The Silver Spoons Drinking Game Discussion

So yesterday marked a monumentous occasion for me. It probably wasn't momumentous for anyone else, judging by the few confused faces I decided to share the news with, but it was to me. Ready for it? Silver Spoons was released on DVD yesterday. Yes I know! I could hardly handle the news either!!! Silver Spoons on DVD!!! The Train!!! Coming through my television once again!!! Young, cute puffy-cheeked Ricky Schroder on DVD! Not old, craggy, I have to be Sipowitz's bitching post Rick Schoeder!!! Available on DVD!!!

To tell the truth, I'm not totally utterly amped about this. To be honest, thanks to Crazy Micheal Jackson, can we take the plot line of a man who wants so desperately to recapture his youth again, that he has a train put in the house and buys his kid all that his heart desires and all sorts of wackiness ensues seriously? More to the point, can we watch all of this without shuddering?!?! I mean couldn't they have easily repackaged Silver Spoons, put Prince Whatever Jackson in all his masked and face covered glory and call it "My years under the House of Crazy: An Autobiography"? I mean if the creators of the show knew that life would creepily imitate art in the form of Micheal Jackson, they might've done things a leeeeetle differently methinks.

Even though this fact is running rampant in my brain, it has only tempered me, it has not deterred me totally. Because come on. It's Ricky Effing Schroder!!! The first kid to utterly rip out my heart with his tears in that movie where John Voight plays the boxer and Ricky was his son and he dies in the ring and Ricky is in the audience, watching every sad moment, tears streaming down his face. Ripped my heart out people!!! Ripped it still beating from my chest and marvelled at it, that's what his performance did.

And then Silver Spoons! And how there was that one episode where Ricky, I'm sorry, I mean Rick, was crushing on a girl who had a thing for Menudo, which God does that take me back, and so he goes out of his way to get Menudo to show up some place in person where the girl is and he surprises her with the band and she starts screaming and going crazy and yells "I love you Ricky" And then Ricky Schroder gets this beaming smile on his face, with his arms open wide as she's running in his direction, and then she runs straight past him and into the arms of, heh, smirk, Ricky Martin and then Ricky Schroder looks all crestfallen and I wanted to send daggers in that girl's direction. It's Ricky Schroder for Christ Effing Sake, bringing you Effint Menudo because you love them and he's trying to win you over!!! At the very least he deserves a hug. I can't believe I can actually remember a whole Silver Spoons episode with such accuracy. I'm suddenly very ashamed of myself right now. Maybe if I was to recount my favorite Punky Brewster Episode I'd feel better. No, I just feel sad and repentant for my mispent youth. Just kidding. My youth wasn't mispent, not to me anyhow.

I tried explaining all this to Fighting Nun last night and, as could be expected, it met on totally, completely deaf ears to wit:

Bloody Munchkin, effecting a five-year old's voice, bouncing up and down: Uhm, Fiiiiii-eghting Nuuuuun. Guess What. Guess What. Guess What. Guess What.
Fighting Nun, already starting an eye roll: What?
Bloody Munchkin, letting out a large squeal: Silver Spoons was released on DVD today.
Fighting Nun: Oh lord.
Bloody Munchkin, with a look of incredulity: What do you mean oh lord? That is totally awesome!!!
Fighting Nun: You know, I really don't think it'll live up to its nostolgic glory. I'm sorry to say.
Bloody Munchkin, somewhat crestfallen: You're probably right. It probably has not stood the test of time well at all.... Which would make it that more awesome!!! Imagine it! The Silver Spoons Drinking Game!! Somebody could be the train!!! I have to sit down and think up rules for this game right now.*
Fighting Nun, shakes head and leaves room.

Basically, I know I should know better, Fighting Nun knows I should know better, I when push comes to shove, I'll probably know better and not purchase it, but I'll keep it on a list of things I will purchase when I have oodles and oodles of money and can afford not to know any better, right up there with Eerie Indiana and the complete seasons of The Animaniacs on DVD.

