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.