeanors against humanity PEED ON A RED CARPET IN FRONT OF A BUNCH OF CAMERAS. Peed. On a Red Carpet. Sheeesh. Anybody that thinks he's suitable boyfriend material was either let out of the institution far too soon or was somehow struck by a heavy object right before meeting him, because Yeech. And secondly, if you do date a woman who has succumbed to a mental illness to the point that she wants to get with the guy from some of the more oogey stunts of Jackass (the less said about Wild Boyz, the better), you shake Steve-O's hand, say congratulations, and see those two crazy kids on their way. Then you throw back a Corona and thank God you are no longer dating a person with the same IQ as a Cracker Jack prize. You do not threaten the both of them with physical harm and or death, and you do not, DO NOT leave said threats on the girl's answering machine! Jesus. What are you, new?
So It's over. I know it's wrong to break up with you this way, to called paid to what little we had left together in a letter, but that's the last straw. I'm sorry. I know this is never easy, but I just can't handle this anymore. I need time away from this difficult situation, time apart from you, because you're not the person I thought you were. Who knows, maybe we'll see each other again in a few years. Maybe when you've got a couple more mediocre releases under your belt and can move on to more challenging and possibly more dignified roles, like say a historical figure (of course said historical figure would have to be short. Napolean perhaps?) or a maybe an indie movie about the perils of drugs and Pamela Anderson (at least you'll have personal experience with subject matter). But for now its over. I wish you the best for the future. Really I do. I just won't be there watching it.
Listen. I understand your need to be in the rash of music videos you've been in lately. Really I get it. No, I totally understand. You haven't really, truly been culturally significant since the Reagan administration and this is your way of exerting some control over your seeming pop-culture exsistence. And nowadays you not only have your sister's shadow, but now your daughter's shadow from which to try and step out of. Not an easy feat is what I'm saying. It's just, well, taking part in a music video for a rapper I've never heard of before, not the way to go about stepping is what I'm saying.
Look, it's not that I don't appreciate your recent contributions to the Music Video art form. I can kind of see why you've taken the offers you did. I'm sure Mariah called and was like "Hey, I need you to play a slightly oily, pretty smarmy character, so essentially you'd be playing yourself." and you were like "Scenery Chewers like myself gotta eat, why not?" And then I'm sure she called you up again and was like, o.k. I need to you to play exactly the same character except I leave you spurned at the alter for Wentworth Miller (which, being the devoted Prison Break fan that I am, I totally do not blame her. I mean Eric Roberts vs. Wentworth "Blue Steel" Miller is very much an uneven fight in my opinion), and you were like "Sure I can do that. Being spurned and heartbroken won't really be a stretch for me, seeing as how I'm still miffed about not being in Julia's Academy Award acceptance speech... I got this one in the bag." And then soon after this, The Killers, or Justin Flowers or perhaps Justin Flowers mustache (more on that later) came a calling and were all "You see that thing you did there in the Mariah video? The thing with the being a spurned paramour? We want that for our video. So, essentially, we want you to play yourself, but slightly more violent but with a Madame Butterfly angle? Think you can handle that?" and you were like "Sure, can I bring my shit-eating grin?" and they're all like "We'd prefer it if you did."
See, all that? I get. I'm cool with, because you're flicking bits of video backdrop out of your teeth and the glitter detritus from The Killers video is everywhere. I appreciate it. But see, some videos aren't really worth you're scenery chewing abilities. Like the one I witnessed this morning, which had you playing the same guy you played (so, essentially playing yourself. Again. My, how you stretch your acting abilities there, Mr. Roberts.) in that Killers video as reenvisioned in a skeezy night club. WTF? No seriously. Why are you taking that role? I mean, I don't think what you're getting for that kind of role would be enough to pay for your SAG union dues, so why take the work? No, I don't understand. Why? Your daughter's about to make Disney money pretty soon, so you shouldn't be aching for the moola, unless you have some illigitimate children who are blackmailing you somewhere and you've been forced to pad your regular salary with these measely scenery chewing gigs to pay off the kids you don't want anybody to know about. But really, I think you should step back, take stock, wait for the checks from big Ole' Mouse Ears to roll in and enjoy life. No more music videos for obscure rappers or otherwise, Mmmmkay? Thanks.
Apparantly co-starring with Mickey Rourke has had some unforeseen long-term side-effects, who knew?
The Bloody Munchkin
Dear Brandon Flower's Mustache;
Die. Just Die. I don't care how. Just get the hell off of his face. You can slip and fall on a strategically placed lady bic and a dollop of shaving cream. You can decide that all your whiskers need to commit mass follicular suicide and you can just fall off his face all at once like all those leaves on that tree in that one scene in Monty Python and the Meaning of Life. I don't want to know the messy details, I just want you gone.
I think I've made it blindingly clear where I stand on the mustache issue. But for those of you just tuning in, I'll give you a refresher. I DO NOT LIKE mustaches. I hate them actually. Hatey-hate. Hate them with a blinding fury that can only be matched by my distaste of Pamela Anderson (which I have also mentioned). I do feel I should clarify on something though. It's not that I detest the mustache in all the forms it takes. I can handle a 'stache if it's paired with other follicular (is that a word? I don't think it is. I think I just made up a word. I'll have to double check with mw.com later) accoutrements. Beard and 'stache? I don't particularly want it up in my grill but from afar I can appreciate it. Stache and strategically placed goatee or soul patch? Yeah sure. Why not? But a mustache for mustache sake? Nothing else but a mustache? Can. Not. Abide. I can't. Especially in Brandon's case. I mean, he wasn't exactly my cup of tea during the Hot Fuss days. Slightly effeminate for my tastes, and somebody should've taken the blush and eyeliner out of his hands, but not bad. But now? Now it looks like a catepillar comprised solely of Ron Jeremy's pubes (shudder) crawled up on his face then signaled the death rattle and left its corpse on his upper lip. It's just too horrible to look at, and yet I can't look away.
Shut Up Brandon Flower's stupid mustache, I hope you meet a horribly tragic end;
Dear Devon Aoki;
Stop being so ubiquitous. Thanks.
At least you weren't brandishing a sword this time;
P.S. Tell you're brother I said hi and to stop being such a douche.
Dear Wierd Al;
Heh. I love that, even in the crazy times in which we live, there is one constant. And that constant is that no song is on such a high pedastal that it can't be parodied to absurd levels. And you happen to be the man to bring that to light, over and over again. "White and Nerdy." Classic. Also, tell Seth Green I liked his cameo and I admire his action figure collection.
I haven't bought any of your records since the Clinton administration, but I admire what it is that you do;
The Bloody Munchkin
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
I guess the answers to those questions are: Now I do. I did not know that. I guess it is, but not very, and yes, it is very odd Bloody Munchkin, you need to get out more.
