The Bloody Munchkin's Random Thoughts

Bloody Munchkin Vs. The Book Contest

2012-01-23T08:08:00.000-08:00

So you remember that book I talked about forever and a day ago? That one where I half-heartedly sent it into a literary agent? Yeah that one?

Well it was rejected by said literary agent in 0.37 seconds forever and a day ago. And said rejection, forever and a day ago, lead to one of my favorite conversations ever:

“Yeah, they sent me back a postcard sized rejection letter.”

“Dude, I realize that postage is expensive and stuff but would it kill them to send a full size letter when they reject you?”

“I had to send a self-addressed stamped envelope with my query. They rejected me with my own postage.”

“Dude!”

I think if I were ever to open up a Café Press store or to create my own t-shirt, ‘They rejected me with my own postage’ would be the t-shirt I’d make. Well that, and I have to make both my dad and my daughter shirts that say ‘I could eat.’ Because they can, often and in quantity.

But I didn’t come here to talk about random conversations I’ve had, or what witty t-shirts I’d make if I’d have the chance. Today I took a potentially big step and submitted my book into the 2012 Breakthrough Novel Award Contest. And I have to be honest, I’m freaking out. I have been for about a week straight. I’ve thought and over-thought about a million little things and then, while entering the contest, I realized that there were a million other things that I hadn’t thought about at all, which means I’m going to spend another week thinking and over-thinking those things until the contest officially closes and I’m not allowed to think of those things any more.

Did I mention I’m freaking out? To the point of distraction and also to the point that its not just me that I’m distracting. I’m calling my phone tree for help every few seconds, bouncing ideas off of them, peppering them with the smallest insignificant questions, dumping tons of emails on them so that they can review my stuff for grammar and content. But the person getting the brunt of it is my husband, my poor amazing husband who has always sort of realized that I’m a total co-dependent but the reality hit him hard this week. I was second guessing every decision I’d ever made, up to the point that I was considering rewriting the first two chapters, or cutting them out altogether. I think he had to talk me down off the metaphorical ledge about this sort of stuff like five times. And the number of times he had to tear me away from vigorous revising this weekend was astronomical. “Would you put that away for an hour, you have a child to feed.”

Or:

“If I don’t get this published soon, I’m going to be revising it until I’m eighty!”

“I knew that. And?”

(Ok, so maybe I did come here to talk about random conversations)

Finally, I let out my worries. “What if one sentence, or one decision is the difference between making it through a round and not making it through?”

“I don’t think one sentence or one paragraph is going to make a huge difference. There’s a million different reasons why you might not make it through. The person reading your entry could be pissed off at life, or in a really bad mood or could just not be into it that day when every other day this would have been something he or she was into. Try not to over-think it.”

Which, has my husband met me? That’s all I do, ever! But he’s right, there could be a thousand reasons why I won’t make it to the next round or the round after that and they may have nothing to do with my actual book, or they may have everything to do with my book. But at some point I just have to trust that I created a great story and hope that other people see that too.

I hope so. I hope that everything Ukiah taught me and that I put in that book gets out there into the world. I hope I can share my memories of him with other people and that they’d get to know what a tremendous spirit he was, because it is in there too. I hope.

Book Review: The Sorceress

2012-01-11T08:18:00.000-08:00

I finally slogged through the Third book of The Secrets ofthe Immortal Nicholas Flamel (and again can I just say how non-handy that series title is? It’s huge and it’s clunky and it’s like trying to un-stick carmel and peanut butter from the roof of your mouth, just saying it out loud. Dear Michael Scott: Great book series, lousy series title. Signed, The World).

Before I get started with the book review can I just say that sometimes the act of reading itself can just be a chore? (Which may or may not explain my big drought of not reading, but hey, whatever.) After having the stomach flu, then watching my husband suffer through the flu and then having a bunch of other stuff going on, I was just NOT in the mood. But I finally forced myself to be in the mood and ripped through the last half of the book. And it was worth it.

You already know what I’m going to say: Blah blah blah, great sense of history and place this, blah blah blah, interesting introduction of new characters from history and legend, this time namely Shakespeare, Billy The Kid, and Palamedes (who I’m going to have to read some back story on, because I wasn’t completely sure of the reference) that, blah blah blah, while still rounding out characters he’s already introduced (namely Scathach and Joan of Arc, both of whom I love by the way), Blah blah blah, it still drags when the narrative is centered around the twins, and we’re done here.

Not quite though. What I really love about this book and the series as a whole is the different layers of mystery that we unfold throughout the story just to have another heaped on. Just when our understanding was that there were Elders and Next Generation, another layer of intrigue is added when The Archon are introduced and are said to predate the Elders. It ratchets up the mystery and there is further intrigue when it is made clear that there isn’t a straight hierarchy between the three. Thanks to politics and who knows what else, the lines are blurred between the three.

The other thing I love about the book and the series as a whole that I haven’t mentioned up to this point are the author’s notes at the end of the book. Scott, who has clearly gone to great lengths to research the places that almost become characters in and of themselves in these books, gives the reader a small reward at the end of the book by telling you more about those places. The back stories are nearly as fascinating as the books themselves and are well worth the read. In the last book he talked about The Catacombs underneath Paris. In this book, he covers the history behind Stonehenge and discusses how its formation and its importance is just as much a mystery as the books he’s writing. I love that!

Because reading this book, whether it be related to what I had going on or otherwise, felt like more of a chore than usual, I’m dinging this book down a half a letter grade. But overall, still enjoyable and I’m dying to see where the series goes from here! B

The All Star Problem

2012-01-07T12:40:00.000-08:00

So I’m watching Project Runway All Stars the other night, and was pretty much underwhelmed by their line up of “All Stars” for a variety of reasons. One, it felt as if some of the contestants brought back on this season weren’t brought back based on the merits of their design skills or craftsmanship but on their infamy. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of talented designers that should’ve won their respective seasons or placed higher than they did (Mondo, Anthony, here’s looking at you!) But, and I’m sorry about this, there’s no way Sweet P, just based on the merits of her work on her season would’ve ever been picked as an all star, and Alyssa…. Good Lawd Child No! When Heidi Klum herself said you made a model look like she was pooping fabric, you’re aesthetic isn’t where it should be, no? She was picked pretty much on the basis of the fact that she was loopy and made for good trashy television. Now, I don’t know that for sure, and haven’t read any insider dirt to back that up, but writing’s on the wall, ain’t it?

But Project Runway isn’t the only one guilty of stunt-casting from previous seasons. Let’s take a minute to talk about America’s Next Top Model All Stars shall we? As a whole, the season was jam packed with stunt-casted past contestants that were … “very polarizing” is the polite term. Perhaps the better term is the bitchiest bitches to have ever bitched in Bitchville? Bianca, Alexandra, Angelea for crying out Freaking loud. Angelea(who if the internet is to be believed, maybe WON the season of the ANTM all stars but she couldn’t keep her big mouth closed, so they ended up re-taping the finale and giving it to Lisa. Like Really?!?! Allison deserved that title damn it! I’m not bitter. What?), based on her modeling skills in her season, was not an All Star, she was a loud mouth who made an impression, and they make for good trashy TV, but unfortunately, not compelling TV.

And I mean, I get why its casted like that. First of all, the ones who are more character than talent are a brand unto themselves. People, whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not, are drawn into basket cases, the loud mouths, the wierdos, the bitches (that has been made plainly obvious by the myriad Real Housewives spin offs. Ha!), because they are easy to box up and digest for our viewing pleasure. We know we’re getting kooky when Alyssa comes on the screen and spits on fabric. We know we’re getting bitchy when Bianca waves her hand in the air and does her patented ‘Oh no you di’in’t’ look for the camera. We want our reality TV populated with the jerks, guidos, bitches, and weirdos also because of how easy it is to judge. My favorite thing on this season of ANTM was snarking on Shannon and Alexandra, because it was easy to be dismissive. The harder thing is to look at the characters for more than what gets shown to us. My husband, God bless him, actually liked Alexandra and rooted for her solely because of how vilified she was by the show and the audience, me included. It’s easy to type cast, and it’s easy to portray certain personality traits when you’re only given an hour of time each week to get to know these people.

I also get the allure of All-Star editions versus casting complete unknowns again. Each person you bring back is their own brand, has their own fan-base or has people eager to watch the season just to see a few familiar faces again. It reawakens a plodding series when it needs a new life. I get all that. But sometimes, it’s still not very compelling.

Yet, there’s still plenty of talent that has been on previous seasons that needs to be given a second chance, that if done correctly, could be very compelling. I encourage you to consider that these shows should do a “first-offs” or ‘rejects’ edition, of people who, either by circumstance, or perhaps they didn’t bring their best selves to the game that day, got kicked off too early before we ever got a chance to know them, really find out what they are about. The best example I have is from Project Runway. The first episode out of the gate was the redo of the grocery store challenge and this one guy made a deranged raincoat/dress out of a shower curtain and some picnic table clothes or some such and you could tell he just didn’t bring his all that day. I’d assume if given the chance, he’d love to redeem himself. I’d love to see him try.

I’m sure a lot of ‘first offs’ would be plenty hungry at another shot to prove themselves. Also, I’m pretty sure there would still be more than your fair share of kooks too. But ask yourselves this, what would you rather see, a bunch of hungry competitors, hoping, praying for another shot to prove themselves or a bunch of bloated ‘all-stars’ stretching out their fifteen minutes. Also, I love the underdog aspect of this idea. Imagine if somebody dumped at the beginning of Project Runway’s season came back to win an entire season? How good would that be? That’s some good redemptive arc right there. AmIright? You know I’m right.

Happy FREAKING New Year

2012-01-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

It’s not like I expected 2012 to be soooo much better than 2011, and let’s face it, after the year we had in 2010, anything is better than what happened to us that year. But I just didn’t expect it to sour from the very beginning. New Year’s Eve certainly wasn’t a predictor of anything ominous, I can tell you that much. I had a spa day, then we went out for a lovely meal NYE night.

My mom was in town and the next day we had plans to see my good friend Mommy2. Things were looking up. And then things stared directly into the center of a toilet bowl, literally, on and off for hours. That’s right people, first day of the new year and I get what I’m convinced is food poisoning right out of the gate. It was miserable. The only time I got out of the bed was to run to the bathroom. It came out of both ends that day, literally. Not that you want to know this, but I ruined a bath mat in the process (I’ll spare you the details on what bodily fluid ended up doing it in). Sorry for the horrible visuals. Then 24 hours later, I was over it. Good, I thought, I can start off the New Year properly.

Then Fighting Nun caught whatever I had two days later. Which meant we were struggling with how to watch Boo Bear while he fought the bug, all the while hoping against all hope little Boo Bear wouldn’t get the same thing (so far so good. Fingers crossed).

Which brings us to yesterday. Fighting Nun’s dad, who lives with us, has a chronic breathing disorder, so that little cold that we all catch inevitably turns into something much worse. He’d been fighting off something for awhile, until it all came to a head. He’s back in the hospital again. Thankfully it had nothing to do with our stomach bug, or whatever, but it’s horrible just the same.

It’s not the worst day of our lives, or worst week. Like I said before, this doesn’t even make the top ten list, or top twenty for that matter, but it sucks just the same. I had all this hope for the New Year, all these plans and now, it feels like all the wind has been let out of my sails. My enthusiasm for reading has kind of lulled temporarily, and I’ve stalled on the third book in the The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flammel series (which can I just say how NON-handy the title of this series is. You couldn’t have named the series of the whole something short and sweet like I dunno, The Immortals, or The Elders, could you there Michael Scott? No? Ok Then.). And I’m having trouble working up the energy or finding the time to write something longer than a tweet that’s not work related. This is the first time in the new year where I finally feel like I can write something of substance without bailing.

I’m still sticking to my resolution to read and write more, but it would be nice not to have to be spread in fifteen million directions so I could get some of it done.

I shall stop bitching and moaning, just as soon as I get up off this toilet. Back to regularly scheduled programming.

Book Review: The Magician

2011-12-30T09:46:00.000-08:00

So I plowed through The Magician just as fast as I plowed through The Alchemist and what else can I say that I didn’t already say about the first book? Does he still create interesting portraits of historical people and mythological legends? Yes. Does he still paint incredible pictures of places we thought we knew? Absolutely. Does it still drag a bit when the narrative is focused solely on the twins the stories are revolved around? Yes, unfortunately. Is it still an interesting and fun ride? Definitely.

Oh, what’s that? You could use with a few more details, you say? That didn’t really tell you anything, you say?

Well, the first thing you need to know is that he took the book international. The first book was focused mainly in San Francisco and California as a whole, with a foray into a forested shadow realm which existed on another plain of existence entirely. In this book, most of the characters have been whisked away to Paris, where they encounter new friends and new foes. Three more characters from the history books are re-imagined as centuries-old immortals, from The Joan of Arc, and Comtesse du St. Germain (who is now a DJ rock idol going by Germain who has a CD coming out, HA!) to Niccolo Machievelli, who is just as big a villain as Dr. John Dee, but written and staged as possibly more dangerous and cunning than Dr. John Dee could ever become.

The places captured in the book are just as interesting and used in imaginative ways. The Eiffel tower becomes the center of an impromptu fireworks show, the streets of Paris are overcome by a rampaging beast, the catacombs underneath Paris are a lair for a very important elder. Magical showdowns take place in very important city landmarks, showcasing the author’s sense of place and how it can impact a story as much as the characters do.

But there was actually a second story line taking place halfway across the world, back in the San Francisco bay, in Alcatraz which also used the author’s sense of place to great effect, as well as continuing to elaborate on the mythological creatures we thought we knew (Sphinxes, Vampires, Crows, and Spiders Oh My!).

And again it’s obvious that the characters around whom the story is centered, the twins, are the least of the story. Yes they are important, and their characters are being developed in unique ways, but they still aren’t the draw for me. I don’t know if it is the unnecessary angst, or the redundancy the author feels he needs to build into their narrative when telling their story, but I’m less interested in them, especially when it’s just the two of them. They work better as ciphers for everyone else to tell their stories.

It’s paced well and it leaves you wanting more, which means I’ll be downloading and ripping through the third book ASAP. B+

Grief

2011-12-29T11:04:00.000-08:00

Tragedy struck yesterday. Tragedy didn’t strike me or anyone in my family directly, but it struck someone I love and care about very much, my best friend, who has been through lots of bad days and deserves a whole heck of a lot better. She lost her sister yesterday.

I don’t want to talk about that loss because I can’t really speak to it and it isn’t my story to tell anyway. But it got me thinking and reflecting on grief, my own grief and how I processed Ukiah’s loss, my best friend’s grief, and our reactions to grief. Right as my best friend was finding out she had lost her sister, I was heading up the stairs to feed my daughter. As the tragedy unfurled around us, I was at a loss for what to do, how to react. Should I have stopped breastfeeding, leaving a crying baby in my wake to comfort my friend, should I stay and wait the agonizing minutes out until I’m done to talk to her? I was in a shambles as to what to do. I anxiously waited out the minutes, dealing with my own grief and desperation while holding my daughter. Every minute that went by, hearing the sobs and cries of my friend’s voice, I felt worse and worse.