*I actually did not compile a list of rules for the Silver Spoons drinking game. Instead I went into the kitchen and cooked dinner. I apologize to anyone who stumbled upon my site under the false pretenses that I actually have compiled said list and have it readily available.

Ocean's Thirteen: Movie Review

It's hard to say for sure what my expectations were before I saw this movie. On the one hand, Ocean's Eleven got so many things right. On the other hand, while still a strong movie, Ocean's Twelve got so many things wrong. Ocean's Eleven did three things very well; It told a hiest story, a revenge story and a love story perfectly. Everything fit into place well.

Ocean's Twelve tried to do all those things, but failed to do so cohesively, and it took longer to get there. Plus, there were certain things added in that didn't have any purpose other than to be annoying (the meta scene involving Julia Roberts playing a character playing a character, I'm looking at you!). The only plus side was Eddie Izzard.

This time around, Soderburgh and crew went back to the basics and decided to do one element completely right, nailing down the revenge story, which with the addition of Al Pacino as the anti-hero was easy to do. It does so with such aplumb that its easy to watch.

It might be easy for the character's personality traits to get lost in the story, as I felt they were before in Ocean's Twelve. This time around, their quirks aren't hidden but brought to light in interesting ways. Warning! Spoiler Alert for those who haven't seen the movie yet. Casey Affleck's character sent to Mexico to cover an angle in a plastics factory only to start a labor strike? Awesome! Scott Caan's character sent down to call it off only to throw a malotav cocktail at the police? Even more awesome.

On top of getting the character we know and love right, there were some interesting inclusions/additions that made me squeal like a twelve year-old. Bruiser, who happens to be one of my favorite parts of Ocean's Eleven, showing up in a cameo? Totally Awesome. Getting all some of my favorite character actors to just start showing up all over the place? David Paymer? Eddie Izzard? Brilliantly awesome. But the awesomest part of all? The part I'm still not quite over yet? Super Spoiler Alert: Super Dave is Matt Damon's father. Super Dave. Is Matt Damon's father. That is the most classic piece of stunt casting I have ever seen in my life. I want to live in a universe in which that is actually true. I want to bask in the brilliance of that universe. In fact, I want it put in Matt Damon's contract that every movie he makes from now on involves Super Dave playing his father from now on. Sure, the novelty might wear off after awhile, but by then I'll be in a wheel chair, putting my teeth in a glass of water. That's how awesome that is. It didn't matter that I called it three-quarters of the way through the movie. At some point I leaned over and whispered in Fighting Nun's ear. "Super Dave! Is Matt Damon's! Father!" And when it turned out to be true??? Even that more satisfying. Thus Endeth the Super Spoiler alert.

Although I would say, I did miss to some small extent the inclusion of Julia Roberts, and her character Tess, I think the movie was better without her in it, than it would be if she had played some roll in it. Double ditto as far as Catherine Zeta Jones is concerned.

So yeah, it doesn't do all the things Ocean's Eleven did, but what it does, it does well. A- all the way.

Tweens

There are some times in my life I want back. The more innocent times, the time I dressed up as Cyndi Lauper for Halloween, the times I was surrounded by family and friends. The times before we lost all my uncles and things became very painful. Those times I could relive again.

There are other times I would not want back, time you couldn't force me to do over again at shotgun. I realized today that one of those times is junior high. Not for any money in the world would I revisit that time in my life. Sure, if I could there are several things I would've done differently, like say not gotten a perm, or not kissing who I gave my first kiss to (Homecoming 7th grade year was awkward to say the least). But even if I was given a chance to revisit and change those things? No way. Not on your life, my life, the life of that little cute panda. Not happening.