So this got me thinking; What other books could be written by superstar athletes in which they put forth a life lesson that they actually haven't learned themselves? Given that I'm a novice when it comes to professional sports, I'm not sure I have the tools at my disposal to make accurate guesses, but I'm willing to give it a shot.
Obeying Traffic Safety, By Ben Roethlisberger
Headbutting Is Wrong, by Zinadin Zidane
Being Polite While Using NYC Transit , by John Rocker
Just Say No, By Micheal Irving
Drugs are Cheating, Drugs are Bad, by Mark McGwire, Jose Conseco, Jason Giambi and special guest writer Barry Bonds.
Good Sportsmanship, by Ron Artest (alternative titles: Don't Throw Things and Turn the Other Cheek)
Being Santa Claus, by Bobby Knight
How to be Humble, By Charles Barkley, special insert by Shaquille O'Neal
Girls CAN TOO play with Boys, By The University of Colorado Football Team. Special Foreward by Vijay Singh.
What No Means, By Cobe Bryant
Don't Make That Bet, by Pete Rose
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
What I didn't know? I have somehow been accumulating several albums that my mother would intrinsically like. I always thought that one the issue of music, there was at least a degree or two of separation. My mom's not into punk but Tim Armstrong is my co-pilot. My mom is a bit obsessed with Bruce Springsteen, whereas I'm indifferent. My mother's fixation for singer-songwriters the likes of John Prine, Tom Waits, Billy Joe Shaver, and the ilk is a little much for me to handle sometimes. My mother, still to this day does not see what I see (or saw) in No Doubt. This is kind of a point of pride for me or has been for awhile. Assertion of individuality if you will. Sure, we've always had little intersections of musical agreement. Nick Drake for instance. We both love his stuff, which is fine, as long as my tolerance for Muddy Water's back catalog remains relatively low. (Before you open outlook and run off a pointed e-mail about the importance of blues greats, understand that I like the blues, just not as much as my moms, which is totally fine by me.)
But now, that play book got thrown out the window. Alot of the music I've been listening to, I can see my mother realy getting into. Part of this is my co-worker's fault, because he's been lending me music that, while I might not pick it out for myself on any given music run, I end up giving myself over to. Ben Kweller? Something my mother would totally love. My other new favorite, Persephonie's Bees? Could've sworn I've heard it in my own mother's music collection, only it was called It's a Beautiful Day. Cat Power? My mother would totally love Cat Power, especially because she's like Lucinda Williams except less smokey. Rocky Votolato? Run Run Run? Totally my mom's style. Which means, I'm turning into my mother musically. Which makes me want to run out and buy the Lords of Acid back catalog (as if we don't have most of their albums already), and sing Bloodhound Gang songs obnoxiously at the top of my lungs just to quelsh the musical genetics that happen to be at play. Damn you Ben Kweller, for making a song that got me all teared up but reminded me I'm my mother's daughter musically. How dare you!
We've been in the rain
We've been on the mountain
We've been around the fire
and fancy hotels
Drank water from farm wells
We sang with the choir
I kissed your dry lips
We jumped off the high cliffs
and splashed down below
skin to skin in the salty river
made love in the shadows
Read books to each other
Read the mind of the other
Flew one thousand jets
We laughed and we cried
At movies and real life
and our ridiculous bets
We dance in the moonlight at midnight
We pressed against back doors and wood floors
And you never faked it
And frequently we ignored our love
But we can never mistake it
We met on the front porch
Fell in love on the phone
Without the physical wreck
You gave me the necklace
that used to hang around your mother's neck
We questioned religions
Gave bread to the pigeons
We learned how to pray
We stood by the ocean
Turned our hearts into one
We laid in bed all day
We skipped on the sidewalk
Skipped stones on the water
We've seen the sunrise with new eyes
We've seen the damage of gossip and true lies
We've seen the sun go down
Had passionate make-outs
Had passionate freak-outs
We built this world of our own
It was in the back of a taxi
That you told me you loved me
And that I wasn't alone
--Thirteen, Ben Kweller
Damn You Ben Kweller, why you gotta make me cry on a Wednesday morning?
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
....Divorce Papers Kevin Federline. Oh, you know somebody had to make that joke. Might as well be me. I'm more than happy and capable.
Like we didn't see this one coming. Once she got the two kids, he reached his limit and was out, I guess. Damn. I mean, damn. A few years too late, but Damn. Does that mean K. Fed can just go away now? Because I'd prefer it. Let's get skip the unscrupulous court proceedings in which we find out all of K. Fed's nefarious goings ons, and then let's go straight into forgetting he ever existed. Can we please? That would be awesome. Hey K. Fed. Say Good-bye, your fifteen minutes of fame just walked out on you. I guess we'll see you when you decide to make "You Got Served 2: Weasely Boogalow." or some such crap. Buh-bye now. Buh-bye. Tell your gravy train good-bye while your at it, Douche.
I interrupt my normal pop culture bitchery to bring you pure, unadulterated fan-girlishness. Actually, this is for Xanthia, to prove a little point I have to make. If ever I get the chance to cast the movies and TV shows I have written in my head, this guy would have a heeee-uge part. This guy is just rad. There are no two ways about it. He looks like he could break you in half but yet he still has a soft side. How can I prove that he has a soft side? He was in Bubble Boy, that's how. Anybody who was willing to let Jake Gyllenhaal ride bitch in a plastic bubble on the back of his Harley is the type of guy I'd throw back beers with. Yes, I've seen Bubble Boy, and can here by attest to the awesomeness of this movie. No, I'm not gonna back down from that view point. Bubble Boy was awesome. It had Fabio in it, as a cult leader for crying out loud. It had possibly one of the best lines ever, that I would be dying to use in normal every day conversation. I just haven't found the perfect time to interject "Back off Bitch, He's the Messiah" into a cocktail party convo yet. But it'll happen, rest assured.
See, Xanth, how cool he would be in the fevered dream of the TV show I have planned? Can't you see just how awesome he would be in the rough fatherly type. Wouldn't his tattoos make an awesome addition on a TV show not related to a gritty prison drama. I mean, they'd make an awesome addition there too, but he needs to be more stand-outish. Don't you aggree? We need to make this happen Xanth. This guy needs more work!