My husband, who was away on an errand, came back to the news. He came upstairs and said the smartest thing he could say all day. “We should pay for her airfare home.” Then he did the smartest thing he did all day, he marched back downstairs, got on his computer and arranged for her flight home. He did what I wasn’t in the right frame of mind of getting close to doing, meaning he did something while I still hadn’t done a darn thing but feed my daughter.

Being on the outside of someone’s grieving process is a strange thing. Through the years I’ve been on both sides, inside looking out, outside looking in, and sometimes in the middle of both. Everyone processes grief differently, and everyone processes another person’s grief just a differently. What did she need? Was I capable of doing the right things?

But then I have to remind myself that grief is not something you should over-think. She needed a friend, a sounding board, a shoulder to cry on and a body to hug and I was nothing if not those things. And I thought back to my own grief at my son’s loss and how my best friend, on top of her own grief, helped me handle mine. From my perspective, she did a whole lot more than that. In those dark times, she talked me off an emotional ledge or two (or twenty! Ha!) where I was having trouble processing my emotions. The least I could do, or try to do, was the same for her.

We spent the rest of the night talking. Random topics came up that passed the time, everything from childhood friends to my weird, but still strongly held belief that I had to watch out for people trying to give my daughter El Ojo strictly because my best friend had told me all about it so many years ago. I didn’t know if I was doing the right things, trying to fill the silence.

I still don’t know if I did or if I’m doing enough to help with my friend’s grief. I wonder if she asked herself that question when I lost my son. I guess that’s something you never know for sure.

Book Review: The Alchemist

2011-12-27T08:44:00.000-08:00

I’m holding to my New Year’s resolution so far! And it isn’t even the New Year yet. I’m betting a thousand! Woot!

So I finally completed The Alchemist by Michael Scott and I have to say I really liked it, so much so that I purchased a digital of The Magician, the second book in the series and have started plowing through it. I’ve completed close to half of that book now too and I have to say the series has got me hook, line, and sinker.

A quick summation: The book is about two twins living in San Francisco that have a unique friendship with a couple that owns a bookshop in San Francisco and how that relationship is turned on its ear and the very nature of their lives changes when an old enemy of the couple walks back into their lives. While the story is centered around the twins, and how they may or may not be part of a prophecy put down in a book called The Codex, they are hardly the most interesting part. I’d go so far as to say the story even drags a bit when the narration is focused solely on them. Where the book, and so far the series as a whole, thrives is when it blends history and mythology seamlessly. Characters that history has marked as dead (Nicholas Flamel, Dr. John Dee) and alive and bitter enemies. Mythological creatures and places that we’re supposed to assume never existed are indeed real. And watching as all these things and places blur into each and separate is where the story really excels.

The other place in which it excels is the action. It is paced quite nicely. There are fight scenes that are quite visual, fierce characters to side with (I officially want to be Scathach, period. End stop.)

The only place where it slows is when the narration and focus comes back around to the twins, and even then it still speeds along quite nicely. When the story focuses on them, in becomes bogged down a tad in redundant emotion and narration. Things the twins are feeling are explained and re-explained a few times. Not that isn’t a part of what its like being a teenager, but for better or worse, that is where the story drags.

But really, it is only a minor quibble in a story that takes myths we thought we know and starts creating its own myth and mythology in the process, which any good book worth its weight in paper should do. Highly recommended. A-, B+.

Feeding The Baby

2011-12-23T08:29:00.000-08:00

Now that I'm doing this writing thing a little more consistently, I wrote a small essay for Drunken Bee's Feeding the Baby tumblr project. Sarah B. Was nice enough to post it on the site. I thought that I'd add it here in complete form:

’ve been thinking about how to write this a thousand different ways a thousand different times. I think everybody who expressed their opinion about breastfeeding has reiterated my point about a thousand times, which is that breastfeeding, or not breastfeeding is an individual act, and it shouldn’t be viewed as a statement on feminism or motherhood or even as who we are as mothers. The act of breastfeeding is like a snowflake, no two experiences are ever going to be the same.

Which is why I find the act of judging someone or our own self-judgment on breastfeeding so upsetting. The story I’m about to tell isn’t completely about breastfeeding but about parenting on the whole. I currently have a three month old and the whole act of breastfeeding and parenting while still not completely painless, is not even as closely fraught with the anxiety, pain, frustration, and fear I felt with my son.

I don’t know where to begin when talking about my son, except to say that he is no longer with us. We lost him ten days before his second birthday a year and a half ago. I judged myself and felt judged by every freaking body on every decision I made and we made as a family up to and definitely including the decision to let him go. Nothing about his life and my life as his parent was quote unquote normal. And every decision felt laden with doubt, and the fact that he and his medical troubles seemed to dog us at every turn didn’t help.

And the fact that there were people in the medical profession who should know better JUDGING us didn’t help. I once had to almost literally restrain my husband from crawling over a conference table and smacking a Neurologist (who should've known better) from judging us about decisions we were making. Nobody, and I do mean NOBODY, should tell a parent, especially a parent of a special needs child that they know more about that child’s care than that parent! Because we are living in the trenches not that doctor, or nurse, or lactation consultant, or any other health care professional for crying out loud! If it is working for you, good. If it isn’t working for you, change what you’re doing tell you find what something that does and for God sake’s don’t beat yourself up about it or let any FREAKING body do the same. Because they don’t know what you’re going through, they haven’t walked a mile in your shoes and they don’t know the decisions you’re making on a daily basis until they have to make them for themselves, period, end stop.

Also, if you find that you are beating yourself up about breastfeeding or your parenting skills in general, take a deep breath and remind yourselves, that the decisions you are making could be worse, with much bigger ramifications.

Every time I write about my son in any form, it always bubbles up a lot of emotions and memories, necessary but bittersweet. I'm glad I got to share this with the tumblr crowd.

New Year's resolutions

2011-12-22T09:39:00.000-08:00

2011 came and went in a blink of an eye didn’t it? Here I am on the precipice of a new year, contemplating what has happened in the year that’s about to wrap, and contemplating what I’d like to accomplish in the new one. The biggest accomplishment of 2011 for me and mine? The birth of my daughter. We welcomed her with open hearts and open arms in September and my life hasn’t been the same since.

Her birth and her life up this point have filled both my husband and myself with bittersweet joy. We’re so blessed to have her in our lives, but there’s a tinge of sadness there, because we miss her brother so much and he’s still such a big part of our hearts and our lives.

But contemplating her new life, and Ukiah’s very short one have made me want to do more with mine, and as such, and looking out into this new year coming up, I’m considering those very clichéd but necessary prospects, resolutions. As of right now, I only have two.

1. Read more.

This year has reminded me how much I love to read, and how seldom I read anything of worth through to completion. The one book I did read through to completion this year was Jane Eyre. This was the first time I’d actually read it, and I have to say I loved it! And I’ve come to the realization that I need to read more and actually finish the books I’ve started to read. In the past five years, I’ve started Michael Chabon’s The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay twice and STILL have not finished it. I’m halfway through CJ Cherryh’s very awesome Down Below Station and still haven’t finished that either! I received an Amazon Kindle Fire as an early Christmas gift from my company and I’m currently in the middle of Micheal Scott’s The Alchemist but that’s only because I got halfway through Michael Scott’s The Necromancer before I realized that there were three books before it! So I obviously want to work my way through that series sometime this year. And that’s just the books I’m halfway in the middle of. I still have a list of books a mile wide that I haven’t even started yet.

I bought Swamplandia at my favorite bookstore ever (Hi City Lights! I love you! I don’t tell you that enough!) because it was so highly recommended and have not started it. My mother gave me The Book Thief and Little Bee with the intention that I actually read them and I really, really, really want to! I also downloaded a bunch of free books on that Kindle Fire that I want to get through. Also, I won a hardcover version of Emma (Thanks again at @PenguinUSA!) that I want to plough through. I’ve forgotten how worthwhile the act of reading through a book is and I want to rekindle (Ha!) my love affair with books if at all possible. I know it’s a heady proposition, having a child that’s not even one yet and trying to fit in reading, but I have to try! And I want to document this new love affair here if at all possible. Which brings me to my next resolution:

2. Write more.

As I wrote earlier this year, I’ve dubiously started writing again, which started with revising my completed novel and beginning the second novel in the series. I did revise the first one and began the process of trying to get it published, and I was rejected by my first literary agent! Woo! I’m still (slowly) trying to find a literary agent, or means of getting published, which hopefully will change this year as I’m going to try and enter this contest.

I don’t know how far I’ll get, if I get anywhere, but I have to try. So I’m going to try and write more. I’m going to try to write more pages of the second and third book in the series I have planned. I’m going to try and write more in this space (I’ve made that promise before, HA!) and my other blogs and I’m just going to try and write anything that comes to me. I’ve let too many good ideas pass through me unwritten and life is too short to let good ideas pass unnoticed.

Both of these are heady prospects given my full time job, my daughter, and my husband, but I want to make them work. Wish me luck!

Ukiah's Birthday

2011-04-16T10:47:00.000-07:00

It feels like a dream, his birth. And yet I can remember everything in exacting detail. I won't bore you with those details but that was all to say its still very fresh, and at the same time very distant. Three years ago yesterday, we brought an incredible spirit into the world. A year ago on April 5th, we lost that incredible spirit.

We're still trying to sift through what those dates mean to us and how we're supposed to get through those days. On April 5th, we went to George Mark House, walked the gardens, had a few good cries, took solace at their fountains, found the rock with his name on it at one of those fountains, said hellos, hugged necks, went to our favorite pizza place and came home. Doesn't sound like allot but believe you me it was exhausting.

Yesterday, we didn't want to wallow, we wanted to celebrate. So we went to San Francisco. We went to a museum, had lunch, bought cream puffs at the most amazing place in the city (Dear Pacific Puffs on Union, do you deliver, because there is one pregnant lady in Livermore who wishes you did).

We celebrated his life and by extension our own. It was nice, not to fraught with tears.

I did have one moment though. On the way out of the museum, we saw a lady with a little girl in special wheel chair. I could tell just be looking that the little girl was obviously special needs. If I had to guess, I'd say she had cerebral palsy. I was at once hit with two conflicting emotions. One was elation. I love when parents of special needs kids take them out and give them experiences as if they were any other kid. It makes me happy, as if those parents and those kids are going on as if whatever diagnosis isn't a hinderence but something they can overcome.

At the same time, I was hit with fact that I wished that could've been Ukiah. I would've given the world to load him up a car and go to a museum, hit the beach, take in a movie with him. He deserved all the experiences of the world, and because of his health issues, he got to have very few. That's one of the many heartbreaks I've had to face unfortunately, one that I'm not likely to get over, at least not any time soon.

There is a bright spot to yesterday. My giving page raised over 800 dollars in a day. Its current total is at 2,319! The lovely and wonderful people through Tomato Nation's fundraiser did that. Which is totally awesome. Thank you all for making my day a little brighter, and for celebrating my son's legacy. I appreciate it.

Remember April 5th and April 15th

2011-04-04T15:28:00.000-07:00

It somehow snuck up on us. We'd both been so busy to notice until now, but its here whether we wanted it to be or not. Tomorrow is the day we lost Ukiah. The realization hit us both like a punch in the gut. I don't even know what to do about it at this point.

April 15th will be here before we know it as well. His birthday. We're taking the day off to celebrate it and him. It you'd like to take a few moments to remember him yourself either tomorrow or on the 15th, please feel free.

As a way of remembering him tomorrow or on the 15th, please take a moment and donate a few bucks either to George Mark House or to my Donors Choose Giving Page that I set up in his honor.
I wish I had more to say on this matter, but I'm too wracked by emotions to say much more. Just please keep him in you heart this month and on these two days.

Little Gestures

2011-03-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

I'm sometimes surprised at the effect a simple action can have. We know of one anology or another regarding this phenomenon. The whole 'a butterfly fluttering its wings can start an earthquake in China' trope we've heard a bunch of times, but nonetheless seems to be true. Every once in a while I decide to flutter my wings in a good way. Sometimes its giving twenty bucks to the homeless person in the grocery store parking lot, other times its giving all my spare change to the salvation army collectors during Christmas. And then of course, there's my fund raising for George Mark House.

But no where does my little fluttering have as big an impact as when I participate in the Tomato Nation Donors Choose fundraiser. Because its not just me, its thousands of people like me turning out for a cause, to help public schools and school teachers with much needed funding. Together, with all the others that donate, I get to say that I'm part of a movement that has helped raise hundreds of thousands of dollars for a good cause.

This year, the fundraiser is done a little differently. Before, Tomato Nation just listed a bunch of projects she wanted funded, with all the projects equallng the sum of money she wanted to raise for the whole month. I always found something on the list I liked and would donate 20 or 25 bucks or if I have the means to, close out a project. Last year, I donated 75$ to a special needs project and I couldn't have been more thrilled. The thank you notes alone had me coasting on happy thoughts for month. Just recently I completed a project to send a group of first graders to The Nutcracker. The thank you notes were adorable construction paper gingerbread men with lovely thank yous from the students written inside. I keep them in a special drawer, they are that important.

This year is a little different. Any of Sar's fans that wanted to, could create a giving page and attach it to her fund raising efforts. So I did. I picked only special needs projects because after everything that happened with my son, it seemed like the right thing to do. I created the giving page in his honor and named it for one of his best attributes, his heart.

(Here the full link, just in case: http://www.donorschoose.org/donors/viewChallenge.html?id=156315&max=25)

It was a small gesture. It cost me absolutely nothing, it was completely painless and hassle free and it was a way to honor my son. What could be better? Well I was about to find out.

I hadn't expected a lot from it to be honest. I had two teachers who asked if I'd add their projects. I did that and gave them a couple of bucks. I figured that's all it would raise, and I was fine with that. Then all of the sudden, a wonderful donor closed out three of the projects I selected, and it became part of my giving page total. Then my husband gave. And then a co-worker. It's not even April yet and this little giving page has raised over 200 bucks and closed out four projects. According to Donor's Choose 79 students have been reached, just by my having put a giving page together.

But the story gets better. Awhile back I did a survey for donor's choose and as a thank you, they gave me 5 $25 gift certificates to give to my friends. I sent one to my husband, to my mom, and a coworker and the other two I sent to the two teachers who e-mailed me with kind words for my giving page. One of the teachers recieved her certificate today and has already put it to her project and is almost funded! I am totally thrilled. All these little acts seem to be having a big impact and that's amazing.

I want you to keep one thing in mind, this fundraiser is set to start in April! It's not even April yet and my giving page has raised just close to 250 bucks. The entire total for all of the giving pages for the fundraiser is close to $5000!

Imagine what will happen when our wings really start fluttering.

The Big Step

2011-03-14T08:23:00.000-07:00

I did something kind of momentous, at least it was for me. I sent out a sample of my book to a literary agent. It was the last, and relatively small step I've been meaning to do since I finished my book a year and a half ago. And yet it was huge.