Because, and I'm just going to come right out and say this, that age sucks. That age for a girl? Sucks ten times worse. First off, you're not comfortable in your own body yet. On top of that, you're not sure if you ever will be. Nothing fits right. Everything feels off-kilter on a regular basis. Add to that being a self-righteous snot. At least, I know I was. That was the age where I felt utterly picked on and disliked, but what I didn't realize is that I had done a lot of that to myself, feeling above it all, which I most certainly wasn't, what with learning to spell Boobless on a calculator and all. And then I, or another friend, I don't remember now, decided to spell 'Debbie is boobless' on a calculator which actually brought the wrath of my best friend Debbie, because Debbie at that age was boobless and self-conscious and thought it was a slight against her, which it wasn't, it was just an unthinking joke on whose part? I forget. But that brought her ire and almost total and utter abandonment because she was not having it.

And that's the other thing about that age, fickle friendships, and girl bitterness and just overall evilness, on my part directed at someone else or from someone else directed at me. I could be cruel, but could receive heart-breaking cruelty in return. It was horrible. Add to that the discovery of boys and you have a potentially lethal cocktail of heartache, heartbreak and pain. Boys should not break up the friendship hierarchy, first off, but they do. And don't tell me there wasn't a friendship hierarchy, because at that age everything is fickle, so the person you thought was your best friend one week is easily replaced by a new best friend the next, or worse you're easily replicable, and so you have a friendship hierarchy that you think has a sturdy base but then one week you realize everything has changed and your friendship hierarchy is really just a house of cards, a house of cards ready to topple, only to be built up so that it can be toppled and built up again and again.

Boys were a different thing entirely. There were the boys that you liked as friends, then the boys you liked more than friends, and then there were the boys that were utterly god-like and untouchable to the point that you thought you might have to kneel down at pray at their feet. Forget talking to them. And your best friend had her own boy hierarchy, and at the level that you shared the same guy friends, and the same boy deities, everything was fine. The twin boys two grades older that didn't know your names?There was enough to go around there and besides they were beyond attainable, and also interchangeable. But God forbid you actually talk to the actual boy your best friend has a crush on? Or should I say friend now? Because you just got knocked down a peg on the friend hierarchy and if you keep talking to him, you won't be a card on that house at all.

Yeah, all of that? I do not want at all ever again. One thing I doubly do not want? That would be like five million pounds of salt on an open wound? To have to go through all that in this day and age. Tween girls can't even afford to be tragic anymore. Let's face it, I was definitely tragic. The hair, trying to pick out my own clothes and failing miserably to do so in any cohesive fashion. But nowadays girls can't even afford to do that anymore. It's all being fed to them, the way they should look, the hair, the highlights, the manicures, pedicures, shopping at The Limited Too. Girls have to face the firing squad of junior high on an almost daily basis and now they have to face increasing pressure to look and dress a certain way, and if they chose to do differently? It feels like they have even more strict codes to adhere to than they ever had to before. Wanna go punk or goth? It's not just a matter of dying your hair and dressing all in black anymore. I swear to God I'm convinced kids are issued a handbook for that nowadays. You can't just be yourself, which at that age you don't know what the heck that is anyways, but you have to be what your fed to believe is the correct you. That just ain't right. Just yesterday that same girl was playing with barbies and now all of the sudden she's got to think about bras and her boobs and the fact that Jennie's boobs are bigger and that Jimmy who she has a crush on seems to be looking at Jennie more and on top of that she's got to think about what she should by, and if she should get extension or highlights. That I would not do, could not do again to save my own life.