Friday, November 03, 2006
My co-worker has a four-year-old and apparantly they were brainstorming band names together last night and his kid came up with Poison Toilet. Somewhere, a Death Metal Band from Idaho is crying that they didn't think of it first. And I am crying because I hadn't thought of it either. The Slug Hunters was my second favorite, in case you were wondering, but point is, if you want a really good band name, have some random four-year-old make up something, because first of all they have the imagination for it, secondly, they also have reckless abandon, so they can get away with stringing words together and it not sounding trite, and darn it, whatever they say can be darn catchy sometimes. Fighting Nun and I, appropos to nothing will say "Awe Pickles." Why? Because our niece said it and whatever she says, we sometimes mimic. We still haven't let go of "Why is grandpa.... so.... old." The precociousness just sticks. And so does Poison Toilet. Damn it.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Now that we're in the burbs, we didn't know exactly what to expect for the occasion. We now live in a neighborhood with a moderate amount of kids, so we thought we'd buy a couple bags of candy, put out a pumpkin light and play it by ear. We really just didn't know what to expect. But can you blame us really. The last two halloweens we had no kids, not a one. Not that I blame them. The house we lived in was the suburbian equivalant of the Bates House. From the street, it cut quite an intimidating shadow so I can see why the 1.5 kids that actually trick-or-treated down our street chose not venture up our path. I think the other reason they chose not to venture up our path is that whatever amount of candy we might shell out was not worth the hour of cardio any kid would have to endure just to get said candy, the week of training at Mount Everest base camp just to get up the driveway only to find that there were stairs to be climbed. One year I think we just ended up renting a couple of Hitchkock movies and eating the candy we so dutifully bought. The next year I don't think we even did that.
So It's safe to say I didn't know what to expect this year. But after walking through one of the streets in our neighborhood and I saw a full sized replica of the front end of The Black Pearl complete with a giant squid and working gang plank, I realized that the gloves had come O-F-F as far as the holiday was concerned. I really wish I had taken a picture of that because, talk about disposable income. All the stops were pulled on that one. It got me a little excited for the holiday because if somebody in the neighborhood was willing to go that far, then the kids must be bringing it. And I must say, on the most part, they did. There was the standard mix of witches and ninjas and a few t0o many power rangers for my taste this year, but what do I know. My next door neighbors brought their eight-month old and let me tell you. The tiger costume? Cute! So cute I almost collapsed. Brilliant is what I'm saying. And the biblical horde of princesses and the fairies? So sweet I have a toothache people! I must say I enjoyed myself.
But you know who enjoyed himself most? The dog. A non-stop calvacade of strange people ringing the doorbell who have come to pet him? Yes Please. Not to mention that the dog hardly ever gets to bring out his "Big Assertive Bark of Protectiveness". The only time he ever uses it is when the doorbell rings and given that the doorbell rang approximately 57 times last night, he got to bust it out big time. I think by the end of the night, he had a smug little smile on his face, knowing he got to use the bark. He was a hit with the kids too. The bark usually gave them a jolt. He was our lame ass version of the trick part of the trick-or-treat. The really young ones were enamored with him. This fairie who was all of three years old thought Kissinger was just as big a present as the candy. I think she wanted to take him home and he probably would've gone. There was another kid who literally jumped for joy at his presence. "Doggie." he said, all big eyed. Cute people! I'm about to explode with the cute. I don't even need to go to Cute Overload today, and I always need my hammie fix!
The not so cute portion of the night? The junior high kids who weren't even trying. Black shirts and back packs. That was it. And they were loaded with candy ya'll. I'm talking those guys were filled to the brim. I asked one of them what he was going as, and holding up his little glow stick, he said "The Human Torch." I think it might be wrong to call a kid who's just hit the worst parts that puberty has to offer a douche, but I think I'm gonna do it anyway. Hey you, assy teenager, AKA the human torch, You sir are a douche. If you come to my stoop next year, you better bring your A Game or I'm not giving you any candy. And if you even think of egging our house, I'm going to sic my dog after you. Sure, that won't have any ill effect at all because he'll probaby end up going home with you and acting all buddy-buddy with you, but that's besides the point. You know that episode of Prison Break where Haywire runs from the mean barking dog and then ends up giving the dog some beef jerky and then befriends the dog? Yeah, that would be my dog right there. Not so bright that one. Unless you're a cat, or another animal that he can chase, attack or in any way pester, he's not really that malevolent. Actually, he's the exact opposite of malevolent. He's a big wuss actually. But anyway.
Also the not so cute portion of the night? Watching Silent Hill. I didn't hate it, in fact I might venture to say that I kinda liked it, but the ending left me all perplexed. I'd write full movie review but all I can manage is "Huh? What in that what? I..." because that's how I feel. I don't know anything about the videogame. I don't pretend to know anything about the videogame, so I'd like to know if movie followed the videogame story line decently well, up to and including the strange ending. Also, I gotta ask, what is with this guy suddenly showing up everywhere?
Last week's Prison Break he was happily chewing threw scenery right next to William Lichtner (which I somehow can't prove that was him right now, because Imdb happens to be leaving me high and dry right now), and now he's giving Sean Bean a run for his money, in both the scenery chewing department and the ubiquitous department, although I think Sean Bean still holds the belt for that one. Nobody bests Borimer, except for maybe a hobbit, but whatevs. (On a side note: Nobody told me Sean Bean was in Heroes! If I had known, I'd be watching it! Shame on all ya'll. O.k., O.k., I get that I have nobody to blame but myself, but seriously! Fine I'll wait til it comes out on DVD. Sigh.)
All and all, a satisfying Halloween. I had fun, I ate ice cream, watched a (somewhat) scary movie, had issues working our front door (SHUT! UP! FIGHTING NUN! I don't want to hear it. Leave me alone.), literally almost went into convulsions regarding the cuteness factor and ranted about douchey junior high kids not having costumes. Exactly my kind of Halloween.
Monday, October 16, 2006
It just really felt out of place to me, his performance. I enjoyed the movie as a whole, even if I didn't understand what was going on fully, and everyone's performance (except for maybe Lukas's) in it. I especially enjoyed the kid who plays The Brain. I loved that character for reasons I can't quite explain. And I'll just say it now. Joseph Gorden-Levitt was amazing. He had the chops in this movie and worked it hard. All and all a good movie, especially with the cookie eating, I can't explain why.
Friday, October 13, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Sometimes you are posed questions that you are never going to have adaquate answers for. Maybe, even if you thought about the questions a thousand times for a thousand hours, you still wouldn't adaquate answers.
There's a game we play on long road trips and on the off days when we need to kill time. I wasn't the first one to come up with it. I can't take claim for it. I'm not actually sure where I picked it up, on the internet somewhere. Fuck Marry Kill. FMK in polite company. The premise is simple. Name three people, usually of the same sex, alive, dead, real, imaginary, any three people you could think of and have the person you are talking with decide out of the three who they would Marry, who they would One-Night Stand and who they would Kill outright. It is a variation of Death is Not an Option, but with another variable and seemingly endless variations.