I don't talk about the book much, here or anywhere else, mostly cause Chris has me so paranoid that it could be stolen at any moment that I'm scared for anybody to look at it. Its also partly because I'm so tied up in it that I don't want to write about it, afraid of sharing too much. But its something important to me, mostly because its the only piece of fiction work I've actually had the wherewithal to complete. I love writing creatively, but aside from the odd short story or rambling essay, I haven't had the true compunction to finish writing anything bigger than a few pages.

Then Ukiah came along and changed all that. I was so inspired by what he went through and so motivated by not just his story but his spirit, that I felt it necessary to write it all down and put is somewhere. It's a piece of work I like to call partly autobiographical, partly science fiction. It's not Ukiah's story, in case you're wondering, but he's in there. It's not all about his medical trials and tribulations, but they are in there too. It's about so much more than that. Like all great books, I believe it takes a new and irreverent look at the human experience, and I think that's really what writers want to do. We just want to provide a thread to the tapestry of life.

And so yesterday I knowingly and willfully gave a piece of that thread to a literary agent clear across the country. All my hopes and dreams for the future are in the fed-ex box headed East. Yesterday I tweeted "Just left my future in the hands if a kinko's guy. Bye-bye writing sample for lit agent! Do me proud!" then I promptly entered my prenatal yogo class, picked a card my teacher hands out for the day containing affirmations, and saw that I picked the Surrender card. Basically, the card stated, I need to surrender to the fates whatever happens now. Apt, for what I'd just done. There's not much else I can do but surrender. I did my best. I scoured and cleaned my writing sample to within an inch of its life. I rewrote and rewrote sections. I checked and double checked the query letter and now all I can do is wait.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring or the day after that. Maybe the lit agent will read the first 50 pages, become intrigued and then ask for the rest. Maybe I'll get a form rejection letter saying better luck next time. Maybe my package will get lost in freaky plane accident a la The Castaway, and will be adrift out to sea for a decade until somebody brings it back. All I know is I have to try. I have to get someone to see the beauty in what I wrote, so the outside world will. Also, apparently, I have to surrender.

Scar Tissue

2011-03-10T13:32:00.000-08:00

When I'm trying to describe what the aftermath of losing my son is like, I often use a lot of gritty morbid metaphors. I don't think anybody is fully going to understand the scope of losing a child unless they do it themselves. There are just so many things that thanks to the limits of the English language, I just will not ever be able to put into words correctly. But I try to paint a picture. I mean, I'm a writer, that's what I do.

I once had to describe to my mother what it was like living in my house without my son. The best analogy I could come up with is that immediately after having him and finally getting to bring him home. It's was as if a bomb of toys, and teeny socks, and pacifiers went off and the debris of that bomb was spread everywhere. Every room of the home, so many nooks and crannies of our cars were even filled with things for him. It was a bomb I didn't mind and actually kind of loved. There wasn't an aspect of our home that wasn't inundated with his presence. When he died, we quietly, diligently, but sadly went about the process of picking up the debris he left behind. Some things I was pretty good about parting with. I donated one of his two cribs without too much attachment, gave a bunch of his toys to his physical therapy department (we still have tons of stuff that was his). Somethings were too 'radioactive' to move or even touch. The footstool/storage bin in the living room is still filled to the brim with books and toys that were his most used. The crib in our room hasn't budged an inch since Chris first assembled it. The bin of toys sitting on Chris's nightstand is something we both refuse to move from its rightful spot. Neither of us have vocal said so, but its just something we know we won't move just the same. There are other things I feel I should get rid of, and am paralyzed to do so sometimes. I have this little box on the bathroom counter filled with hair doodads and makeup. Somehow, his little toothbrush is in it. I can't move it, hell I cry just trying to touch it. In the same box, there was a little filter belonging to one of the feeding systems we used to feed him via a port in his stomach. A few months ago, I found it, knew I should throw it out, couldn't, and started sobbing. That's all in effort to say that we are contaminated with Ukiah radioactivity that we will never willfully be rid of, and to me that's a good thing, wierdly.

The other metaphor I use to better describe the state of things, my state of things, is that losing a child is a lot like having been a cardiac bypass recipient. My father had one close to fifteen years ago, so I know of what I speak I guess. First of all, you come out the other side, and you're not really the same. Sure you do things in essence of feeling and acting normal and like you were before all this happened, but in truth, you're not really, and you're never going to be. You walk around with this deep scar on your chest that nobody knows about, or sees immediately. But it's there, and you can always feel it, you're always aware of it.

My big issue at this stage (other than pregnancy hormones and nausea) is that I end up revealing that chest wound in really strange ways sometimes. Today, I had to get some blood drawn for my prenatal blood panel. No big deal, or so I thought. The whole morning I'm fine, its business as usual, no big deal. Then I get to the blue padded blood drawing chair and I start to get anxious. I hate needles, I hate watching my blood get drawn, I hate the weird rubber band thingies, I hate making fists. I can't stand any of it. And then suddenly. I was struck be this thought of the multiple times my son had his blood drawn, and the multiple attempts at threading an IV into his vein, and the one hospital stay where they put in an arterial IV as well and were deciding whether or not to sew in a PIC line and all the utter shit he went through and never had a say in and I lost it. I not only showed my scars to my phlebotomy technician, I felt as if I had reopened them and started bleeding on her. I hate being that visible about this, and yet, embarrassingly enough, I'm achingly visible. I sometimes feel I'm begging to show them to anyone who wants to see. Maybe I'll grow out of that impulse and things will get easier. Maybe those wounds will ache less and I'll feel more inclined to keep them under wraps. It's hard for me to say.

Piggy Banks for George Mark Update

2010-09-14T11:32:00.000-07:00

Hi all! Sorry I haven't been around last week very much. Work was crazy and I had a health thing that knocked me on my butt for a few days and made me feel miserable, but that's not say there aren't updates to be made. I finished some more jewelry items that I'm donating to George Mark House for their own silent auction taking place on October 2nd. I'll be posting pictures of those items some time this week so you can peep some of what might be in store for you if you donate to George Mark House and win!

Also, I might have another item to put on the Prizing list that I'm finalizing. I think, I hope, I don't know.

The awesome and wonderful Sars has made a decision on the bracelet she wants and I'll be getting that out the door this week, so I'll be updating the prize list to exclude that bracelet.

And lastly, I just got a donation yesterday, which puts the total for this fundraiser at $200! I'm so happy about this because that's two hundred bucks George Mark House wouldn't have had otherwise, it's two hundred bucks that will go a long way to helping children just like my son and families just like mine. But there's still more to be made, more to do. You guys have to raise 800 more bucks to get me to do the truffle shuffle, but I think we can do it, so let's get 'er done! Get those donations in and e-mail me. You've got sixteen more days until the end! Get those piggy banks filled and cashed in! Whatever you can do to help! I'd appreciate it.

Did you get a receipt but you haven't e-mailed me yet? E-mail me at tyliagardner @ hotmial (dot) com. I'll try and put a direct e-mail link into the George Mark Fundraiser panel on the right. If that doesn't work, let me know in the comments and I'll try and work something out.

Thanks you guys. Keep it going.

Machete Don't Text

2010-09-07T07:57:00.000-07:00

I may or may not do a full review of Machete later but none of that matters cause Machete Don't Text. I freaking love that and it has now become the best reason I have for not texting ever. Machete Don't Text, that's why. In fact I think it's quite a handy little saying. In the pantheon of short pithy responses I think it sits right next to "Look at the Big Brain on Brad."

Dear Think Geek;

I've never asked you for anything, and you have track record of just giving and giving anyway, but if you'd make a shirt that says Machete Don't Text I would love you forever. It would be right up there with your Rule #2: Always Double Tap and Hello my name is Inigo Montoya T-shirts as the shirts I'd most covet ever. Thank you.

With much love, They Bloody Munchkin

Movie Reviews: Whip it and Where the Wild Things are

2010-09-06T08:43:00.000-07:00

We interrupt your regularly scheduled George Mark House Fundraising news for the following diverting post:

I finally got to see two movies that I had been dying to see when they were in theatres, but thanks to Ukiah's health issues, I just couldn't. Needless to say, due to the wait, I had built both up in my mind, and I have to say both lived up to my expectations, but in totally different ways.

First up, Whip it! I have to say, Drew Barrymore's directorial debut was much better than expected. In fact, I think I'll probably have an emotional attachment with this movie like I did with Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, where I can't delete it off the DVR and it somehow fulfills a need in me while watching it. It's that note perfect.

The characters felt lived in and note perfect and its the type of movie that you just want to climb into and get lost. And this by no way takes anything away from Page or Harden, but this movie belonged to everyone else really. I wanted to get to know each of the side characters more. From Kristin Wiig's, character bad-ass mom by day, bad-ass roller derby chick by night, to God forgive me, to Daniel Stern's push-over sports-obsessed dad. Which O.k., I loved that character more than a little bit because when his character showed up to the Roller Derby rink in a felt cowboy hat, it more than reminded me of my own dad who had a period of about a decade of wearing a cowboy hat everywhere and I can't not love that. And since I'm up, Daniel Stern needs to be in more things more often. He can't just show up in things like City Slickers and Little Monsters and be a constant fixture in my adolescent head, then disappear behind his Wonder Years narration then disappear altogether in my psyche to just resurface in Whip It. That seems not right somehow.

Ahem, back to the characters As always, Ari Graynor makes the most with what little she's given and she's AWESOME. Alia Shawkat's character was sweet, and adorable, not afraid to raise a little ruckus but real afraid when the ruckus gets out of control. Rosa Sparks, Smashlee Simpson, Eva Desctruction, and Julliette Lewis's character. God I love her. I love every part about her. And I really don't know why I'm rambling on like this because Joe R. put it better than I could. Everything he says is how I feel. Loved it.

Onto the second movie, which was Where the Wild Things Are. This movie and the sense of meloncholy I felt afterward have a story attached to them that I feel needs explaining. So again, this was another one I wasn't able to watch in the theaters because of Ukiah's delicate medical condition, so I eagerly awaited it on cable. But in the meantime, Chris had bought the book Where the Wild Things Are and I read it to Ukiah quite often, using voices and getting into my own sense of character. The book and those times reading it to him have a special place in my heart. And then, when we lost him, those wonderful things went away.

That's why, when this movie's sense of childlike melancholy mixed with my own nostalgic melancholy, it completely destroyed me. Visually is was a jewel to behold and it was filled with the kind of wonders that childhood imagination holds. The awesome tunnels and forts and piles were perfectly childlike. And then the sadness, that meloncholy that pervaded all the characters at the end. I couldn't help it. I cried. It was sparse storytelling that sold so much. Whatever execution faults that have been leveled at the movie, it doesn't matter, because the heart was absolutely there. Thank you Jonze, for that.

Oh, Karen O god bless you.

Prizing Update

2010-09-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

I've finally added some new prizes to the list and hope to add a few more within the next week. A wonderful friend of Tomato Nation donated a pair of knitted, beaded fingerless gloves which I'm very excited about and I made some bracelets for 7 very lucky winners, that look like this:

See all the new additions here in the prizing page.

George Mark House fact of the day #3

2010-09-03T17:48:00.000-07:00

So, first thing's first. The total is up to 150! Great News!

Also, new prizes will be eminent, but I'm still finalizing a couple odds and ends, so I'm not sure exactly when I'll post, only that it'll be within the next week.

Onto the fact of the day.

Fact #3:

Rather than overcrowded hospitals, George Mark House holds a maximum of eight children at a time. Each child receives and his or her family receives a great deal of attention from from both the staff and the volunteers. Each room has its own individual theme, with beautiful murals in each depicting different scenes. My son stayed in the Railroad Crossing room that had two murals of beautiful rolling hills with a train meandering through the scene. The rooms and the personalized care provided a perfect place for my son to get better without being intrusive. They provide a high level of care without being intrusive.

A New Way Home Screening Date!

2010-09-02T15:12:00.000-07:00

A New Way Home finally got that screening date it deserves! October 4th, at 7:00 pm, at the Grandlake Theatre in Oakland, CA! If you're in the Bay Area, its well worth your time! Mark your calenders!

George Mark House fact of the day #2

2010-09-02T11:29:00.000-07:00

I have some quick updates before I get started. First, I added a total counter to the side panel so we can all keep up with the donation total. Keep it glued to the Piggy Banks for George Mark panel for total updates.

Also, I have a few more prizes to add to the prizes list in the next week, so keep a locked here for prizing information.

Thirdly, the current total just doubled from $25 to $50 this morning!!!! Yeah!!! Keep those donation reciepts coming!!! Thanks to everyone who has donated and spread the word on this little drive so far!!!!

O.k., so without further ado, here's your little fact of the day about George Mark House.

Fact of the Day #2:

George Mark House offers a wide range of services to the children who come into its doors. They have an in house hydrotherapy pool as well as a fully licensed on-call hydro-therapist. They also have a child life specialist that provides fun, games, arts and crafts not only to the children but to their siblings as well. They offer a wide range of fun events to all the occupants that come in the door. And I'm talking a wide range of fun events. Therapy dogs, fireman, bunnies, traveling zoos, proms. They have it all. They actually had a camel on their campus! A camel! They once brought a mini pony into my son's room. Where else can a sick patient get to pet a mini pony? Nowhere else that I know of. So let's get those doors back open!

George Mark House fact of the day #1

2010-09-01T12:39:00.000-07:00

Today marks the official start of this little contest of mine. I just want to take a moment and thank everyone whose participated so far. Right now, the official total stands at $25. If you want to make me do the truffle shuffle and FILM it (I mean, I do the truffle shuffle a lot, there's never been videotape proof though), we're shooting for 1,000, so get those jars going and scrounge that loose change!

In the mean time, I thought I'd post little facts and tidbits about George Mark House that make it great, unique and center worth your money and energy.

Fact #1

George Mark House is the only palliative pediatric care house in the nation that helps children with life-limiting illnesses. There are upwards of 40 houses like George Mark House in the U.K, but there's only one in the United States and that's George Mark House. And right now it's doors are closed, so the US doesn't even have that. We have a responsibility to kids like my son to ensure that they do have something like this available. Let's think of the kids.

A New Way Home

2010-08-31T11:26:00.000-07:00

Just in case you needed a little bit more incentive to donate to George Mark House, please check out this trailer to a documentary made at George Mark House following three families as they go through the process of having to lose a child. It's a powerful, moving trailer that frankly hits a little close to home for me, but is well worth your time regardless.

There is a screening for the film being finalized for some time in September at the Grand Lake Theater in Oakland, CA. Keep tuned to the movie's website or to mine for a showtime as soon as it is finalized.

Ben Tuller, the filmmaker, was a volunteer at George Mark House as well as the documentarian for the film. He took care of Ukiah once during his September stay and was saddened to hear of our loss. Check out his website and his facebook to send him some support for his project.

Piggy Banks On a Roll!!!

2010-08-27T08:24:00.000-07:00

Wow! I mean wow. Today's my birthday and I just received the best birthday present in the shape of an awesome outpouring of support. This morning I got up and received a wonderful e-mail from Sars at Tomato Nation letting me know she'd posted my little fund-raising efforts on her website, which is wonderful news because we all know that Tomato Nation Readers have some of the biggest hearts out there, and already I've gotten some comments and e-mails, letting me know people have already contributed.