So what brought me to this major epiphany? I went to lunch with my friend Mia and was inundated with junior high schoolers fresh from their last day of school, all wearing their cutest outfits. I was trying to carry on polite conversation, but I just couldn't. Just to look in on them at that age, out from under their parents and to analyze it, look at it from an observational point of view even gave me the shudders. The way they talked, acted, dressed, carried on with each other, as if nothing mattered but it was quite obvious that everything mattered and they just teetered on the edge of inhibition and total vulnerability was kind of almost heartbreaking. I couldn't really keep a conversation together at that, just looking at them, listening to them as they talk inanely, going through their yearbooks and discussing school functions. All I could think of and articulate was that I could never do that age again. I wish that age was easier, easier for me to have gone through, easier for my friends who had it just as tough although I probably didn't recognize it at the time, and easier for the girls now, who have to live through it and walk that tight rope of blooming adolescence which seems an even harder feat than it was back then. I wish that age will be easier for my nieces, for possibly my own daughter when I have one. It's a right of passage, but it's own that seems harder and harder to pass through unscathed.

Movie Review: Children of Men

All the hype you've read about this movie? Every rave review it recieved? Totally true. Loved it. I give it an A+, especially for the Micheal Caine and his little "pull my finger" trick. I totally recommend it.

The Plight of the Onions

I've been wanting to write about this for awhile now, but either keep forgetting or am just persistently lazy (The answer is the latter, which is totally obvious, heh). So probably a month or so ago I noticed a rash of onions just flung across the left shoulder of the 238 interchange. I can't be the only person to have noticed this can I? It's just a small gaggle (would a group of onions be called a gaggle? In my world they are, so that'll have to suffice.) of onion strewn next to the concrete embankments adjacent to the Bart Tracks.

Every time I see them, I get all veklempt, which is strange but not surprising at this point. But it's just sad, because I tend to get really caught up in the story of objects and I've made up several scenarios that explain how they have met their sad fate and in all the scenarios the onions have done nothing to deserve being like so much highway detritus, some of which I've decided to share with you.

Scenario 1: Some onion, I don't know which onion, but I'm guessing it's now the onion closest to the drainage grate, given how fore lorn he looks, tired of being stifled in some burlap sack headed to, I don't know, say Buloxi, decided to stage a jail break with the following speech "I didn't just spend some odd months in a dark damp place to spend the rest of my life in ....er a dark damp place. I want to live. I want to experience the world. Who's with me?" And then a group of them stages a breakout and somehow makes a whole in their bag, only to realize that the world they are now experiencing happens to be a heavily traveled interchange smack dab in the middle of California. The speechifying onion tries to turn him and his cohorts back, but they all make a mass exodus only to truly understand their fate to late.

Scenario 2: The bag stitcher person whose job it was to seal up the onion bags was distracted that day and one bag escaped his line only partially stitched. Said bag had the sad fate of being way back on the truck, the effect of which was something like "(Insert sound of bag of chips opening) dr-drop-drop-dr-dr-dr-dr-drop-dr-drop-drop-dr-dr-dr-dr-drop rollllllllll" All while speeding cars happen to be passing overhead.

Scenario 3: "Run free my oniony compatriots, run free. Oh dude, you're in the middle of a freeway. Don't Run Free. Come back. Oh. Dude. My bad. Sorry."

All these scenarios PLUS having the sad misfortune of spotting them on my commute everyday coming back from work just make me all sad. I mean, not only is their story sad, but now, a month after it happened, nothing, except them slowly rotting, has happened to them! The weird street cleaning vehicle hasn't been buy to either pick them up like so much wasted highway garbage, or it hasn't been by to mangle them even more (so I guess that happens to be a mixed blessing). Caltrans hasn't been buy to assess (oniony) damages yet. Nothing. Just the onions. Sitting there. They are all just hanging out on the embankment, in various states of decay, looking forelorning at the passers-by, lamenting what could've been.

I've wanted for some time now to take a picture of them so there would be a face to this atrocity, but sadly my camera phone has left me hanging. But if you ever take the 238 East interchange on the way to 580, look for them, right about at the Castro Valley Bart Station, right at the crease where the road meets those big concrete pillar embankment things (those things have a name don't they? I should probably look it up shouldn't I?). Not a one of them has moved since they originally fell there, all in various huddled groups. It's just horrible. I mean, they could've been on top of someone's burger by now, or in a salad, on some vegetable stand and purchased already, but noooooo. They have to live out the remainder of their days on an interchange embankment. Not even on a self-respecting highway shoulder, an interchange. It's just more than I can handle sometimes....