I got a call from Fighting Nun today. Driver's License (That's a friend's nickname. I'm calling him Driver's License because the subject of his age was a frequent subject of debate and conversation amongst us, to the point that he had Fighting Nun convinced he was much older than he actually was, until I asked to see his Driver's License) wanted Fighting Nun to ask me a rather serious question of the upmost urgency. Of the following people, who would I Fuck, Marry, and Kill? The people were Mr. Burns, Donald Trump, Larry King. I was pretty dumbfounded by the choices. I couldn't talk for a moment. My answer went like this: "I'd marry Larry King because he's got a bum ticker and could keel over at any moment, I'd Fuck Donald Trump (God Help Me!) and I'd Kill Mr. Burns because I remember too much about the episode where he was naked and yee-ach." Fighting Nun and Driver's License wanted to debate my choices and there relative merits, but we're all three at our respective jobs so we didn't have time to mull over the matter. I said we'd continue the conversation over beers and buffalo wings at Hooters. I hung up but started thinking about it more.
At first I thought my answer should've been: I'd Marry Larry King because his marriages have the life expectancy of a fruit fly anyway, plus the bum ticker (and hasn't he had as many marriages as by-passes? What is that about anyway?) I'd Fuck Mr. Burns (which, God Help Me!) and I'd kill Mr. Trump with his own hair, because Heh!
But now I'm aware that it's a trick question and that my answer should've been: I'd kill myself before I'd have to make that choice. Because Ye-ach! Shudder. Maybe the real answer is in the trite T-shirt many of the death-metal kids wore at my school "Kill 'em all. Let God sort 'em out." Which brings up an interesting question: If God was faced with the eternal question of FMK between Larry King, Mr. Burns and Donald Trump, what would God do? No, What Would Jesus Do?
I'm kind of convinced that Jesus would marry Donald Trump so that they could talk about their respective hair styles in The Great Beyond. I'm sort of convinced Jesus would kill off Mr. Burns, but I'm not so sure. I'm not sure that Jesus and Larry King would make great bedfellows. That just seems awkward. I'm now inundated with visuals of Larry King and Jesus spooning, with Jesus's hair all in Larry King's mouth. It's not a pretty visual, I have to say.
So now I'm stuck with more questions than answers. And a Larry King cuddling up to Jesus on a bear rug. I think I might have to go pray now.
Warning: teeny weeny little nit to pick to follow: I'm just a little bugged at some of the casting in the movie. John Malcovich as King Galbatorix is not what I expected at all. And I definately did not see Jeremy Irons as Brom. I'm willing to give them the benefit of the doubt on this one, but they are not who I had casted for the part at all. I had Bernard Hill casted as the part of Brom. It just seemed more fitting somehow.
Thus ends the nit I had to pick. I'll save all judgement for the movie. Must go squee now. Eeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!! When's the third book coming out? Great I've got to go find out now. Eeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!
Listening To - I've listened to this album several times now, and I keep going back to it because it just feels right. Some songs I like way better than others but the whole album just fits. And it definately fits with my current reading material. It's kind of haunting actually.
Finished Reading - Sean Decker, if you ever come back to the Bay Area, give me a call. I'd love to buy you a beer. If there is a God in Heaven, we will some day be friends. I'd elaborate about how important this book is to me, how absolutely priceless your narrative is to my life, but I don't have time for that right now, just know that I loved your book and think the world of you and your story.
Not Watching - Sorry Jeremy Sisto. This one was partly my bad. I've recorded all the episodes, I just haven't watched them. But I've been busy. If they do happen to bring your show back, I will watch it. I promise.
Finished Watching - Good. Surprisingly Good. And Morgan Freeman is in it, which means it automatically jumps at least two letter grades. So I'm giving it an A+++. The Extra + is for Lucy Liu's hair. I covet that hair. COVET!!!! And if I was running the world I'd give the two body guards from the deleted scenes their own movie. If you watch the deleted scenes, you know what I'd mean.
Also Watched - Oy, Just Oy.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
And, also because Fighting Nun might not shut up about it unless I put in on the website:
Amish Nuclear Administrator
I am officially putting a morterium on any further Amish references, otherwise its going to turn into a running gag we had involving Terri Shivo (which the less said, the better.) and by the end, we didn't even find those jokes funny anymore. I'm just saying.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Bloody Munchkin: Is it time to make the donuts then?
FN: Time to make the donuts?
BM: The Dunkin Donuts guy? It's time to make the donuts.
FN: Oh yeah. No not time to make the donuts.
BM: Well is it time to get ill?
FN: "What's the time? It's time to get Ill!" No its not that time. No its Amish Revolution time.
BM: Amish Revolution Time? Nah (coming up to red light) Stop. Hammer Time.
FN: No, no, no. Hammer Time is only between the hours of Noon and 2 A.M. That's the only time he's allowed, by law, to break out the Parachute Pants.
BM: No, that was before he became The Reverend MC Hammer. Now hammer time is between the hours 10 and 1 on Sunday. Do you think he wears the Parachute Pants during his sermons?
FN: Uhm No.
BM: You know what? That's a crying shame. I might actually start going to church if it involved MC Hammer and his Parachute Pants. Hell, I'd actually be a paying member of his church if he wore parachute pants during his sermons. "Do you know what time it is? It's Hammer Time. And. It's time for Je-sus-ah."
FN: That's nice dear. It's coffee time.
Friday, October 06, 2006
Thursday, October 05, 2006
O.k., so I've been seeing this image everywhere on MSN, and it's scaring the little baby cheese sauce out of me. I mean that's just creepy. If this image is supposed to make me want to watch your vanity project 'Apocolyptico', Mel Gibson, then you sir should have checked yourself into a mental institution instead of Promises, or whatever rehab clinic you checked yourself into, Sugartits, because all this image makes me want to do is shudder. Loudly.
You did inform this kid he wasn't trying out for "Hannibal: The Early Years" didn't you, because that kid has a look in his eye that basically says "I'd like to have your brains with some fava beans and a nice bottle of chianti", which, and correct me if I'm wrong here, I don't think that was what you were going for, unless this movie is about a bunch of cannibalistic children, then you hit it right on the head.