The first e-mail I received was from a woman in the UK saying she'd donated ten bucks and I cried! I literally cried. It's only 8:30 and I've already received a small kindness from a woman halfway across the world. This is such great news I can't even begin to tell you.

On an administrative note, I've added links to my side panel so that you can keep up with Piggy Bank news easily. I also added a Donate Now link to the side panel so you can go straight to George Mark's donation page and make a donation.

Also, I was asked what my son's name was so that a donation could be made in his honor, which is such a wonderful sentiment. His name was Ukiah James Gardner, and he was quite loved by all the staff at George Mark House.

Let me know if you guys have any other questions in the comments or e-mail me.

Thanks so much for the love you guys!

Piggy Bank Prizing and Administration Notes

2010-08-25T11:25:00.000-07:00

There seems to be some really great momentum to this little contest of mine, I just want to outline some rules and regulations for the Contest. I’d like to officially start the contest on September 1st, lasting the whole month of September, but if you’ve already donated, don’t worry about it. Just send me the receipt of your donation to George Mark and that is your entry into the contest.

The contest will end at Midnight on September 30th. Make sure you’ve sent me your donations/receipts before that date to be entered into the contest. I’m more than willing to take donations myself and send them to George Mark but to make sure you get the tax exemption for the donation, you’re better off donating to George Mark itself. You can donate right on their website and they should provide an e-mail confirmation. Just send that to me via my e-mail address (tyliagardner at hotmail dot com). If you’re having trouble donating/getting a confirmation, let me know and I’ll see what I can’t work out.

I’ll select winners at random once the contest concludes and you’ll be notified by e-mail as to your prize. I’ll start e-mail notification on October 5th, so keep your eyes peeled to your e-mails.

If you’ve donated to George Mark but don’t want to be part of the contest itself, at least send me an e-mail and keep me informed of the donation. I’m keeping a tally of how much we raise. If we can raise $1,000 by the end of the month, I’ll reenact Chunk’s Monologue from the Goonies (You know the one I'm talking about!). $2,000 and I’ll add Chunk’s Truffle Shuffle to the list. If we go higher, I’ll add to that but it will be TBD. And if we are somehow able to earn 5,000, I’ll go for broke.

And again, if you don’t want to donate to George Mark itself, feel free to donate a prize. Any prize, or little token of your thoughtfulness that we can give out would be much appreciated. Knitted hats, quilts, the promise of baked goods, anything would be appreciated. I’ll take any kind of little prize or giveaway.
Much more important to me though is just getting the word out. Please post this on your blog, facebook page, twitter account, or any other social networking site you use. Please e-mail anyone you can think of. I want as many people as possible to know about George Mark House and the good it does for families who have children with life-limiting illnesses. A goal George Mark House has for itself is that they’d like to see several houses like it spring up in metropolitan areas around the country, but they can’t do that if they can’t open their doors and keep them open. So just tell people about George Mark House and the service it provides.
O.k., I’m off my soap box. Now, on with the important stuff.

Prizes

The prizes I have going on right now are:

A rosary using my grandmother’s beads made by me
A homemade necklace made to the winner’s liking
A homemade pair or earrings made to the winner’s liking
A homemade bracelet made to the winner’s liking
A piece of broken jewelry repaired – just send it to me and I’ll try my best and fix it.

One of seven U HOPE bracelets, made by me - The Bracelets all have leather string with letter beads spelling out U HOPE, with a unique blue bead between the U and HOPE. U was my son's first initial. The blue bead represents his beautiful blue eyes. HOPE is something we should all have in our lives. See pictures attached at end of post. I've attached eight pictures but one of those bad boys is earmarked for Sars, and as soon as she tells me which one she wants, I'll take it's picture off the website.

A batch of my mother’s wonderful homemade sugar cookies

One pair of lovely knitted and beaded fingerless gloves in red courtesy of Resa S. The gloves will be knitted similar to the ones pictured here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/goblinqueenie/3293652183/in/set-72157604047712581/ See also the tiny url: http://tinyurl.com/25fdd7v

That’s all for now, but there will be more to come. There might be a homemade baby quilt from my mother and a jar of my aunt Claire’s famous Nana Jam added to the prizing. And trust me, you’re going to want the Nana Jam. Made from the finest vine ripened wild raspberries my uncle Merle can pick and sweetened to perfection by my Aunt Clair, it is gold in a jar. I’ve seen blood feuds started over her Nana Jam. I’ve heard curses muttered under breaths and the worst stink eye administered to those lucky enough to receive a jar, so be on the lookout for that. I may also get some gift cards to sweeten the deal. Again, let me know if you want to add to the prizing or have anything to add. Keep it glued here for any contest or fundraising efforts. I hope this really gets some momentum going.

Without further ado, here's the picture of the bracelets I mentioned.

Piggy Banks for George Mark House

2010-08-20T14:33:00.000-07:00

I have trouble going into my son’s nursery since his passing. It’s to be expected I know. There are just so many things in the room with which that I’m at a loss. I’m at a loss anyway, obviously. I could go on, but I won’t. One item in particular that had me at a loss was my son’s piggy bank. It is a stately piggy bank, in a deep midnight blue color that has given it a lot of gravitas. My mother was gung ho about filling it to the brim. My mother was gung ho regarding just about everything in my son’s life (as you do) but the piggy bank seemed to be of deep interest to my mother. She spent two summers filling it. It is quite hefty and determining what to do with it sent me reeling until I realized it had a purpose.

It needs to go to George Mark House. Anything and everything I could possibly give them needs to go to them but this in particular does. I think I’ve explained my love for George Mark House on at least an occasion or two. And if I haven’t made clear the love I’ve had for the remarkable unique soul that was my son on either of my blogs, you’re just not looking hard enough. But perhaps I haven’t made clear the connection between George Mark House and my son.

In September of 2009 my son got deathly sick. It wasn’t the first time and it wasn’t the last, but it was just as scary as any of them. We had a lengthy hospital stay to contend with. Again, not the first time, but it ended up being the last. We had some insanely difficult decisions to make that hospital stay, and one of them was whether to stay in the hospital or explore another option. That other option was George Mark House. We had some preconceived notions about George Mark House being a glorified senior center for kids, and some other completely preposterous notions. Then we took a tour of the place and realized it was exactly where he needed to be. He spent a month there and it was an absolutely perfect place for him to get better on his own terms but with a lovely and supportive staff helping him and us every step of the way.

One of the mottos George Mark House lives by is that once you’re there, you’re family, and as far as I’m concerned truer words were never spoken. They were a vast resource and a huge comfort. I could call their nurse’s station or their on-call doctor whenever I needed which was a security blanket I needed. Their nursing staff would call and check in on us to see if there was anything we needed on a routine basis. The emergency respite service they offered was a safety net that was nice to know was there. I didn’t have to tackle things alone if it got too difficult and that was so vastly helpful to me, just the thought of having something to lean on if I needed to.

And then, all the sudden it wasn’t there anymore. Two weeks before my son died, I received a call that they could no longer take patients and they had to close their doors for an undetermined amount of time. Most of the money they had to run their beautiful center was based off donations and grants wherever they could get it and the money had run out. They could no longer afford to run the center and take on any patients. Most medical programs, especially state-run medical programs, and insurers didn’t recognize the services they offered and therefore didn’t pay fora patient's care there. Our insurance did thankfully, but generally, with allot of the patients they took in that wasn't the case. George Mark House just didn’t have the financial structure in place to be able to keep its doors up.

We were heartbroken and bereft. The safety net had been pulled out from under our feet at the worst possible time. My son was battling a common cold that for him was anything but common. It would end up taking his life at that time and during his battle, we always had it in the back of our heads that we could turn to George Mark House when things took a turn for a worse. To find out we couldn’t was devastating.

Then the worst possible thing happened. We lost him. We were bereft again but now in the worst possible way. The type of heartache we suffered no parent should have to feel, and yet it happens far too often. We were suffering a great loss and million tiny losses all at once. We had a thousand decisions to make, none of which we wanted to make; what to do with his body, should we have a viewing, where to have his service, all of it. None of them were easy to make until it became a little be easier. I received a call from someone working at George Mark House. Even though their doors were closed to patients, they could still handle arrangements for funereal services if we wanted. I couldn’t think of a more fitting, beautiful place for everything to be held and a fitting way to honor his memory and who he was and we immediately said yes. We had both his viewing and celebration of life services there and they were both as beautiful and fitting tributes to our wonderful son as we could have ever asked. They bent over backwards to accommodate us and I’m eternally grateful.

Though their doors were closed, their hearts were still open. Even with their hands tied, they still opened their arms to embrace us. What they did for us was priceless. I’m just hoping to at partially return the favor, although I’m not sure that favor can ever fully be repaid.

That’s why I’m donating my son’s Piggy Bank to George Mark House. But its contents are probably just a drop in the bucket to what they really need to get going. They are planning on reopening by October 4th with a new financial structure in place to hopefully keep them afloat and their doors open. But they can probably use all the help they can get to ensure that their doors remain open once they do. That’s why I’m proposing Piggy Banks for George Mark House and here’s where I’m hoping the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. I think if we can start a grass roots movement over the internet and e-mails, we might really be able to make a difference.

How It Works

Most of us have a stash of lose change we’ve been keeping around that we plan on using for a rainy day or for a special occasion. You know that stash. Maybe it’s a jar you keep near the washer when you’re emptying out your pockets (that’s where ours is), maybe you have a swear jar you keep around to try and keep your dirty mouth clean, maybe your center console in your car is where pennies go to die. All I’m asking is that you keep adding to that change stach for the whole month of September and at the end, cash it out and send the proceeds to George Mark House. Don’t have a piggy bank, swear jar, center car console or some other erstwhile coin collecting receptacle? Start one and add to it little by little for the month of September. Cash it in and send it George Mark House. Too strapped to even do that? Living off the change you’re collecting your own self? Well think smaller, maybe just see what you can set aside for a week and cash that in. Any little thing you can do to ensure their doors can remain open will help. Don’t do any cash transactions anymore? Well think about doing it for a month, or a week in September, see how much change that generates and send it in. Think that’s way too much work and feel like just making a donation to their website, well do that too.

I’m thinking about doing a contest not unlike the one Sars holds every year in October for Donors Choose. Basically, send me your receipt for your donation and that’s your entry to the contest. I’ll give out prizes at the end of the month to people whose receipts I’ve selected randomly from the pile. I don’t have much to offer at the moment. Right now, off the top of my head one of those prizes are one the rosaries I’ve been making using my grandmother’s jewelry, but if you win it, that pretty much means you’re part of the family, which believe me you, is a much greater prize. I’d also be willing to throw in hand-crafting a piece of your own choosing. I’d be willing to make a necklace, earrings, bracelet, anklet, headdress (that might be stretching it) of your own choosing. You choose the colors and I’ll happily make it for you. Don’t feel like donating to George Mark but might feel like donating a prize? That works too. Email me at tyliagardner at hotmail dot com.

Don’t feel like doing any of that but are still mildly interested to try and help? Well that works too. Post a link to this on you blog, facebook page, myspace page, or twitter account and get the word out. Email family, friends, friends of friends, frenemies, friends or frenemies, old acquaintences, that strange guy at work who has the smelly cubicle and your convinced there’s a superfund site existing somewhere underneath some pile of papers that will rule the planet some day, anyone and everyone you can think of. Getting word out about this wonderful organization is just as important as giving it money because people don’t know it exists or don’t understand the importance of having a center where families with children who have life-limiting illnesses can go for support.

Need more incentive, to help? Well, if we as a collective group can raise a certain sum of money, I’ll be willing to do something silly and embarrassing and post said fruits of my labor on the internet. No, I won’t shave my head or dress like a tomato. I considering reenacting my favorite scenes from movies as reward. If we can raise$ 1,000 by the end of the month, I’ll reenact Chunk’s Monologue from the Goonies (You know the one I'm talking about!). $2,000 and I’ll add Chunk’s Truffle Shuffle to the list. If we go higher, I’ll add to that but it will be TBD. I didn’t have many readers of my regular blog and not posting for two years has scared off any fans I did have. I have one follower on my rosary blog so I’m not sure where this is all going to go, or if it will go anywhere, but I have to try and I’m hoping beyond all hope that you’ll try with me. Help me make a fool of myself on the internet. It’s for charity. It’s also for my son, for keeping his memory alive and I can’t think of anything more noble than that. Thank you.

Mother's Day Sucks

2010-05-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

Can I be honest with everybody? Sometimes honesty can be politically incorrect, or unpopular, but I want to be honest. Because honestly, yesterday sucked. It sucked hard. Mother’s Day 2010 wasn’t the suckiest day I ever had. That honor goes to the day I lost my son. It probably doesn’t even make the top ten of suckiest days in recent memory. In order the other nine are; the day after I lost my son, that day in November he suffered his hypoxic event, the day we sat in an office full of pediatric pulmonary, neurological, and internal medicine specialists and they told us some very hard truths about Ukiah’s condition and I had to contain my husband to not crawl over a conference table and throttle a doctor and we had to make some very hard choices about Ukiah’s condition and we had to draw some very hard lines in the sand that we wouldn’t be willing to cross to save his life, the three very, very close calls we had in the Hospital NICU and PICU (tied for fifth), the first two days of his life in which I was stuck in a hospital twenty miles away from the hospital he was stuck in and I couldn’t see him at all (tied for eighth) and every day I spent in the hospital in which another family lost a child and I was witness to their heartbreak and experienced my own heartbreak for them(that’s four days in total, tied for tenth). So obviously, yesterday doesn’t make the list.

But Mother’s Day sucked nonetheless. To start with, I was antsy and bitter about the whole Mother’s Day enterprise days, neigh weeks prior to the day. Then I went for my usual Sunday Morning bagel run and was accosted by the guy at the register with a simple question; “Are you a mother?” It was a simple question but I didn’t know how to answer it. So I told him no. “Well if you were I was going to wish you Happy Mother’s Day.” I couldn’t process it. Then I called my mother and told her the story (after wishing her a Happy Mother’s Day) and she was a little shocked that I didn’t say yes to that simple question. And then I snapped and said something more mean-spirited than I intended.

“I’m not a mother. What am I mothering now? A box?” I looked over at the pile of toys sitting on the fireplace tile and searched the center of the pile for the little white sterile-looking plastic box that held my son’s remains as I said it. I can’t hold the box, not like I held him. I can’t squeeze the box and kiss it’s head and tell it how much I love it. I can’t feed the box, change its diaper, administer it’s medications, suction it, play with it, run it through its exercises and do all the things I did with Ukiah that made me his mother. I don’t have the routines that comprised our days, I don’t have several different specialists to talk to, phone calls to make, all the thousands of details that comprised the label of Mother. I don’t have any of that now and I feel I’m completely unworthy of the title no matter how much anyone and everyone tells me I’m still worthy of it.