American Inventor: Season 2

So the show I had a love/hate relationship is apparantly back, I'd say with a vengeance but it's more like a low "meh". And again, it happens to be driving me nuts (Hey, don't blame me for watching it. I have to find some way to pass the time between episodes of Hell's Kitchen). Starting with the judges, which. O.k., I think we all know how I feel about the snooty English archetype and how with the exception of honorbably chef Gordon Ramsey, said archetype kind of really drives me bazoo. I don't mind the new woman they brought on to judge, but she's got some big Catherine Ohara/Mom from Six Feet Under look-alike shoes to fill versus the female judge from last season. And then you have to Piston's owner/self made man or whatever, who, thanks to Mark Cuban, already has a strike against him in my mind (I don't know, something about self-made men turning Basketball Franchise owners that just sounds douchey to me).

And then lastly you have George Foreman. Before the show last night, I totally had this whole diatribe planned about how useless he'd be on the show that went something like "He didn't INVENT the George Foreman Grill, he just slapped his name on it blah blah blah, the man can't even 'invent' original names or names not a dirivitive of George for his kids how can he be expected to judge an invention contest blah blah blah." But then I saw the show and said diatribe became a moot point, and for reasons I can't explain either. Maybe it was too easy to get the whole "I'm George Foreman and if it's simple to understand I'll give it a yes vote" type of frame of mind he was in. I mean, he just sits there grinning stupidly through all these presentations and is all "I'd buy that" at the end of each one, and it's just perfect. Apparantly Georgie Boy is proof positive of the oldie but goodie "A fool and his money are easity parted" and after all the inane inventions he approved of I have to wonder how he could possibly have maintained his dynasty with the willingness to approve and possibly buy some truly stupid stuff. Dear George Foreman; I hearby salute your inane buying habits. Love; The Bloody Munchkin.

And then, dear God, you have the contestants. The only true bright spot was when the twelve-year-old girl said she wanted to punch the snooty English archetype-er I mean judge. That was the smartest thing I had heard all episode. Too bad she didn't get in. She was a little firecracker. The low spots are too innumerable to count at this point, but there are two that still have me reeling. First, Mr. Intense-guy. First off, Sammy Hagar called, he wants his hair back. Also, tone it down on the intensity. You're either going to pop a blood vessel or go postal, and based on your reaction to the judges, I'm going with the latter. Jesus.

And then we have the dude with The Therapy Buddy. O.k., where to start... The dude is wierd. Nice guy, well meaning, but dude. And then, the doll. Dear lord the doll. I ain't knocking the doll on the looks, it seems like a nice cushie little stuffed thing I'd see next to the strange heart with hands I'm always strangely attracted to at IKEA. I'm knocking it for the voice-over. Have you heard the thing? It's like what would happen if Gollum had been cast as Chucky in Child's Play. All kinds of wrong in that voice over. "Everything's going to be alright." *Shudder*. Yeah everything's going to be all right as soon as someone guts the doll to take out its little voice chip to ensure noboby hears the voice of my nightmares ever again. The inventor of The Therapy Buddy had this whole schpeel that since his appearance on the show, the product has really taken off, and everybody wants a Therapy Buddy, to which I can only shudder. The only people I can think that would by this are B-movie writers who have been battling writers block who just figured out what to base their new horror movie off of, because, did I mention? Stuff of nightmares? Lord.