I just... this kid just.... *shudder*. In fact I've kept comparing him to that one kid character in Dark City. You know, the small kid with the beady eyes and the really sharp teeth that bit Rufus Sewell and looked like he really enjoyed it? Yeah, I kept waiting for this kid to jump out of the picture and take a big bite out of my forearm. Looks Like I know what I'll be having nightmares about tonight. *Shudder*
I kind of invision this one as a Green Jelly type knock-off. Anybody else remember Green Jelly or am I like a bajillion years old? I mean somebody's got to remember that horrible heavy-metal rendition of "Three Little Pigs" they did back in the day. Guess it's just me then.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Apparantly, Fighting Nun had not known this. Apparantly Fighting Nun had to learn it the hard way, the hard way being he had to spend the six bucks on Dianetics and give them a false address in order to slip away early. The actual story of what tooked place in Scientology center, not mine to tell. I will set the stage a little, just to give the story context. So for a month or so now, I've been taking a class in San Francisco one night a week. That one night a week, Fighting Nun meets me up in the city and we drive back home together. He usually has a little time to kill before my class lets out, and last night he inadvertantly decided to kill that time by getting suckered into a stress test. I'll leave that up to Fighting Nun to recount, if he cares to. The merciless fun I made at his expense after the fact? Definately a story I can tell. The resulting dialog went something like this:
Bloody Munchkin: I can't believe you got suckered into a stress test.
Fighting Nun: The girl was cute.
BM: Cute enough to get yourself hooked up to an e-meter?
FN: Uh, she didn't even administer the stress test.
BM: You got bait and switched into taking a stress test? Ha! You fell for the oldest trick in the book. That's how they hook you in.
FN: Well it worked. I had thirty minutes to kill and they took all of it. All. Of. It.
BM: I believe it. I hear some of those stress tests take up to an hour, sometimes longer. I'm amazed you made it out unscathed.
FN: Uhm, I didn't. I had to buy the book.
BM: We own Dianetics now?
FN: We own Dianetics now... You know you can stop laughing. It's not that funny. I fully intend to read it, just to you know, be objective.
BM: You're actually going to read it?
FN: I dunno. I am interested in keeping an open mind about religions and stuff, even if this one happens to be kind of cultish.
BM: I give you the being open minded about religions and stuff, but damn. Please tell me you didn't give them our address.
FN: I gave them a fake one.
BM: Thank god, because the Mormons still haven't left us alone and if those two organizations showed up on our doorstep, we'd have a front row seat to an apocolyptic battle of stellar proportions.
And as we left the train station:
FN: Try not fall down the stairs this time. (O.k., this statement needs a little prefacing. So two of the last three times leaving the train station, I almost tripped down a flight of stairs, which gave Fighting Nun plenty more arsenal in the "I married a clutzy dork" artillery, which he's got a stock pile of weapons on already, not like he needed more, but I digress).
FN: Shut Up.
And later, on the drive home:
FN: Dude, why didn't I tell them I was already a member, like I was a high ranking part of their center? 'Yeah I'm like an... alpha-red member already... and stuff.'
BM: 'You're John Travolta?'
FN: 'Uh no. I'm.... his son. Yeah.... That's the ticket."
BM: Naw. You should said you were Danny Masterson's brother. They might've bought that.
FN: Who's Danny Masterson?
BM: The kid with the big fro on That 70's Show.
FN: That guy's a dork. He's a Scientologist? I don't want to be related to that guy. Next.
BM: O.k., you could've said you're Jenna Elfman's husband.
FN: The chick from Dharma and Greg? She's hot. O.k. That'll work. Lauren Graham isn't a Scientologist, is she?
BM: Not to my knowledge.
FN: Well, then I don't have to join then.
BM: Well that's a load off, now isn't it? I like how that might actually be a qualifying reason for you to join their religion, like it was also the reason for you take the stress test in the first place. Blindly lead into belief by some cute girl.
FN: Works for me.
BM: Heh. You bought Dianetics because a cute girl forced you to. Heh.
FN: I don't make fun of you for.... stuff.
BM: You make fun of me plenty. It's just that this incident is way funnier.
FN: It's not that funny.
BM: Tom Cruise has you on speed dial now.
FN: Stop it.
BM: Are you ready to accept Suri Cruise into your life as your personal savior?
FN: Quit it.
BM: Have you taken your vitamins yet?
FN: *Pouts lips* .... I... just...*pouts lips some more*
There was some bit about Paxil and Brooke Shields, but I can't remember it now. It was A material though, rest assured. I have a feeling that I'm going to use his adventure Xenu-land like Homer used Marge's gambling problem.
"Remember that time I sliced my finger open trying to peel a butternut squash and you laughed at me for like a few days afterward?"
"Well you took a stress test!"
"Remember that time you made fun falling down the stairs and bruising my butt?"
"Well yooouuu got sucked into a Scientology Center."
I'm going to have material for days and days. Now if you all will excuse me, I have to go craft some jokes involving John Travolta, Kelly Preston and something about Katie Holmes and a butterfly net, and then I have to call my lawyer to make sure Bert Fields hasn't issued any litigation threats...
*** Please note that I don't have anything against Scientology per say, I just found the whole thing rather amuzing. If Fighting Nun had somehow stumbled upon a Kabbalah center and was asked to buy a red string, rest assured that I'd be making jokes about Madonna, Britney Spears, and Tithing.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
1. My headphones, made by a company that shall not be named but whose name sounds a whole lot like Hose - You can seriously take a big chunk from the fattest part of my ass. This is the third pair of headphones in two years to fall apart on me. Sure, I get them replaced for free because I call the customer service line and act all nice, all the while letting them know I could make a big stink about the string of broken headphone incidents I've had over the past two years, and they usually upgrade me to a swankier set each time because I'm all polite and stuff, but this is seriously the last straw. Just because the headphone speakers are made the the most high-falluting technology and stuff doesn't mean the company gets to cut corners and assemble headphones with the cheapest quality plastic a low-wage factory in South Korea can manage. This is the third head set that's plastic has crumbled. What are they using to assemble these things with, hardened play-doh? Damn, just damn!
2. My car stereo - O.k. car stereo, I really don't want to have this talk again. It's been done. It's kind of trite now, but yet I feel we must have it. I can't handle this little passive-aggressive thing you're forcing on me. I just can't. I get that it's your way of proving that the tape player needs love too, but I don't have any tapes any more. I have no love to give, and if you keep it up, interrupting my radio time that I need in order to get through my dreadful commute, well... there's actually not anything I can do but fume in your general direction every time you do it. Heck, I'm not even doing that anymore, you've actually forced me into the fifth stage of grieving regarding your little problem: Acceptance. I've just resigned myself that this is how you're going to act and then I revert into this fantasyland in my brain where I get to go at you with a bat all Office Space-stylee, and then I do the same thing to my headphones (but I can't do that to my headphones, otherwise I can't get a replacement pair). But seriously, stop it. I don't know how, but Fighting Nun somehow forces you into submission and compliance and it usually sticks for a couple of months, until all the sudden it doesn't. Do I have to let Fighting Nun ram you with a stick so you'll stop? Because you know as well as I do that that ramming things with sticks is one of his favorite pastimes and I really don't like that look in his eye when he gets started, but it that's what it takes so that you work all normal like, well, Fighting Nun ramming things with sticks it is.