I guess in my heart I’ll always be his mother but how can I mother him when’s he’s gone somewhere I can’t follow? It seems empty now in a way I can’t describe. Chris said I was more worthy of the title than a lot of mothers out there because I did more for him in two years than some mothers are capable of. He also said that I should answer the question with an unequivocal yes any time I’m every asked the question. I’m not sure I have the heart, the confidence required to utter such words to such a question. Maybe someday, but today, yesterday, aren’t, weren’t those days.

I feel like maybe I and women like me should have our own day. An Unmother’s day of sorts because we had that title and wore that title proudly and then it was stripped from us brutally, as were our responsibilities, as was the very honor of calling the beautiful souls our children, and now we don’t have those things. We don’t have the very individual that so wonderfully graced us with the title. Although I will always be completely honored to say that I was Ukiah’s mother. I will proudly say I knew one of the strongest, most unique, most beautiful souls ever in existence and I am proud that I got to call him my son. I just wish he was still here so I could continue calling him my son and I still had the wonderful title of being his mother.

An Open Letter to Alexandre Bilodeau

2010-02-16T10:40:00.000-08:00

Dear Alexandre Bilodeau;

Thank you for winning your mogul event (that was partly up to the judging, but whatever, you still won). Thank you for being the first Canadian to do so on home turf in 30 + years so that there was an interesting angle to your story so that the media cover the even more heartwarming story of your relationship to your brother. Thanks for putting your brother's story out there and thrusting Cerebral Palsy into the forefront of national and international media, however fleetingly. Thanks for saying out loud for everyone to here that we have a privilege, a right, and a responsibility to live our lives to the fullest, to push ourselves to be our best because people like Frederic do that on a daily basis, overcoming time and again their disabilities and doing it with smiles on their faces and joy in their hearts. Thanks for saying out loud that anything is possible because the doctors told Frederic and your parents that he wouldn't walk past ten years of age, and yet here he is, at 28 years of age, still walking, proving everyone wrong. Thank you.

Cerebral Palsy, and other neurological disorders like it are so often swept under the rug, hidden away from view, in terms of people's awareness of them, the toll they on the families effected by the disorders, the challenges posed, but also the rewards and invaluable life lessons that can be learned from people effected with Cerebral Palsy and the like. Every once and a while a news story will come along, like the high school baseball player with a mild form of Cerebral Palsy who was pitching like a pro despite his disability and yet because of it. But then it gets hidden from view again, forgotten. And yet here are Alexandre and Frederic, in the forefront, putting real faces to the disorder.

But there are so many other faces to the disorder, so many more stories to tell and so much more that can be done, not only to raise awareness for Cerebral Palsy and other neurological disorders, but to help people in Frederic's position, to be more independent despite their neurological deficits.

One of my favorite causes to champion right now is George Mark House. George Mark House is the first Pediatric Palliative care facility of its kind in the USA that provides end of life, transition care, and respite care to families who have children with a wide range of special needs. Without going into to much detail, I spent a considerable chunk of time there with my son this past year and have come to champion it for its top notch care and the wonderful service it provides.

Because of George Mark House, I was able to meet some remarkable people in similar situations to Frederic's. Each one of them had a unique, beautiful personality that was a treasure to behold. And each one of them is a remarkable individual I am proud and honored to know. I wish I could tell their stories, maybe one day I'll be allowed to. I wish that everyone was aware of their unique conditions. Maybe one day everyone will and will champion their disorder, but also their uniqueness, their incredible resilience and beauty.

Until then, we have incredible stories like Alexandre's and Frederic's and for that I can only say thank you again. Thank you for telling it, and thank you to the world for listening, however fleetingly, what these two unique individuals had to say. Thank You.

Sandwich Ennui...

2008-12-31T15:29:00.000-08:00

....What I happen to be suffering from right now. I am so damnably bored of my sandwich that I'm depressed. I didn't think sandwiches could cause depression, but mine is right now. It's taking every bit of my will power not to break down and get something sweet and/or salty from the vending machine right now, I am that disgusted with my sandwich.

It's like sitting there, right now, mocking me with its mediocrity. The wilting lettuce, the soggy in places bread, the 'this was stolen from the government surplus' cheese, the oversalted ham are just too depressing for me to even contemplate. Somebody save me from the boring sandwich blues.

Made Up Band Names: Entry # (I have no clue)

2008-12-01T08:30:00.001-08:00

Pillow Physics

TM a conversation FIghting Nun and I had at 4:00 in the Effing morning. Ahem:

Fighting Nun: (Thump)
Bloody Munchkin: OW!!! That was your Pillow in my eye.
FN: Uhm.... I couldn't help it... it was Pillow Physics.
BM: (Considers starting angry rant, gets distracted) You know, that would make a great band name.
FN: Not really. I mean its short of PP. That doesn't work on a lot of different levels.
BM: (Considering it) Hee! Actually that works on a LOT of different levels. They could have a banner behind them, all P. P. That's hilarious.
FN: It's four in the morning, you're not thinking clearly.
BM: I am thinking clearly, that this name is clearly AWESOME!
FN: Bedwetting is a serious matter.
BM: That could be the title of their first album. Heh!
FN: Please go to sleep.

My Son

2008-11-19T08:43:00.001-08:00

I'd like to say everything in my life is fine, that everything is turning up roses and everything is just great. But I can't say that. I can't even come close. Any time I get even close to thinking it's all going to work for the best, another shoe drops. That shoe just so happens to be a 3 inch stilletto and it just planted it's heel sharply into my skull.

See it's about my son. My seven-month-4-day-old son who apparantly has had the odds stacked against him in every direction since the day he was born. I don't know just how unlucky one person can be, but he seems to prove that someone can be very unlucky indeed.

From the day he was born, he had to fight. Every breath was a battle he had to win to stay alive. Some days, he was Rocky Balboa, fighting gamely, doing everything he needed to in order to win. Other days, he was being beaten soundly by Dolf Lundgren and there were at least a few times he looked to be down for the count. (This exhausts my Rocky knowledge and thus endeth the metaphors).

But then he was home and he was more than just Rocky Balboa. He was amazing. He had a great smile, an incredible coo and an infectious laugh that you couldn't stop. He was beautiful, in every since of the word. He had philosopher's eyes, the type of pensive look that someone much older, much wiser might have been using to ponder the meaning of life.

And now he might never have any of that again, we might not ever have that again. On November 4, the date that brought so much change to America, that saw a new president voted into office, another change was brought into my life. A horrific one. My son had a rather catostrophic event occur that stopped him from breathing. In a few blinks of an eye, his life was almost snuffed out. No almost. It was snuffed out and brought back. But brought back in what form?

With the type of acute injury he suffered, there is some brain damage. Not the worse case they've ever seen, not the best either. He's going to be starting from scratch. He'll have to relearn everything, if he gets any of it back at all. There's no complete road map for an acute brain injury like this. He could suffer severe cerebral palsy or he could be completely normal five, ten years down the road. Nobody knows. He could never coo again, which means he could never speak, he could never walk, or he could do all of those things no sweat. We don't know. We hope, we pray for the best possible outcome, that we'll get to see that smile again, that philosophical look again, but we don't know.

I don't know what to do any more, other than what I'm doing, but it doesn't feel like enough. I wish I knew what to do. As a parent, we'll do anything to make sure our kids are healthy and happy. If I was told that jumping on one foot everyday for the rest of my life would make my son better, I happily would. I'd become a rocket scientist/neurosurgeon/oper singer if I could just see his smile one more time. Hell, with all the medical terminology I have memorized for my son's care, I'm halfway to neurosurgeon now. The other two don't sound like much a stretch.
But that's not how things work. All I can do is be there for him. I sing him songs, I read him books, I soothe him, I play with him and I pray to every diety I've ever even heard of that it does the job. I try to have faith, faith that it will be o.k. I try not to get to eye-rollingly bored answering the same questions from family, friends, co-workers and everybody else over and over again. I try to ignore the annoyed feeling I get when people use the same voice they use with their 5-year-old when she's bumped her head. "Are youuuu Ooookay? Do yooouuu neeeed anything?" like Jesus Christ, my son is in the hospital, I didn't just scrape my knee and come to you whimpering, use your grown-up voice. I try to save all my dark emotions for the dark corners of our bedroom at night. I try to bolster Fighting Nun when he gets down. I try to let him bolster me when I get down. I try to hope. I try to hold on to this fantasy I have of watching my son play soccer with a bunch of four and five year-olds because I need that more than anything in the world. Also, watching four and five year-olds play soccer should be considered performance art because awesome. I try to picture the three of us (with the dog) on a beach somewhere, enjoying a day of sun, wind and water and I hope and pray I get that because God Damnit I F@#*ing deserve it.

Strange Musings on Dreams

2008-02-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

So, I don't exactly know why, but I have been having the strangest dreams. I've blamed their occurance on the pregnancy, which may or may not be the reason. Truth is, I've always had wierd dreams (Suzanne Summers having all the answers, anyone remember that?) but pregnancy has somehow turned up the coocoo factor in my dreams. There was a dream involving Jessica Alba and Josh Hartnett and me and apparantly I was a spy that infiltrated Jessica Alba's brothel while Josh Hartnett kept Jessica Alba busy (I have no idea). And then there was another involving Sir Elton John, which I don't even remember the lead up to that one (Again, no idea). I just recently had a dream that my neighbor was housing a horse and a donkey in his backyard and there was something else about that dream that I can't quite remember that made it wierd.

But no dream has been quite as odd as the one this morning. So I'm watching a Monk episode in my dream. Nothing new there, but the episode was called Mr. Monk Versus the Killer Vampire and Kiefer Sutherland, bedecked in The Lost Boys leather jacket and looking badass, was said killer vampire, but then Monk discovers that Kiefer is killing people because they have drugs planted inside their bodies (which ew) and Kiefer wasn't just killing people because he was a vampire but because he had a drug ring and then Monk kills Kiefer Sutherland, but it wasn't Kiefer Sutherland's character he killed, but actually Kiefer Sutherland and I'm yelling "Tony Shaloub what did you do!!" And then I'm at Kiefer Sutherland's funeral procession yelling things like "Kiefer was my favorite Lost Boy", "I'll never be able to watch Stand By Me again" and, my personal favorite "First Renfro, then Ledger, now Sutherland!!! How will I go on?" I remember vaguely thinking "And he just got out of prison too!" when I woke up and then I had to briefly calm myself and remind myself that we are, as far as I know, not living in a Kieferless world, which automatically calmed me. Say what you want about the guy, the wierd Christmas tree attack, the erratic DUI behavior, the TV show I don't watch. But the world is better with him in it. And definately with Donald in it too. (He's one of my favorite characters on Dirty Sexy Money. How could I not love the Sutherlands?)

But now I keep worrying that there might be something slightly prophetic about the dream. At first I thought it might be tied to something regarding my unborn son who will share Sutherland's namesake (yes, Kiefer will be involved in my son's name. Shut up. I don't care what you think! I think the name is cool.) so I was worried that there might be something wrong with the little man. That was until the thing began his rigorous karate training on my ribs and bladder. Then I knew everything was fine. So now I'm worried for the actual Kiefer, and by extension, Tony Shaloub. Like, periodically checking Defamer to make sure nothing strange or worrisome comes up on Kiefer today worried. No, I don't get it either. I'm pregnant, hormonal and neurotic. That's my excuse. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go scour the internets to make sure nothing has happened to Kiefer.

My Big Fat Redneck Wedding

2008-01-29T10:38:00.000-08:00

As a self-described pop-culture knuckle-dragger, I like to think there aren't too many things out there that are too base for me to watch. I mean, I use to watch Jackass, which I think is in and of itself a hero's trial. But there comes a point where I look at some of the stuff on television and think "That's way beyond, even for me." Last night that theory got tested. So usually Monday nights are kinda packed for me. I mean, I got Prison Break recording on one TV, I'm watching How I Met your Mother and Big Bang Theory on another. I'm contemplating how I might fit in Heroes (But thankfully G4 has taken the worrying out of that equation). But last night I had none of that. Blah-blah-writer's-strike-blah.

Fighting Nun and I were at a loss. He was flipping through channels and happened to stumble upon "My Big Fat Redneck Wedding" on CMT. (Yes, that's how desperate we were.) Which I vetoed. Then I made my famous call to the Chinese Place, then I went and picked up my order, which meant the veto was lifted in my absence. I get back only to realize that not only has Fighting Nun been watching it, he wants to rewind back to the beginning so that I might also bask in its glory. And then he tells me that Tom Arnold is hosting it, which lead to an argument about whether or not Tom Arnold could technically be considered a redneck over egg rolls. I had to finally concede to Fighting Nun's argument that Tom Arnold is truly a redneck. I mean the evidence is truly staggering in Fighting Nun's favor, I couldn't deny.

Then I sat down and watched the show. I have never watched a show that made me feel simultaneously dumb and way smart at the same time. I mean seriously. I know I dropped a few
IQ points just by watching the show but then I felt a whole lot smarter about myself because I know I've had a lot of stupid ideas in my time on this planet but I count myself lucky that outfitting my bridal party in camouflage doesn't happen to be amongst those ideas. Yes, you read that right. The bride-to-be not only outfitted her bridesmaids and groomsmen in camouflage, it was camo she bought at Wal-mart. On top of that, the groom wore a camo tux jacket. Those three words do not go together and yet I saw it with my very own eyes. And I'm not even at the best part yet. Her bridal party got camo pedicures. I'm sitting there, plate of Chinese food in front of me, about to take a bite of Sesame Chicken and then I see the camo pedicures and my mouth drops, I'm not even sure where the piece of sesame chicken I was eating went. I had to literally pick my jaw off my plate and put it back into place.

It was either at this point in the show or earlier, when the groom had his bachelor party which basically involved the groom and his cohorts shooting fireworks at each other, when Fighting Nun looked at me earnestly and said "Do you think Al Queada and Osama watch this and think 'America is fighting the war on terror to preserve that?", which seriously. And this was just the first episode. The second episode was just as mind-boggling but for completely different reasons. The necessity of a wedding dress to have pockets so the bride has some place to put her smokes for one, or a hard and grizzled cowboy going lingerie shopping, which, it really was as good as it sounds.

Somewhere, between the camo wedding and the grizzled cowboy wedding, presided over a minister who was ordained in prison (!), Fighting Nun said "Well, now I know how I'll be spending my time until the writer's strike is over." Which, yeah I don't know. Yes, on the one hand you have the unchecked use of animal taxidermy as wedding decorations (yes, that actually happened) but on the other hand, well you have your own self-preservation to think about. (But I probably will track down the next episode because the trailer for it was so awesome. It had possibly the best line ever, to wit "Come on honey, let's go constipate our marriage." As much as I appreciate writers, no writer would be dumb enough to think of that!) So My Big Fat Redneck Wedding. Come for the ill-advised use of camouflage and Tom Arnold's (surprisingly) fun remarks about the proceedings, but don't stay too long. Your sanity will thank you.

Figure Skating Rules!!!

2008-01-28T11:09:00.000-08:00

So, It's been a couple of days, but I still haven't been able to get it out of my head....