And the guy gets in! He moves on to the next round!! For all the things the last season had wrong with it, it at least had the sense enough to pass on this thing. Sheesh. The only true bright spot of him getting in happened to be the sequence that followed and the monologue it produced from Fighting Nun and myself, to wit:

Fighting Nun: Is that his partner?
Bloody Munchkin: I think so, but they both look the same, and it looks like they are wearing matching clothing.
Fighting Nun: Are they swinging around in a circle?
Bloody Munchkin: Yes. Yes they are.
Fighting Nun (rewinds scene, plays it in slow motion): Dude, That's some funny stuff right there.
Bloody Munchkin: Yes, very Sound of Music.
Fighting Nun: What?
Bloody Munchkin: You know. Sound of Music? With the kids and the hills and the twirling around together and such?
Fighting Nun: No I don't know.
Bloody Munchkin: "The Heeee-illlllllls arrrrrrrreeeee A-liiiiiiive with the sound of Muuuuusic." You know, Julie Andrews.
Fighting Nun (stifling a laugh): Actually that sounds like your Cowardly Lion.
Bloody Munchkin: No it doesn't. I'll prove it. "If I were KING of the Fooooorrrrrrrrrrrest". See. Different.
Fighting Nun, (no longer stifling laughter): No, they're both the same in that they are both bad.
Bloody Munckin: Jule Andrews, The Cowardly Lion and I all hate you.*

*Actually this is what I would've said had I actually thought of it last night.

So here's to another season of American Inventor, the purpose of which seems to be that it forces Fighting Nun and myself into inane conversations.

Ninja Warrior

So this is a public service announcement, one that I wish the old me from five years ago would read and would say "Wow, that is? Awesome. I am so glad I know about this now." Because knowing that Ninja Warrior existed back then or even knowing back then that it exists now would have brought me five years of joy and lemony freshness, well maybe not lemony freshness, but definately joy.

Ninja Warrior? Is awesome. Teeming with Awesomeness. So-bummed-I-didn't-know-anything-about-it-til-now Awesomeness. To which I have to ask? Why didn't somebody tell me about this before? Somebody's dropping the ball again! Geez. I had to hear about it through a co-worker. Apparantly his adolescent boys love the show, which probably says something bad about my apparant choice in TV shows, but I don't fully understand what that is. Anyhoo. Ninja Warrior. It should be surprising to absolutely no one that I would like this show. Hello! Final-Fu! Duh! Ninja Warrior has so many things to reccomend it: Tasks that could be potentially embarrassing. The possibility for (non-serious) injury. Dominatrix Transvestites. It is absolutely perfect.

The thing that I like most about it though is that it takes itself way too seriously which means I can not take it seriously at all. Let me explain by using another show not unlike this one; MXC. For those of you not in the know regarding MXC, it's a show involving a lot of falling, tripping, running in to things and other means of torturing its contestants, all while some cheesy voice recaps every torturous fall, spill, impaling, and slip. Every part of that show, from the contests, to the hilarious over-dubbing to the replays are done to schlocky effect. Now I appreciate a good unintentional belly flop and/or groin pull as much as the next person, but with MXC there comes a point where it's all "Yeah. O.k. I get the joke. Ha Ha."

But Ninja Warrior? Does just the opposite of this. Every part of it is designed to show you how serious it is, from the over-serious contestants ("I will avenge my brother." Like What? Dude it's an obstacle course. He didn't die, he wasn't maimed. There is nothing to avenge.), to the obstacle course they have to complete (The WARPED Wall! Oooooh! Quaking in my boots), to the fact that it is a timed run (which, what?) to the Japanese Announcer guy they decided to subtitle instead of overdubbing (which has its own awesome appeal, because the Japanese announcer guy sounds all crazed and overzealous, but then the English translation of what he's saying is so mundane, and I stop reading the subtitles because they don't matter anyway and then I start thinking that this announcer dude and the announcer guy who does all the play-by-plays for soccer, you know the guy with the long drawn out "Gooooooooooooollllll" call, should have their own reality show), to the American Announcer used to recap the action (using his best Mr. Moviephone voice). Because this show. Is. So. Serious I have spent a good chunk of the time doubled over in laughter. I mean first off "The Avenge My Brother" guy. Take it easy on the righteous anger dude, geez. Then there was the aforementioned transvestite dominatrix in all her vinyl glory who ended up biffing it on the WARPED Wall of doom, because, let's face it, Fluevog clogs? Not what you should be running an obstacle course in, no matter how well they match your outfit. And to top it all off, they keep panning to shots of the crowd, looking all shocked and dismayed that somebody didn't complete the course. You hear them cheering, and then the guy, or you know, transvestite doesn't complete the course or falls dramatically and then you see the crowd all crestfallen, everyone wearing long faces. It is awesome. And to top that all off, you have the Mr. Moviephone guy giving a recap of the action and how upset everyone is that he didn't make it. It's cheesetastic and the great thing is that it doesn't know its cheesetastic so it ends up being even better!