3. The Giants Management - O.k., yes, the Giants sucked so hard they blew this season. I understand that, but dude. I mean, It's Alou. You should keep him in the clubhouse just for the sound bites alone, not to mention the righteous anger that is enough to get some radio personalities canned, cause seriously. And yes, you're right, your strategy of a veteran player surrounded by other veterans clearly did not work, so by all means, shake some stuff up on the roster, but for the love of little green apples, leave Alou out of it. You know, that mentality really peeves me, that "Oh, we had a phenomenally crappy season, let's get rid of the coach." The coach can only do so much out there in the clubhouse. He shouldn't be blamed because some of our pitching staff has some of the worst luck ever or any other reason. O.k., so when we canned Dusty Baker, he kind of did deserved it because he manages his pitchers pretty crappily, but Alou, in my mind, is a pretty solid coach, who givess some of the reaction shots on camera out of all the coaches I've ever seen(except for Bocci, because that mustache works ten times more than that coach does, except for the time he cut it off, I was all, "Who is that?" and Fighting Nun was "Duh that's Bocci." and then I gasped because the clean shaven look did nothing for his reaction shots), I mean Alou only has really one look but it's one part perplexed, one part angry, one part constipated and all sorts of awesome and I'm going to miss that.
4. Adobe Illustrator and Adobe Photoshop - I just... it's that... You just... HATE! Hatey Hate! Considering throwing a trout in your general direction hate!!! Just Grrrrr! I haven't been this mad at an Adobe product since I learned FrameMaker on my own. And I mean I was mad in those days. Fighting Nun and I would drive through downtown San Jose and I would shake my fist at the Adobe building and mutter "Why, I oughta" and revert into fantasies about storming their building, wielding insults at anyone in my direction like that immortal alien in the HitchHiker books ("You, good sir, and your software are nitwitts. Good Day.") Yes, I realize I have no idea what I'm doing in Photoshop, but see, the thing is, I just did exactly what I wanted to not a two days ago, and now you're telling me that I can't do the exact thing that I did, not 48 hours ago? How? Why? I don't understand. Are you being passive aggressive like my car stereo? Do I have to call Fighting Nun over here to ram a stick at you? I mean, do you really want to be on the recieving end of that? With that look in his eye? I didn't think so.
5. The class I'm taking - Hey class, whatever big chunk that is left that hy headphones didn't take, you're free to have because bite me. This damn class has gotten me all worked up that I can't even sleep a whole night through. And the parameters for some of the projects I'm doing are so loose, that I have no idea what to do. Yes, I get that the point of graphic design is to make something out of a very thin assignment, but throw me a bone here, seriously. I need just a few little morsels to sink my teeth into so that I understand the assignments a little bit better, but no, nothing. It's all, conjure a project out of thin air, see you on Tuesday... Grrrrr. Hate. Bite. Me. Take a fleshy piece of rear end and go away!!! I'll just sit here, assless, seething at you and my car stereo, and everything else. Or, I could have Fighting Nun ram a stick at you... with that look in his eye.
6. My Body - I'm not that freaking old. I just turned 28 for Christ's sake. But yet my body feels all old and rickety. And it hates me. Since I started this class, my body has refused a full night's sleep. My brain just wakes up in the middle of the night, all synapses going, thinking about class, thinking about everything. Just. Going. I mean, the other night, I woke from the dead of sleep with a revelation about... Project Runway. No, really. I mean, WTF? It makes no sense. I love sleep. Love it. I'm very cranky and moody if I don't get my eight hours. I've started taking naps in my car just to cope. So shut up body! I'm tired and I want sleep the whole night and I don't want to wake up to wierd thoughts regarding a reality show I only sort of watch. Let me sleep a full night, or I'll start running. Daily. And I hate running. But I'll do it. Don't test me. And I won't threaten you with Fighting Nun and Ramming Sticks, because I tried that, and that only sort of worked, so I must find an alternate means to will you into submission.
7. The Weather - If my Headphones and the class I'm taking left any fatty tissue on my posterior, well then it's yours. Have at it. Part of the reason I'm pissed off at you, is that the inevitable has happened. The storms are back, marking the end of a rather eventful windsurfing season. Which saddens me. Let's all take a moment of silence. O.k., silence over. Also, you're giving me a sinus headache at the moment. Which means I'm going to be miserable, and crabby, and complainy (like I'm not already, heh) for the next two days because I have my temples will be throbbing out a beat that will sound remarkably like the beat behind "Time to Get Ill" by The Beastie Boys, which means I'll be muttering "What's the time? It's Time to Get Ill" for the next two days until Fighting Nun rams a stick in my direction. So shut up weather, shut up my throbbing temples, and shut up Beastie Boys. It's bad enough that whenever I ask Fighting Nun for the time "Time to Get Ill" is what I hear. Now my temples happen to be meting out that exact rhythem. Grrr Weather *shakes fist* one of these days!
There's more, but I'm too busy suturing my ass checks to complete it.
Friday, September 29, 2006
I have a great idea! I have a solution for this terrible time when poor helpless people are being attacked by "aggressive" squirrels (they have big pointy teeth). It's time for my dog to get a job, that's right kissinger you now have a full time job. I'm going to drive the dog to the park every morning to help these poor poor people. The dog's job will be chase the squirrels and teach them a thing or two about the civilized society we live in. I figure he can work off tips and at worst can at least feed himself on what he catches during the day.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
It's not that I hate dentists. Most dentists I've ever been too have been personable enough. Although my last one was a bit abrupt and a bit aggressive on the flossing thing. I really didn't appreciate the flossing tutorial, I'll just say. This dentist is nice. He seems like a good-natured guy, his staff is nice and one of his aides complimented my hair. His office is nice and pleasant, doesn't feel as antiseptic and unwelcoming as some. That part I'm good with. It's just well, It's a dentist. The light, the noise, the inspection. I just dread it. DREAD IT!
Here's a few snippets of my inner monologue during the process.
So what was I coming in for today? Did he want to talk to me about evening out my bite, or was it about the night guard again, or was I getting the pesky cavity filled? I hope it wasn't a cavity fill. I've got to prepare myself for something like that first. Really I do. Aw, his dentist technician seems nice. It's nice that she's asking about my commute home. I wonder why she cares. "Will you be able to call someone if you feel woozy?" Why would I feel woozy. It's not like he's going to numb me. Oh crap, he is going to numb me. No, no he can't. Because I'm not coming in for a cavity fill. Am I?
Thanks for instructing me to lie down Mr. Dentist Man, but with your little automatic chair thingie, it's not like I really had a choice. So can we skip the semantics?
He's going to play a movie why he's all in my mouth. That's rather nice of him. Josh Grobin Live. I've heard of Josh Grobin. Not really heard his music, but my friends say he's cute, maybe this won't be so bad after all... Uhm, is he singing in English? And why is he warbling off key? I... don't understand?