Did anybody seem to catch the Figure Skating National Championships that NBC featured over the weekend? I couldn't have been the only dork, could I? And it's not like I was really looking for Figure Skating so much as it found me really and truly, but that's besides the point. So there I was watching figure skating on a Saturday afternoon and it just so happened to be my favorite figure skating event: Pairs. I love pairs, which may or may not surprise some people. I'm sure, that with my undying Filippe Candelero love, you'd think I'd be all about men's but no, The Pairs event has my heart. Call it risidual The Cutting Edge love if you will, but Pairs is where the money's at.

So I'm sitting there, basking in the awesomeness that is Pairs, watching the last Pairs couple, Inoue and Baldwin, skate. Not the best program. There was that little bauble, they weren't going to get first. O.k. whatever. So there program finishes, but the camera hasn't let off them because they haven't gotten off the ice... and then. And then! He (Baldwin) propose to his partner (Inoue). On the Ice! In front of all the spectators, all the cameras, everyone. Just bends down and proposes right there!!! And She says yes!!! OMG!!! Holy Crap people! That was so awesome! That was so Ice Castles and The Cutting Edge combined kind of awesome. Take "We forgot about the flowers" throw in a little "Just remember who said it First" and you only maybe get close to how awesome that was!!! Fighting Nun, who was playing video games upstairs had to run down and ask me what I was squealing at, it was that kind of awesome. Yes I squealed! Yes I cried just a little bit. (Yes, Fighting Nun rolled his eyes at me and told me to keep my squealing down.) I'm not even going to blame pregnancy hormones on what happened!!! That kind of moment deserves real tears! That was so awesome! I love figure skating!!!

My Vajajay Rides the Short Bus

2008-01-23T11:00:00.000-08:00

Dear The Soup;

Thanks for being the inspiration behind my blog post title today! I couldn't have done it without Oprah's Vajajay and you!

Love;

The Bloody Munchkin

Ahem. O.k., so this is going to be an awefully long post that might only tangentially relate to the blog post title, but we'll see. So, uhm, I'm going to come right out and say it. I'm pregnant. I'm with child. I'm Juno (which if you haven't seen this movie, please, please go see it. I haven't given it a full review because I can't say anything that tons of movie bloggers haven't said better already. I'm looking directly at you Reel Fanatic!). While this doesn't really excuse or explain why I haven't been blogging regularly, it's the explanation I'm sticking with.

Let me start out by saying that this pregnancy has been a rollercoaster ride. Highest of highs, bottoming out into lowest of lows. AND that's not even my mood swings! (Rim Shot) Although I think Fighting Nun would disagree with that contention. It has really felt like one thing after another. First trimester? I had to go into the emergency room because of strange intestinal pain. Doctors couldn't quite figure it out, but the Ultrasound technician had a pretty good idea as to what it was. Wanna know what it was? Guess, come on, guess! I dare you! Trapped Gas. That's right. I went to the emergency room because I couldn't fart. Do you know the mileage a grown man with the humor of a twelve-year-old can get out of the term trapped gas??? You really don't want to know that answer but I now do. Thanks Fighting Nun. So that was dive number one in this roller coaster I call pregnancy, and then the roller coaster started climbing up and up again. Things were good.

Cut to Trimester two. Cut to the Ultrasound technician telling us it's a boy. It was a high point! But the roller coaster wouldn't dip on us would it? Would it? Cut to ten minutes later when a nice seeming but utterly unhelpful paranatalogist gut punches with some news that took us a whole week to comprehend. First, we were told there might be an issue with the baby's heart and secondly we were told he had a cleft palate. Up to that point we didn't really have a reference point to what either of those would mean. And there's the dip in the roller coaster which plummeted us, followed by a bunch of loopty-loop thingies. Follow that up with a trip to a pediatric heart specialist guy dude thingie and a clean bill of health on the baby's heart. Aaaaaand We're climbing again! Follow that up with a talk with an incredibly nice nurse for a cranial-facial specialist that specializes in clefts and we're still on the rise, although a bit unsteady. We haven't unclenched our hands from the bars yet, but we can breathe just a little bit.

Which now brings me to the blog post title. So, about three weeks ago, there was something weird.... going on.... down there. In the you know what. A day went by, I let it slide, but things were still freaky in vajajayville in ways that I didn't really have a reference point for. Finally, I call my OB, who was conveniently on vacation. I call the doctor taking his patients and they tell me to go directly to the hospital, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. Aaaaaand there's another plummet. Woooo! 3 hours and who knows how many thousands of dollars billed to my insurance later, and we still weren't any closer to what's wrong. It's been this on and off thing that we don't quite understand and has had me a bit concerned (read: freaked out) off and on for a few weeks now. Which brings me to a conversation Fighting Nun and I had that I probably shouldn't repeat, but I'm gonna anyway:

Cut to a car ride where I'm explaining my concern with... that region. Bloody Munchkin: It's still kinda... freaky.
Fighting Nun: I wouldn't worry too much about it though.
Bloody Munchkin: Why not?
Fighting Nun: Well you're vagina has always been.... special.
Bloody Munchkin: What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Fighting Nun: Well, I mean come on, think of your history here. Your whooha has always needed... special consideration.
Bloody Munchkin: Just what are you trying to say? That my vagina is in special ed classes?
Fighting Nun: Yeah, basically. Your vagina rides the short bus.

So, my vagina rides the short bus. I'm not sure where that conversation fits in terms of the roller coaster, maybe a lull in the ride perhaps? Since then, I've had the good luck of having to give blood for a gestational diabetes test that came back high (a little bit of a dip) which means I had to take another blood test that made my arms look like a) I had become a heroine junkie, b) someone had screwed up and put the stigmata on my body on the wrong place, c) I had been bitten by really wee vampires who couldn't make my neck or D) all of the above. I can't decide which. I think I'm going with D though.

Which brings us to now. So far during this roller coaster, I've come to realize I have a problem with trapped gas, I'm going to have a unique child with a cleft lip and my vagina rides the short bus. And crazily enough, I don't see the ride ending anytime soon. I'm going to hold on to the bars and hope for the best. Wish me luck.

Dear semi-teenage heartthrobs I used to have a crush on:

2008-01-22T14:55:00.000-08:00

Stop Dying. No. I mean it. First Renfro, now Ledger. I just, I just..... man, I can't even put it into words. I haven't been this depressed over celebrity deaths since, probably Brandis, but I'm going to go even further back. River Phoenix. That one happened in my teens, and because River was River and I was a gushing teenage girl, I. Was. Devastated.

And now, I had barely dealt with Renfro and my heart as been ripped out again by Ledger? And thanks to the rule of three, I'm wondering who is going to die to make the trifecta, which has me more nervous than I've ever been for some of my idols of years past. God. I can't even get my head around this. I'm going to curl up in a ball and hide in a corner now....

The Baldwin Conspiracy Theory

2008-01-18T09:42:00.000-08:00

I've had Baldwins on the brain lately. I think that it's due to the fact that they are inescapable. I mean, you've got Alec who is basically everywhere. And then, like a bad sore, Stephen keeps popping up everywhere all "Look at me I can ride a bull, look at me I'm on Celebrity Apprentice. Look, look, look over here." And you look, even though you don't want to, but mostly you're looking to see if his hair has grown out appropriately after Stephen let Vanilla Ice of all people take clippers to it. And then, on top of that now you've got Daniel's bloated figure haunting you from the VH1 channel. The only one I haven't seen lately is Billy, which I can never tell if that's a good sign or not. Like he's always hiding under a rock with Chyna and then all the sudden he'll pop out and say "Boo!" and then he'll go back into hiding and I have no idea what he's doing. And in my mind he was always the superior Baldwin anyway. And look, it's not like I don't know how that arguement goes all "Billy was in Sliver! I can not abide the movie or that Baldwin! Alec is the superior Baldwin! Look at his body of work." To which I say look at his body! There are many things I don't want to do in this lifetime and one of them is not to see Alec, Daniel, or Stephen shirtless and I definately don't want to see all three shirtless at the same time because. Yeech. The four Baldwin brothers are like the evolution of man chart, you know the one, where they show apes, then the cro-magnun and eventually it gets to us? Yeah, the Baldwins are like that except what that chart happens to be showing us is the evolution of Bloat, with Daniel back with the apes, Stephen somewhere with the Cro-Mags, Alec just a step above that until finally we reach Daniel, who is as good a picture of unbloated normalcy the Baldwins are ever going to show off. But all this is besides the point.

So last night, with absolutely nothing on TV, we decided to watch Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew on the aforementioned VH1. Tigerlady T told me to watch it because she said it was the trainwreck to end all trainwrecks and I have to say I agree with her. I mean it's really not pretty, what with Conway screaming and yelping and DEAR GOD THE ICY HOT! THE WRONG THINGS THAT WERE DONE IN THIS EPISODE IN THE NAME OF ICY HOT! I mean, I was convinced a disgusting porn was around the corner and what with Marey Carey in rehab, I'm amazed I wasn't wrong. And then of course, there's Daniel, or Daniel's bloated figure or the Ghost of Bloat Future or whatever you want to call him. The only thing more far-reaching in size than Daniel's Bloat was Daniel's Self-Righteousness, which for someone who has snorted a horse's weight in cocaine, I'm amazed he has that at that great a degree. But oh wait, he's a Baldwin, I shouldn't be surprised. Because of Daniel's bloat, or inspite of it, or who knows, Fighting Nun and I were still talking about him and the Baldwin's this morning, and more importantly we stumbled upon one of the greater conspiracy theories of all time. To wit:

Bloody Munchkin: What are you thinking about?
Fighting Nun, with a disgusted sigh: Daniel.
BM: Ugh. God I know. Clearly the most inferior Baldwin, not that he knows it at all.
FN: Isn't the Baldwin that died the most inferior Baldwin? You know, because he's dead?
BM: To my knowledge, no Baldwin has died although Daniel's been to the brink many a time, God knows.
FN: Then who am I thinking of? Chris... Chris?
BM: Penn. Penn's aren't Baldwins. Thank God for that. But I always get the Penns and the Arquettes mixed up. I don't know why I think Alexis Arquette is a Penn, I just do.
FN: Actually come to think of it, I have the same problem with Andy Garcia and the Baldwins.
BM: Wait. What?
FN: Andy Garcia. I think he's a Baldwin.
BM, utterly dumbstruck: How could you get Andy Garcia mixed up with a Baldwin?
FN: I don't know, I just do.
BM: You do realize that Andy Garcia happens to be Cuban right? And the Baldwins are... the Baldwins.
FN: I know, I know, but think about it. Maybe papa Baldwin decided to schtoop Senorita Garcia and the fruits of the union happened to be Andy Garcia and as some sort of extortion, Mama Garcia forced papa Baldwin to put her son through acting with the lot of the Baldwins.
BM, still dumbstruck: I have no idea how to even process this. You have a crazy yet beautiful mind.

With that, I kissed my husband good-bye and tried to forget the silliness that was the Garcia-Baldwin relation theory. But now? It's just off the wall enough to be true. I can just see it, Papa Baldwin handing Alec's leftover scripts to Andy. "Alec's been asked to play this casino owner for this movie with like Clooney or whatever, but he's already doing that with William H. Macey. Maybe you would want a shot at that?" In fact, I want to live in a world where this very thing is true, that Andy Garcia is the ill-begotten half-brother of the rest of the Baldwins, trying to live out from under their shadow, which is a sizeable task. Because have you seen the size of Daniel Baldwin's shadow? Mr. Burns is calling Daniel right now so that he can use Daniel's Bloat Ridden body to blot out the sun in another attempt to leave Springfield in darkness yet again. (Dude, I have a million Daniel Baldwin Bloat Jokes. I hope I don't get sued.) In the meantime, I'll see what I can't do about arranging a Baldwin-Garcia paternity test.

Random Thoughts of Crispin Glover

2007-12-14T09:37:00.000-08:00

So this morning I'm driving into work and listening to my favorite morning show, Energy 92.7 because I secretly (or not so secretly) think Greg the Gay Sportcaster is my gay counterpart and I would love to buy him a Cosmo and dish. So I'm listening this morning and I squeal really loudly because their guest this morning was Crispin Glover. Crispin "my density" Glover. On my radio!!!

See, I have this strange thing with Crispin. And it's not a thing per say. I don't secretly harbor a crush on the guy, mostly because he rocks strange haircuts and relies on velvet a little heavily. But I find him really interesting. Not for the wacked-out, drinks-too-much-absynthe, dates a strange cadre of women including but not limited to: some Penthouse Pen-up from the nineties, some strange blonde chick, and of course my personal favorite, Courtney Peldon , way he is. But I like him for other reasons, partly because he's doing things the way he wants to do them and has no qualms about it. He's financing his own movies, he's always questioning the way things are done in Hollywood and regardless of his other personal quirks, I have to say I respect that.

Around the time Willard was released, which I'm ashamed to say I saw in theatres, and o.k. I don't mean to digress too much, but that movie blew. And it wasn't for lack of trying that it blew. R. Lee Ermey did what R. Lee Ermey does best. He got all growly and spittley and you hated him although you secretly loved him because he was just disgusting but he was having fun being disgusting and as usual you could see bits of scenery in his teeth because he forgot to floss. Crispin got in there and did the work and that chick from Mulholland Drive was doing her darnedest, but it was all for not pretty much for not. Again, not blaming any of principles, but the movie blew. But so anyway, at the time Willard was released I still had my Rolling Stone subscription and there was an article in there with Crispin and I found myself drawn to it for reasons I was unsure of and, long story short, I ended up liking the guy.

Sure, there are several times since then that I've seriously questioned if he's a few slices short of a loaf, but he's still never boring. Like this morning. I mean, he doesn't exactly radio interview very well. There's a lilt or an intonation to his voice that is kind of disconcerting and dude, using a lot of big words for the 8 A.M. "Don't bother me, the Starbucks hasn't kicked in" crowd, now aren't we?

Apparantly he's in town to screen one of his movies, which is supposedly the second in this wierd trilogy he has planned. So the screening isn't just a movie screening, but then he does a whole Q and A session plus he reads excerpts from his book and Oh my God am I tempted to go, for no other reason than to say I went and saw his special brand of off the wall in person for myself. I mean, I know it's a trek to San Francisco and I don't especially revel in the thought of going to the Castro, but still. To see his special brand of Crispinness, I'm really tempted. Whatever Crispin's ills are, he doesn't seem to take the easy way out. It could be argued that he's kooky and on the fringes just for the sake of being on the fringes, but I actually think it's geniune. I don't think Crispin has any other choice than to be Crispin and instead of doing what Hollywood and people expect, he instead becomes even more Crispin and does what they wouldn't. He turned down a part in the Back to the Future sequels. He turned up Charlie's Angels and didn't speak but yelled wierdly and it was awesome. He's a special breed unto himself and I kind of wish I could see it in person.