And then, and then and then??? You have Women of Ninja Warrior. So apparantly they created an obstacle course more suited to test the strengths and weaknesses of women, which what? But I am telling you, Awesome!!! I have to say I appreciate any woman who decides to wear any of the following to an obstacle course; a skirt, a school uniform, repleat with knee socks and pleated plaid skirt (which Fighting Nun was very amused by to say the least), a field hockey uniform, a soccer goalie uniform, a postal worker's uniform, and a cosplay outfit, to which I have to ask; Did you really think you could run an obstacle course in a tutu and fairy wings, plus the wand, because let's not forget the wand? I mean talk about forethought. (The Cosplay chick, in case you were wondering, almost smacked her head into the camera stand in a spectacular splash down. Guess her wand couldn't save her.) And there was the woman who decided to run the course, said obstacle course being on top of a small body of water, who couldn't swim. Genius. Pure and utter genius. Because there are few things more rewarding than to see a woman biff a task and then flail in water for a good thirty seconds, until somebody rescues her and gets her to stand in the water. Perfect.

Did I mention I love this show? Because I love this show. I apparantly love this show so much that my brainwaves permeated Fighting Nun's thinking and he set it up on the season pass on our DVR. There might be a few things better than having all this cheesetasticness at your beck and call but I don't know what they are at this exact moment.

Adventures in iPod-Land

There's several things in my life in which I know are true, but I have a stubborn insistence to believe aren't true. Maybe it upsets my sense of fairness for instance (I'm looking at you ending of Suicide Kings, which I had to rewrite in my head. Not only did I have to put up with Dennis Leary Dennis Learying for a good 50 minutes, but I also had to deal with Christopher *Shudder* Walken, who was at the apex of his skeevocity right here. Between this movie, True Romance, and Last Man Standing he had really honed in his talent for skeeving me the heck out.), or maybe I just enjoy living in the fantasy world in my head so much that when I find out that said thing is different, I cling desperately to how I had it in my head. Yes I know. Very immature in that "La La La. Can't Hear You." kind of way. I should grow up and accept that certain things are how they are. But I can't. In fact, I kind of like that motto the dude from Mythbusters came up with. Something like "I reject your reality and create my own." I mean exactly.

Nowhere has my stubborn insistence been tested than with my new iPod. Yes I'm finally up to speed with the rest of the free world, what with fiiiiiiinally getting an iPod (Thanks Fighting Nun, for the awesome anniversary gift, socks included). I had been cleaving to my old MP3 player that I had received somewhere during Bush's first term in office (from Fighting Nun as well). As archaic as it had become, I still loved it implicitly. But what started out as a wonderful symbiotic relationship had deteriorated into the type of relationship you might have with your elderly grandfather. You talk to it in nice soothing tones as you listen to it complain incessantly. With my old MP3 player, I witnessed something I didn't know was even possible: a death rattle in increments. It didn't die dramatically all at once. Instead it kept puttering along, parts of it inoperable, it and I still cleaving to the parts of its memory that still worked. It was and is quite sad really, like trying to keep an old dog alive even though you know its time to say goodbye and he'd really be better off going to that big dog park or in this case MP3 player heaven in the sky. But I can't bare to do that to my MP3 player. Even though it's been replaced, I still have it hidden away in drawer somewhere, willing it to get better. We shared so many good memories together.