So, uhm, he just used the little blue stick of numbiness on me. I think, yes I think this is a cavity fill...
BIG NEEDLE! BIG NEEDLE IN CHEEK! BIG EFFING NEEDLE IN MY MOUTH RIGHT NOW! AUGH! THIS, THIS IS WHAT I MENTALLY NEEDED TO PREPARE FOR. Your warbling and all those violins are not helping me right now Josh Grobin! Why didn't you tell me there'd be a big needle in my mouth right now, Josh Grobin, if that is your real name? Thanks for your hand nurse. Yes I know I'm squeezing hard, but there's a big needle, see, in my mouth, see? And it's kind of freaking me out right now. If I had time and the capacity to actually talk right now, I'd recount the story why I hate HATE needles, regarding pain medication that got injected in my buttocks when I got my Appendix taken out at the tender age of 14 and the needle I bent to tarnation because it hurt and I jumped and now I hate needles, but I can't recount that story because my mouth is numb right now and... Why'd you hand me safety goggles? Is that really necessary?
By the sound of the drill, and the five hundred instrument you just sat down in my mouth, I see that the safety goggles are a necessary precaution. Why am I suddenly thinking about that machine in A Clockwork Orange? Maybe Kubrick's inspiration for it is a dentist's chair.
O.k., so this Josh Grubin is pretty cute. He's kind of got a fro that he's working pretty well. I just... don't get the music. I... Oh dude. The dentist is coming back at me with all manner of... Don't want to know. Must close eyes. Should not look at the devil's tools currently residing in my mouth. But I must look at Josh Grobin's fro. Although... more warbling again. Yeah, I guess I'll pass... Closing eyes now.
Jaw tired. Must close mouth. Wow. I didn't know I'd get shunned for closing my mouth. Great a bite block. Why don't you just give me a bridle and tempt me with a carrot while you're at it. Pull on the reigns and ride me on in to town why don't cha?
O.k., so Josh Grobins like lead violinist or whatever? Very cute? She's rockin that violin hard ya'll, seriously.
O.k., more things involving needles, yes I understand it's only the composite and is not technically being inserted anywhere important, anywhere I can feel at least, but I don't want to see it. I just don't.
Ow! Or at least I think ow, but I don't actually feel ow, but I see blood. Yes he apologized for pinching my lip, but still. I'm bleeding over here. In the immortal words of Nelson "You made me bleed my own blood!" And do I feel any difference? You really have the nerve to ask me that? What do you think? You just filled my left jaw with enough novacaine to fell an elephant and you ask me if I CAN FEEL ANY DIFFERENCE? No. And also, don't expect to carry on a conversation with me, because I am dribbling right now and am not capable of it. Also, do me a big favor; when you are talking to me, address me. Because there were like nine different times when I thought you were instructing me to do something and you were actually talking to your assistant but I didn't know it so I made some sound trying to convey that I didn't hear you, and you're all, "Don't move. Don't talk." Well not my fault Mr. Glumbles-Instructions. I get confused easy.
SHUT UP JOSH GROBIN! Shut up Josh Grobin's singing, shut up Josh Grobin's spastic violin section with the swaying of drunkenness, shut up Josh Grobin's squinting while singing, and God help me, shut up Josh Grobin's hair. You are not helping right now.
And I'm done. Dude, just dude. Stupid Josh Grobin.
What was I watching last night that I swore I wasn't going to watch last night? Jericho. Why? Skeet Ulrich. Yes, he's seen better, prettier days. But darn it, it's Skeet Ulrich. No what else I can't watch on Tuesday nights because that's the night of my class? Stand Off. Know why I want to watch it? I think the answer is obvious... Ron Livingston with a side of Micheal Cudlitz. Know what else premiered last night? Kidnapped (which I recorded). Know why I have to watch Kidnapped? Jeremy Sisto. His dimples command me. Can you say no to the dimples and the curl-fro that will not stop? Well, I know my husband can, but that's besides the point.
And then there's Monday nights. I'm so Prison Break's bitch. I'm sorry but Wentworth Miller + William Lichtner = Bloody Munchkin's eyes glued to TV. And I can't watch any of it with any regularity until 2007 because I'm taking a class. I'm so hurt right now. I'm just going to curl up in a corner and wimper until next year's sweeps...
Monday, September 18, 2006
I love this story. I love the fact the arresting officer's name is Willie Williamson. I love that he smelled a strong odor of marijuana when he entered the tour bus. I love how they listed out every illegal substance he had in his possession. I love that he was busted with a misdeamenor charge. I love the fact that everyone named in the story could theoretically be a card-carrying member of AARP. I love Crazy, Druggie Willie. Oh Willie, don't ever stop you old coot you!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Yeah, that's annoying. Listen sometimes it can't be avoided. There's odd little pop culture detritus stuck in all of our brains and we might not quite remember what said piece of detritus once belonged to, and sometimes we need help figuring that out. Or maybe we're a bit forgetful and we just can't seem to recall these sort of things. I get that, but there are limits people. LIMITS. Don't go asking tons of pop culture questions I don't have the answers for because I will HAVE to find those answers because I didn't have the answer from the getgo so now your question has become my question and I MUST SOLVE IT or it will bug me all day. ALL DAY.
So do me a favor, mmmkay? Next time we have a conversation about movies or actors or whatever the hell, either come up with something concrete, or go answer your own questions on Imdb first, and then we can talk about the movie or actor in question ad nauseum. But don't expect me to do the ground work for you (although I probably will because I'm a completist that way) because if you don't know how wonderfully the Imdb actor search and the Google Image Search work in unison, you're a hopeless case and we shouldn't be friends.
*The answers to the above pop culture cunundrum were, in order Peter Coyote, E.T., Glenn Close, 101 Dalmations and The Jagged Edge. Got all that? Understand my annoyance now?
Friday, September 08, 2006
So this is me, sending you a virtual hug right now. Call me if you need me. I'm always here for you. Except when I leave my cellphone in my purse and you can't get ahold of me when you really need me. That makes me a only sorta good friend.
I've got a shoulder and it's been thoroughly prepared for a good lean and a good cry if you need it.
The Bloody Munchkin.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
For every Rob Schnieder there is a David Krumholtz, or something like that. For every time I bag on some poor bastard who decided to be involved in another regrettable National Lampoon's movie, I'd like to lift someone else up, some one deserving, someone like.... Michael Cudlitz. I know exactly what you're going to say. You're going to say "Bloody Munchkin, the dude is currently in a TV series. With Ron Livingston even. I'm sure he's doing fine for himself." To which I have to say "But how are we, as a collective society doing? How are we doing REALLY? Because, as a collective unit, I think we could really use more Micheal Cudlitz." And I truly do believe that. More Micheal Cudlitz in all his forms. Swat Team Michael, Car Salesman Michael, Zombie High Schooler Michael, Sleeping with High School Girls Group Leader Michael, World War II Michael. Michael, in all of his reincarnations, is needed in order for us, as a nation to become stronger and more self assured.