Beauty and the Geek Season 4, Episode 2

2007-09-27T10:15:00.000-07:00

So last night Fighting Nun went to the last SF Giants home game of the season last night, which you'd think I'd bitch about, not getting to go and all, but actually going to do just the opposite. I mean first off, the Giants had a crappy season this year so I knew I wasn't going to miss much. Secondly, Fighting Nun's absence last night meant I got to watch a whole plethora of guilt pleasures that Fighting Nun would normally veto. America's Next Top Model followed by Gossip Girl (which, I didn't get to see last week's premiere, but Love! Flustercuck is now my favorite new word!) followed by the Tivoed episode of Beauty and the Geek that Fighting Nun didn't want to finish the night before??? Pop-culture knuckle-dragger heaven people! I absolutely basked in the glow of all the sugary nonsense. That is not to say that I didn't remember to record Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares because Fighting Nun and I are nothing if not Gordon's bitches. Or would it be better if I called ourselve's Ramsey's bitches? I wonder... Ramsey's Bitches is now my favorite new band name.

But I digress. My main purpose for starting this post wasn't to ennumerate my number of TV loves. My main purpose right now is to bitch, quite loudly and at length. 'And about what?' you might ask. And to that question I will point you directly to Sam, who was the male 'beauty' introduced in the second episode of Beauty and Geek. Oh my God I can not stand this guy. I shook my hand furiously at the TV last night in his direction I can't stand him that much.

I haven't had this much of an irrational hate on for a reality show character since Diggity Dave on Pimp My Ride. And believe you me, that's saying something. I mean I have had nothing but seething hate for Diggity Dave for two years. I constently find myself yelling insults at the TV while he's on it, like this: "Shut Up Diggity Dave and what kind of nickname is that anyway and stop with the punk rock preening because someone who either has a line of hair products or is shilling for a line of hair products (Yes I know he's involved in a hair care line, no I can't unlearn that fact, I've tried. Yes it annoys me.) can not be punk rock, because if you you're on TV and you schill hair products you are essentially Cher and if you are essentially Cher then you are not punk rock, you are a poser and you suck, DIGGITY DAVE and stop rocking the tattoos and the black nail polish and I hope your stupid hair spikes get caught in something and get ripped off your head not enough to kill or seriously injure you but just enough to wipe that stupid hairstyle off your head and your stupid sneering wannabe rockstar grin off your face. Stop preening and giving yourself a virtual handjob any time you do something you think is cool on camera. HAAAAATTTTTEEEEEE!!"

And the problem I have with Diggity Dave is the same problem I have with this Sam guy on Beauty and the Geek. The preening, the arrogance, and yet the outright obviousness that the lights are on upstairs up nobody's home. Drives me nuts. Not actually nuts enough to stop watching either Pimp My Ride (Xzibit is my co-pilot. Don't judge me) or Beauty and the Geek, but just nuts enough for me to rant irrationally about it (I SAID, don't judge me).

Sam is just so... actually he's so many things that it's hard for me to list them all. First off, I never need to see him with his shirt off ever again, because his precisely oiled pecs are blinding me. And if they show another clips package of him getting ready, I will absolutely vomit. Which makes me beg the question, why did give his preening special treatment but they usually gloss over the beauties going through the same routine? I don't understand it. Something else I don't understand? How somebody with that shiny a forehead things he's God gift to women. Clean and Clear called. They want you to schlock their Oil Blotting Tissues, Douche. And then to top it all off, during his challenge, which I pretty much put on mute because even in his voice grates on me, right after he finished his debate, he gives the judges and the room A Blue Steel and then, AND THEN, he makes finger guns. O.k., first off, there are only two people certified to operate the Blue Steel and that's Derek Zoolander and Micheal Scofield, and the fact that Sam even tried to attempt it tarnished both of their reputations. HATE!!! HATEY HATE!!! And then, to top that all off... He wins. He blue steels and finger guns himself to immunity???? What kind of world are we living in here??? I have to go lie down. And then his team put Tony and Amanda up for Elimination?

Which, tiny, off-topic nit to pick here. Is it just me or do the asian geeks frequently and summarily get the shaft early on in the show? Last season it was the guy who drew that boob and season before that? Rubiks cube guy both cut within the first two, three episodes tops. What is with that?

Anyhoooo, where was I. Oh yeah. Bit me Sam. No, I take that back Shut Up Sam! Shut up Sam's hair and Shut up Sam's beauty regimen and shut up the future storyline in which he 'hooks up' with one of the other beauties in the house (I just became a little bit barfy this then. Hooks Up. Blech). Just Grrrr. Shut Up. So, I'm not exactly sure what my point was but sometimes irrational rants are their own reward.

Beauty and The Geek: Season 4 opener

2007-09-19T10:29:00.000-07:00

It's back on bitches. Beauty and The Geek is back!!!! And this season could be pretty darn good. I didn't get through all of the season premiere yet, mostly because Fighting Nun and I had the same fight, err I mean discussion, we always have about this show, to wit: "Why are watching this show again?" "Because of the potentiality for Awesome." "That makes no sense. This show is not awesome. It's lame." "No it's not!" "So why are you forcing me to watch this?" "I'm not forcing you to watch it. I'll watch it on my own free time if you're that offended." "But why are you watching it?" "Because, Krakow. You know what, just read my blog and figure it out. Shut up and watch a Tivoed episode of Dirty Jobs and leave me alone." So I've had to postpone my viewing for later.

I did get through the casting section of the episode this morning, which left in my mind two interesting points. 1) Do I really need to watch a casting episode? How is this really supposed to interest me? Do they have casting specials for Survivor or any of that junk? No, and if they do, I'm not watching it. But I am watching this casting special for one good reason and one reason only, which brings me to my next point. 2) Nate. And Jenny Lee. They hosted the casting special!!! And they still look like they are dating and they are soooooo cute together. And Nate! He looks are dapper and put together and awesome!!! And Jenny Lee still looks like Jenny Lee but she's all cute with Nate and somebody please tell me they're engaged to be married and are going to run off and have hundreds of cute babies!!! So awesome. I love Jenny Lee and Nate! He cut his hand on a tree for her! They must stay together. And if I am forced to watch the casting special for this show, then they must host it from here to eternity.

O.k., that's all I got. I'll report back once I've finished the episode.

Blades of Glory: Movie Review

2007-09-18T10:16:00.000-07:00

O.k. so here's the thing. By all accounts, this movie should've been totally in my wheel house. I mean, I was all set to like this one. Remember? Remember? And I did like parts of it, but there were just so many things I just couldn't get behind. Amy Poehler's ridiculous blathering and guilt-tripping of her sister and Jenna Fischer's just utter pointlessness to the movie. It didn't work for me and I wanted it to so badly.

I mean from the get-go it had a lot of potential. I mean Fichtner!!!! You all know how I feel about Fichtner, and the fact that he can make any movie better just for the sole fact that he is in it. But this movie brought to light a new rule regarding Fichtner that I had not considered until this very movie, which I will call the Fichtner Proportion. Basically, Fichtner's tendancy to make any movie better is directly related to the actual amount of screen time he is actually given in a movie. Let me give you a couple of examples. In Prison Break (which, let me stop right there for a second. How awesome was the new season premiere and just how ruley is this new premise people? So ruley, so awesome!!! That's how.), he's currently getting alot of screen time which means a usually awesome Prison Break gets catapulted to an A+ just on principle. And then you have movies like Go and Ultraviolet which benefitted from his brief yet still very tangable appearances. But with Blades of Glory? I'd say he had 2 or 3 minutes with only a handful of lines tops. It's William Fichtner. The Ruley William Fichtner and you deign to give him just a smarmy cameo?!?!?! Fichtner deserves better than that and so does his hair!!! (I don't know why I said that, I've just always liked his hair). So basically, if Fichtner would have had a better role (Heder's adoptive father. As if Fichtner would ever adopt such a wet blanket!) and more screen time (Ten, fifteen minutes, that's all I ask!), this movie would've been a B+ easy. As it is, C, C- if that.

Regardless of this movie being Fichtner-lite though, it basically suffered from the same things I thought it was going to. To be a Will Ferrell vehicle is to be the same jokes recycled over and over again. To be a John Heder movie is to watch John Heder play the same hapless character over and over again. And Will Arnett. He could've been so good in this role, it's just that with the material given, he didn't have the opportunity. He was too busy being overshadowed by Amy Poehler who was in turn being overshadowed or devoured by her garrish wigs, I can't decide which. Although Will did have the best line of the whole movie ("We just disappointed Marky Mark.... And the funky bunch." Classic. I've got to remember that the next time I can't remember all the lyrics to Good Vibrations.)

Also, poor Scott Hamilton. Also, also, don't think I didn't notice the whole Cutting Edge take-off, and don't think I wasn't offended by it either, because I did and I totally am. Lame! Super Lame! Not as lame as Jenna Fischer's plotline, but still. You're on probation Ferrell. Don't screw up this bad again.

Movie Review: Sherrybaby

2007-08-31T16:20:00.000-07:00

O.k., so here's the thing. It's not that I didn't like the movie. I mean, on some level I liked it o.k., I guess. It's just that this happens to be one of those movies that was better in theory than in practice. I mean, for starters you've got Maggie Gyllenhaal in it, who gets a lifelong pass for me on the strength of Secretary alone and then, to top that all off, you've got the Trejo. We all know how I feel about the Trejo. I've made it abundantly clear that the Trejo is awesome. And I have to stop right there to ask the following question: There is a documentary abou the Trejo and nobody told me???? Even though everybody knew that it would be right in my wheelhouse??? And then I have to find out about it through TigerladyT, as she makes an offhanded comment about it all "Yeah, I just netflixed the documentary on him awhile back. It was really good." and then I Kyle's mom it, all "What What What?!?!?" and she's all "Yeah, the docu on Trejo." and I'm all flabbergasted and an almost guilty feeling overcomes me because how could I, a Trejo Enthusiast, not know about a Trejo documentary? Ahem. Back to the point.

So if someone was to stick both of these very awesome actors that I like and respect in a movie together, what could go wrong? Alot apparantly, a whole lot.

It's not that they weren't working their butts off (although the less said about Trejo's butt in boxer shorts, the better off we all are), but you can only do so much with the material you're given and as far as I'm concerned, the material is weak. Super weak. I can't speak to how true to life Maggie's performance is, and, not that I'm knocking on authenticity or anything, but at some level it just didn't work, again not Maggie's fault but more the fault of what her motivation was at the time or what the script was asking of her.There were so many scenes that just felt overwrought and then there were others that just fell flat.

And then there were was one scene in particular that was unneccessary and kind of sickening.
The scene with her dad, which establishes the character's motivations toward drug use because of past abuse, was just there for the shock value. I get that it was somewhat of a plot pusher, but the way in which it was shown... look it's not like I'm some prude, or I don't get the director's artistic decisions or whatever, but no. First of all, I think they established early on in the movie by forcing the character into a lot of unsavory sexual relationship, that there was some form of abuse in the character's past. I was already aware of it before that scene. That scene didn't prove anything other than that she was in a screwed up family/ And I'm not saying this sort of thing shouldn't be portrayed, because it does happen and people have a right to put it out there, but I think there's a line in which things like that are maybe said not shown. It wasn't an artistic decision I would've made if I were in the director's shoes is all.

But then it was just left there. She never mentions it, it's never mentioned, it's just dropped while the movie rambles on its conclusion, which was what exactly? Look I don't need my hand held and I don't need it all in a nice tidy box, but I needed something that the movie just didn't feel like providing.

Shoalin Monks vs. Ninjas

2007-08-31T13:42:00.000-07:00

O.k., so I read this story. I was lead to this story by the tag "Shoalin Temple: Our Monks could beat up your ninjas." which totally caught me because; Awesome. So I'm thinking this could be great, but then I read the whole story and it sounds, well, very high school. The Shoalin monks are up in arms because of some he said, she said crap posted on the internets? And they are demanding an apology for something somebody posted on a forum? Really? *Head Tilt* Really?

Is this what years of Kung Fu teaches you to do? Do you think this is how James Carrodine would've handled the situation? Let's just take a step back and ask ourselves WWGD (What would Grasshopper do)? I think the answer is obvious, he would've tried to turn the other cheek and walk the path to nonviolence, then he would've kicked some ass. So I ask the wonderful Shoalin Monks to do the right thing in this situation: Challenge some Ninjas to a duel and then make it a Pay-per-view event and above all else, let me watch, because Awesome.

But I must note from watching that one episode of Samuari Jack where he goes to the Shoalin Temple over and over, that the best and most likely outcome is that instead of fighting each other, They end up showing each other your best Water Beetle, become friends and then try to find a portal in time so that Jack can go back in time to destroy Aku. I'm just saying.

Assholes with Cats

2007-08-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

I realize the world is full of assholes. In the close to three decades I've been on this earth, I've been around more than my share, so I don't usually comment on them. But today I came across a special brand of asshole-ry that has pissed me off enough to write.

We've had these neighbors for close to a year. They lived across the street from us, and although there were signs of douche-baggery, I didn't give them much time or space in my thoughts. Well apparently a lot of people in our HOA did and raised enough ruckus that their landlord renting the house out to them called paid to their bullshit and had them move. I hadn't really registered an opinion on this fact other than "meh, whatever" until this morning.

The main crux of the issue is their cat. It is this lovable calico-ish cat. Any time I was out in the neighborhood without my dog Kissinger by my side, the cat would be rather personable. It would come up while I was at the mail box and I'd pet it and it would pur and it was just a sweet cat with a nature and personality probably not well suited for the dilweeds it was living with.

This morning as I started my morning walk with our dog Kissinger, I spotted another neighbor standing in dilweed's yard. I asked what was up and she informed me that the neighbors left their cat. That's right, up and left the thing on the stoop, with a little tray of water and food and moved. No note, didn't go to the neighbors about the situation or anything, just left the cat alone, on the stoop of the house, terrified and anxious.

My heart plummeted. I asked what would happen to the cat and the neighbor informed me that another neighbor had offered to take it in. I said I'd happily take it if it didn't work out with the other neighbors because no cat, no dog, no animal in which we as humans have decided to take on as pets, which in my mind means a member of the family should be left so cruelly, should be abandoned and not looked after by someone. If you had the presence of mind to take in an animal at some point, you better damn well have the presence of mind to continue care for that animal even when an inconvenience such as moving gets in the way or don't get a pet at all. It's a simple fact. If these owners knew for a fact they couldn't take the cat to wherever they were going, fine. Beat down a couple of doors in the neighborhood and see if anybody would be willing to take it in. Do not, I repeat DO NOT leave the thing on the front porch and expect it look after itself, you uncaring jerk-wads of the HIGHEST ORDER. GRRRRRRRR!

I hope the cat gets a better home and people than it got before, I hope the douchey neighbors don't come back in an effort to get the cat back for the simple fact that I will have to give them a piece of my mind and it will not be pretty. I don't and haven't really gotten adamant about animal rights on this blog for various reasons. I didn't register an opinion about the Vick dog-fighting scandal because it wasn't my place. But as a loving owner of a dog, a wonderful, sweet natured by previously abused dog who is now a (somewhat) well-adjusted (yet still neurotic) member of our family, I am going to register an opinion about certain responsibilities and rules we as pet owners should respect and abandoning a sweet cat on your doorstep is one of those things you just DO NOT do.