And it's because of those memories that I have a stubborn insistence that the iPod should work in much the same manner as my old MP3 player or, more to the point better. I was utterly happy to find out I could create a play list through the iPod, (which I couldn't do easily on my old player, but whatevs). But I have a very honed routine within which to hone my play lists that my MP3 player (through my computer) was more than willing to comply with. My process started with me scouring my music files and then throwing them up on a player (Winamp preferably) and seeing what stuck. Then I would begin the detailed process of listening and rearranging songs until I had a finally tuned play list of my choosing, which fit my mood, or a long list of moods. It was the perfect arrangement. (I have been able to get from Bloodhound Gang to Nick Drake in less than six songs. This makes me happy.) But the iPod itself? Doesn't let me do it that way. Listen, before you open outlook all bitter with sentiments of "Hey rookie...", trust me, I get that I can do such an arrangement on iTunes, or whatever the software is that comes with the iPod and I can still cull my play list anyway I want. I get that, but I also get that the IT Nazis here at work won't let me install that, so I'm pretty much stuck doing that at home. I want to be able to do it from the iPod though. I mean there's got to be a way right??? I throw a bunch of things in the On-the-go list and I should be able to move in any way shape or form once its up there, right? Right??? No?!? Why not??? Oh I get it, because it would make TOO MUCH SENSE!!! No, I'm rejecting this reality and creating my own. There has to be some button combination I can use to move the songs freely in the play list. I demand, it should supply!!!

I'm also insistent that the iPod, who I have lovingly named Itch (see because I got it on my seventh anniversary, which is consequently the anniversary in which you buy wool apparently, which is fitting because, you know, seven year itch and everything? Not funny?!? Whatevs. I reject your reality and create my own. That is hi-larious.), should obey what I'm thinking and not the key combination I press. Part of my brain is holding onto the notion that my iPod should predict what it is I want it to do. "No I didn't want to scroll past the P section. I wanted to stop at the P section. Don't obey the fingers Itch. Obey the brainwaves." (I might be stuck on its obedience and compliance with my every whim because I just got the box set of all the seasons of Invader Zim, which was my anniversary present to Fighting Nun, and have consequently been ordering things around way too much, amid bouts of singing the doom song and telling Fighting Nun, the dog and various inanimate objects that I need the tacos or I will explode.)

Oh, and the thing that has me the most mad? Apparently Itch and Fighting Nun did some communing before he gave it to me, because every time I use shuffle when playing all the albums, it gets stuck on things Fighting Nun really likes, like Rush followed by Yes followed by Queensryche, followed by Kings X. followed by System of a Down. What about what I like? Where's Garbage, Ladytron? Heck where's Peaches? Huh, Huh, Huh??? Which is why I tried culling a play list on it, which blah-blah-vicious-cycle cakes.

Don't get me wrong. I love Itch. I do. The Itch is all video and Fighting Nun lovingly put in some of my favorite movie moments. Like I now have the Truffle Shuffle at my beck and call, which is awesome because there have been several moments in my life in which I have either thought or uttered aloud "You know what could make this better? The Truffle Shuffle." Or, "I'm so bummed. If only I had the Truffle Shuffle, I could feel better." And now that I have the opportunity to either improve or enhance my day by watching the Truffle Shuffle whenever I want? Well, I won't say my life is complete, I mean I still need to see the Pyramids and the other eight wonders in order to say that, maybe, but I'm pretty damn close. I'm just.... so.... fulfilled. For that alone, Itch is a bringer of mirth and joy. All I ask is that Itch Obey Me!!!!!