Maybe the arguement is that he really doesn't need more work. I mean, I am looking at the same IMDb profile as you are. Just one look at his c.v. proves that he's doing his part to be everything to everyone. I mean, have you looked at it? It's a rap sheet as long as my arm. Dude is doing his part to be ubiquitous is what I'm saying. But are we doing our part to take notice? Are we really? I mean, I know I'm not. Half the stuff he's been in I haven't seen, and he deserves more than that from me. He's Michael Cudlitz for Christ Sake. Is his supporting role in Stand Off going to suffice for me week after week, now that I know the width and breadth of his back catalog? I don't know, but it's a start. Do your part to make sure Michael Cudlitz gets the recognition he deserves.
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
I think it's great that you're trying to breath some life into your dieing film career by trying to do something other than the really bad fitness infomercials with Christy Brinkley. Really I do. As long as it's not Walker Texas Octagenarian I'm all over it. And I think it's really great that you're doing projects for your charity. Really, it's awesome. Truly.
It's just... I just don't think that screening Sidekicks is the way to do that see? I can't even watch that movie ironically anymore (R.I.P. Jonathon Brandis *Sniff*). Not that everyone has the same emotional attachment as me, but still, out of all the movies you've done, you picked Sidekicks to screen? Sidekicks? Really? Because not only has that movie gone from awesome, to awesomely cheesy, to awesomely lame, to lame and then to sad (See: Jonathon Brandis *Sniff*) in the course of it's life, but I honestly think that now, in this day and age, a shirtless Piscapo can do more harm than good, even if it is for charity.
So please, keep this one in the closet where it belongs, I don't care if Beau Bridges needs the Royalties or not.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Oh Birthday Cookies, how I love you. How you have brightened up my weekend. I've thanked my parents for dutifully making the awesome sugar and icing cookies that have delighted me for much of my childhood, but I don't think I've sufficiently thanked you, oh sugar cookies of awesomeness. You are splendid and awesome and everytime my mother makes me a batch, birthday related or no, there is always much quibbling between Fighting Nun and myself, about who has eaten the most and who deserves to eat the most. Oh sugar cookies, you are such a source of glee, and also such a source of marital discord.
Loves and Kisses;
The Bloody Munchkin
To the awesomely strange bar and all its patrons on First Street in Livermore;
The night before my birthday was pretty awesome. It's been awhile since I've had a really good rando conversation with people at a bar. Thanks for the interesting conversation, in which I found out that there are two Ocean Cities. One in NJ, one in Delaware, and that according to you, dear bar patron I'm sitting next to, are quite particular about your home town. Also, thanks for making us feel like regulars, even though we're not.
See ya for another pint some time soon;
The Bloody Munchkin
To the pottery place close to where our car was parked;
Not that I don't mind that you have a poster displaying a cat and a bunny in a rather compromising position. Actually, I'm very much the opposite of mind. I'm more amused than anything. But do you really think that a poster that could evoke such crude jokes from Fighting Nun and I is really appropriate for the pre-teen set? Maybe you want to evoke conversation about inter-species doggy style positions amongst the youngsters. Maybe you enjoy a subtle but not so subtle Broke-Back Mountain joke as much as the next person, but I don't know that your store front is the best place for such a statement.
Thanks for the tears of Mirth;
To the strange wine dude at Winery Numero Uno;
Tone down the stange and needy. Please I'm begging you. I know we were your first patrons and all, and maybe you were a little rusty with things like, oh I don't know, conversation and customer interaction, but I'm telling you. Un! Comfortable! And I do not want to play the tasting game with my wine. No seriously. Stop asking "Can you taste the spices in this wine?" "Do you pick up the hint of plum?" Are these your only talking points regarding the wine you're selling, cause if they are, you might wanna work on your approach.
Please turn down the wierd;
The Bloody Munchkin
Dear the person who gave me a facial at the spa place;
It was a very enjoyable session but the thing is... Well you see.. It's just... You remind me of my cousin on the black sheep side of the family, and I really couldn't get over that fact the whole time. I hope you're not offended.
Sorry for the bad association;
The Bloody Munchkin
To the two cute girls working the counter at Winery Numero Dos;
To the girl with the little army cap on, thanks for not wearing a bra. Fighting Nun really enjoyed that. To the other girl, I am really envious of your hair. Like sincerely envious. If I could pull of that look I would. To both of you, thanks for the great conversation and being super cool and wishing me a happy birthday. Also, thanks for the awesome cheese and crackers.
Keep up the Cuteness;
The Bloody Munchkin
P.S. To the cute one with the cute hair, stop obsessing about the ex and his phone number. You're better than Zach. Don't ask me how I know. I can just tell.
To the Cafe where we had a super awesome lunch;
I have never had a stew that good before in my life. Delish I tell you. Delish. Although, it is partially to be blamed, I think, for my stunning pyrotechnics later in the day, it was still well worth it. And so was the prociutto. And so was, God help me, the olives. And I hate olives! But then you put them on an antipasto plate, depitted and with some bread and some cheese, and they are suddenly good. Which is bizarre.
You keep making that stew and I'll come back and eat it anytime;
P.S. Please tone down the "audio scarecrow" noises that emenated from the adjoining vineyards. Not that I don't enjoy hearing the crow equivalant of the Jurassic Park Tyrannosaurus Rex versus the Velocarapters scene played out in grapevines in routine intervals every other minute, but it was just a bit odd. At first I thought it was the bird version of a death rattle, but then it was the same thing over and over, and I was afraid that someone was pummeling some bird who couldn't fly in the grapevines, which made me somewhat mortified. Thankfully, it was just an "audio scarecrow", but still. Yeesh. Not an appetizing sound is all.
To Winery Numero Tres;
Sorry about your welcome mat. And your rose bush. I... yeah, just sorry.
To the woman sitting next to us during dinner;
Did I ask you what you were eating? Or drinking? Or about anything else? Then why did you insist for a play by play about our dinner? Yes it was nice. No we couldn't finish it. Sorry if that OFFENDS you and your completist sensibilities. Sorry if us ordering dessert also offended. Oh wait, no I'm not, because it's MY FREAKING BIRTHDAY and I can eat or not eat as much as I FREAKING WANT and I shouldn't have to justify my culinary choices to you, Mrs. Nosy McNosersons, just because you're sitting next to me. Why don't you try minding your own dinner next time.