If you're reading this today and are as angry as I am, consider donating a little time or a little money to your local no-kill animal shelter or SPCA. Let's undo a little of the bad karma that bad pet-owners put out there by acts like these.

It's my birfday!

2007-08-27T11:07:00.000-07:00

So, yeah, today's my birthday. Woo. (Streamers falling down, confetti in the air.) It's not that I could care less, it's just that more important, pressing things in my life have seemed to make having a birthday less of an issue.

For instance, this time last year? If pressed I would've asked for the Invader Zim box set (which I have now) and some other pop-culture related ephimera. Today, right now? All I want is a nap, a long, beautious, wonderful nap that last from here to Thanksgiving, followed immediately by a siesta and capped off with a bout of sleeping so furious and grand it makes Rumpelstilskin's sleeping fest look like naptime in a romper room. Is this wrong?

Don't get me wrong, any pop-culture donations (up to and including the new My So-Called Life DVD set) are welcome and appreciated, but if you could find a way to conk me out until, say the new Prison Break season starts, I'd really appreciate it.

My Boys: Season 2

2007-08-24T10:14:00.000-07:00

O.k., we all know how I felt about it last season, how it's this wierd paradox for me and every time I see Kyle Howard, I have all these complex emotions, because there are too many complicated memories of wierd movies he did as a kid, blah blah blah. But I still like it, which is odd, because we had put off watching any of the season 2 episodes until they were just sitting there on the Tivo, pouting at us. So we finally broke down and started watching them the other night and I think we've finally caught up on the season. Which brings me to my point, which is that I have to apologize to Fighting Nun for something:

Dear Fighting Nun;

I'm sorry for trying not to squeal when Jeremy Sisto suddenly appeared in the episode and ending up letting out a little mouse squeak any way because, well Sisto. I know I should be able to control that better, but Sisto. I wasn't prepared for Sisto. And yes, I know what your arguement is going to be, I didn't squeal at all during the episode and a half of Kidnapped that I watched, I should have impulse control but see, I have an arguement for that. I was prepared for the Sisto then. I knew he was on the show and was going to be all badass. I had a system of checks and balances to keep the Sisto Squeals at bay. (Yes, that's its technical term, yes I've been diagnosed). And finally, after five seasons of Six Feet Under, I was able to keep my squeals to a minimum when Billy unexpectedly showed up in an episode and I wasn't prepared for it. It took awhile and I thank you for being patient. I know my wierd thing for Creepy Jesus is hard to handle, but it's Sisto.

But last night? Sisto just showing up all scruffy and rough? It took me a second, because his first scene was of him on a computer screen, so I couldn't tell it was him until I heard his voice. My inner monologue went something like this: "Is that? Nooooo. Couldn't be. Oh my god it totally is. It's SISTO!" And then, well. I had no place for it. I let a little squee slip. He has the effect on me. And his character? Although somewhat douchey by the end, was totally perfect for Jeremy to be playing. That dash of mysteriousness, that hint of something deeper. It's Sisto. And God, the way Jordana Spiro's character kind of became all melty and cute-voiced whenever she talked to him? I totally get that, because hello! Sisto!!! And, O.k. Thorn? Awesome name for Sisto. It's the kind of awesome name you'd expect a hot, you-still-have-somewhat-unrequited-feelings-for ex-boyfriend to have.

My only complaint? Other than the douchey way his character left things with the main character? Please tell me the bloaty thing he was going through was for the role and he's not suffering from the spread. Because that would really depress me. It's the Sisto! He's better than that. And if it's actually for his new stint on Law and Order or Law and Order: Criminal Intent or some such crap I won't be watching, well then I have actual incentive not to be watching. Not that the Sisto isn't still worthwhile in all his forms, but I don't watch and of the Law and Order shows and now that Jerry Orbach's no longer with us, it would be even harder for me to tune in. I'm weird that way.

So, sorry Fighting Nun. And sorry for a three paragraph treatsy on the subject of Sisto as well. I'll try and do better next time.

Anyhoo, My Boys, Sisto. Good Combination.

Superbad Four Word Movie Review

2007-08-20T12:13:00.000-07:00

As good As Advertised.

One more word: Seriously.

A few more: I mean it. Hilarious.

And four more words for good measure: McLovin is my co-pilot.

My latest TV obsessions

2007-08-06T12:16:00.000-07:00

Before I get started, I know I've been away for awhile. I've been all over the place and yet totally stationary all at the same time. The one constant, it should come to no one's surprise, has been TV. You'd think polishing off the last Harry Potter book would've deterred or curbed my TV enthusiasm in some way (Yes I read it. Yes I loved it. Yes I want to read all seven books altogether again. And, because I am probably required, by law to say this: Yes Fighting Nun, you were right about that thing in the book. You called it. You are a smart, smart man. Now shut up about it.) and it did in some ways. I didn't really pay attention to Monk this week for instance. And, I haven't watched Psych for awhile. I mean, I missed the historic Lou Diamond Phillips's Abs episode (well I haven't it missed it exactly, it's still on Tivo, but anyhoo). But the crap, er I mean, TV I have been keeping up with? Well it adheres to my strict rules of mindlessness, as you might expect. Below is a run down of some of the stuff I'm still watching or have decided to tune into:

1. Ninja Warrior - You should not be surprised at this one, not in the slightest. The funny thing is that even after months of almost total overexposure, what with G4 playing like a bajillion episodes back to back and me watching said episodes in continued rotation, I'd be sick of it. But it's so to the contrary. My love for this show hasn't diminished but has instead blossomed. And it's specifically because this show is more subtle than you might think. There are so many layers to this show, so many carefully planted mini-dramas planted manipulatively that are at work in this show, you might as well be watching a soap opera. I came for the super hard tasks and the wild, bone-crushing eliminations, I've stayed for the carefully planted backstories and profiles. The beauty of the show is the regulars, the guys who have made repeated attempts to best the Ninja Warrior course. Thier repeated attempts and their profile thingies have had a peculiar side effect on me. They've gotten me to care, to care about these strange contestants a half a world away who I wouldn't give a hoot about otherwise. There's Professor Ninja Warrior (who was not on Wikipedia's entry of Ninja Warrior all stars! For Shame) for example, one of my personal faves, a third grade teacher somewhere in Japan who goes on the show to teach his kids by example, or something. His class would show up to the competitions and if he failed, they'd be all distraught and he'd bow to them all "Sorry I failed you", and then I just become a puddle of goo. Then there's the gas station attendant (recently turned Manager!) Shingo Yamamoto who always loses his cap on every stage, and then the crab fisherman turned massage therapist Kazuhiko Akiyama who has a degenerative eye desease (talk about pulling the heartstrings), the only man (that I can recall) every to best the whole Ninja Warrior course.

And then, of course, we have Yamada. Oh Yamada. Never have I seen a more well documented case of sad sackery in all my life. Well, that's not exactly true, a true sad sack does not have six pack abs and can't crack you like a walnut with his forearms, but the picture they paint on this guy isn't pretty. When I first started watching this show, Yamada was Mr. Ninja Warrior, he started talking at schools and everything. But over successive episodes, that guy's back story has been all over the place. At one point he was a propane distributor, at another, a construction worker, and then sadly, he wound up a Hot Dog vendor for a Japanese baseball team. From there, the show seemed to not only document his rather odd string of jobs but briefly highlighted roller coaster with his family the show seemed to document. First his family supports him and is at all the tournaments, then they are a little shamed by his showing, then there was this dramatic reveal in one of the episodes that they weren't showing up at the competition, and supposedly there was a letter he left in which he stated he wasn't a great husband, father or son, but he was a warrior and it was all very melodramatic, and everything was just crazy. And then, to top all that off, his subsequent perfomances have been heart breaking. Wikipedia lists his long line of Ninja Warrior failures better than I can (getting disqualified for wearing gloves. Yeesh!) He is the epitomy of heartbreak and has become an important reason for my continued support of the show. I am compelled to find out what happens. Yamada, don't forsake me!!! Anyhoo, so my point? It's still Me and Ninja Warrior sitting in a tree.... that's how blissful I am.

2. Rock of Love with Brett Micheals - Dude, I know. No, I seriously know. But dude. I've seen some trainwrecks so therefore I know from trainwrecks, but this is a trainwreck. It's a trainwreck, plus a three car collision and apparantly a collegan and silicon plant explosion and I should know better. And yet....

3. Scott Baio is Forty-Five and Single - Speaking of knowing better. I mean yeesh. And this show has no qualms about showing extremes. One second I feel sorry for him, the next second I think he's the biggest douche who ever douched. I mean, he's gotten reamed by his comedian ex-girlfriend who was on stage, he had a woman drive away from him as fast as she could. But then he would either give historic evidence and even evidence in the present tense why he would deserve such treatment and he's back to being a douche.

The one thing I don't not get at all about this show? That he's good friends with Jason Hervey. Jason 'One of my claims to fame is that I had a bit part in PeeWee's Big Adventure forever and a day ago' Hervey. Jason 'I was the most despicable Arnold on Wonder Years' Hervey. I'm just going to say this. Scott Baio and Jason Hervey are two 80's tastes that DO NOT taste well together because Yeesh.

4. The Two Coreys - Speaking of two 80's taste that no longer go well together.... O.k., I admit it. When this show was first proposed, I was seriously kind of psyched. But now that it's here, I'm actually kind of meh about it. That's not exactly true. My emotions roller coaster during this show. One second it's all cheesy goodness and the next its really heartbreaking. Like they already raped and pillaged all the fun loving nostalgia I had for them with bial like Rock and Roll High School Forever and that one utterly dispicable movie Feldman did regarding a post apocolyptic society and a drug war when it was totally obvious he was on drugs, and then that utterly dispicable movie Haim did with Allen Thicke, and then that other utterly dispicable movie he did with Wallace Shawn (Oh Wallace, why did you forsake me that once?). The point isn't to tear the remaining nostalgic love apart but to try and build it up. But if their brainstorming for a possible Lost Boys sequel that was featured on the show is any indication, they are attempting to drop a bomb on it, hoping to explode it to pieces. I mean, o.k. I'm not saying that there isn't room for a sequel, because my little chirpy ass was all excited a few years ago when I had heard of a possible Goonies sequel, so I have relatively little room to talk about not messing with total classic 80's movies, but still. If it's got to be done, it has to be done right. You can't just get The Coreys all amped up and call it a movie. And if we're being honest, the Corey's didn't make that movie. It was everybody else. Sorry. Just get a few of the principles. I'm sure the guy that stole Julia Roberts out from under Keifer needs some work, and what's-her-bucket, Jamie Gurtz needs some work after Still Standing. I know Keifer was killed off in the first one, but bring him back too. It shouldn't be hard. But if there is another Lost Boys only featuring The Coreys? I will seriously bring the hellfire. I'm not sure yet. But seriously.

Oh, and just to set the record straight, even though we're only tangentially on the subject. Haim is the superior of the two Coreys. Don't get me wrong, I love Goonies and always will, but Haim is the better Corey. Fight me on the fact if you must, but I'm with Team Haim, well you know, if I actually have to choose a team....

5. Confessions of a Matchmaker - Thanks Joe R. That is all.

The Valerie Bertinelli Conundrum

2007-07-16T14:34:00.000-07:00

Just the other day, Fighting Nun decided to mull over whether or not Britney Spears will actually have a career in the future, after what we shall call The Great Spears Implosion of 2007. It probably could've been a fairly good discussion, had I not invoked Valerie Bertinelli. Here's how the discussion went down:

Fighting Nun: So do you think Britney Spears will have much of a solid career in the future, or is she pretty much a punchline?
Bloody Munchkin: Well, she's got a tour, I think.
Fighting Nun: Yeah, but she's still pretty much a punchline right? I mean, will she actually be able to have a career?
Bloody Munchkin: If the career of Valerie Bertinelli has taught me anything, it's that there is always work on the Lifetime Channel.
Fighting Nun, looking perplexed: Who?
Bloody Munchkin: You know, Valerie Bertinelli.
Fighting Nun: No, I don't. Who is she?
Bloody Munchkin: Valerie Bertonelli. Married Eddie Van Halen. Divorced him not too long ago.
Fighting Nun: Is that her only claim to fame?
Bloody Munchkin: Nooooo. She was.... She did..... There was this thing.... back in the eighties, possibly involving Nell Carter. *
Fighting Nun: Nell who?
Bloody Munchkin: You know, Nell Carter. She had that series back in the eighties, about being a housekeeper, I think, kind of. I don't know.
Fighting Nun: Not helping your case for why I should know these people.
Bloody Munchkin: Leave me alone. I'll look her up and explain why you should know her.

I have since looked up her imdb profile and her wikipedia entry, and I'm no closer to figuring out what she was in that I know her so well from. There was that Cafe Americian tv show that I vaguely remember, but it seems to me, that all my non-vague memories of her have either been attached to references of her like on Best Week Ever or on E! or to snippets of her Lifetime Movie choices. That scene in Saved! where Jena Malone's character is watching a Lifetime movie involving Valerie Bertinelli and Valerie Bertinelli is talking about how she thought she was pregnant and then found out it was cancer and then in the next shot, the Jena Malone's character steals a pregnancy test and is all "Please let it be cancer, please let it be cancer." Yeah, that's the only other grown-up reference I have for her. So, other than her gripping work on Lifetime and her tour de force recurring role on Touched By An Angel, is there an actual reason that I should remember for why Valerie Bertinelli is even a blip on my culture radar? Because I can not for the life of me remember what that might be. Anybody care to help solve this conundrum????

* Side Note: When I mentioned Nell Carter, I was thinking Valerie was somehow involved in Gimme a Break, which yes, I watched. But she was not. However, she and Nell Carter were both involved in Touched By an Angel, which means I was right without actually being right, which wouldn't have mattered anyway because I can categorically say that Fighting Nun had nothing to do with Touched By an Angel back in the day. On another side note: I had no idea Nell Carter died. I was almost convinced she was somewhere out there, plotting her big come back in Gimme a Break Too or Touched by an Angel Again. I am saddened she isn't around to plot her comeback. Rest in peace Nell Carter, Rest in peace. Somewhere, Fighting Nun is reading this and rolling his eyes, thoroughly perplexed at my pop-culture geekery. That's what I'm here for. I'll be her all week. Be sure to tip your waitstaff.

Movies that Suck: Headspace

2007-07-13T09:45:00.000-07:00

I hate horror movies. Hate them. Hate them with a passionate fury I usually reserve for Kevin Federline. This isn't a new revelation. In fact, it's something I've known about myself for a long time. This and the fact that I will watch just about any teen comedy ever invented over and over again with relish are undisputable facets of my nature. They just are. But this fact that I hate horror movies can leave Fighting Nun in a bit of a lurch. I wouldn't say that he's a huge crazy fan for the genre but, and I'm coming to terms with this, sometimes a guy needs a little blood and gore to satisfy his cinematic pallate.

Last night, I decided to let his pallate be temporarily sated and watched a horror movie with him. We watched it because I was recording Bring it on on the DVR and didn't want him to change the channel, so we happened upon a horror movie we recorded awhile back; Headspace.
Having sat through this big steaming pile, I can categorically say I don't have to watch something like that for a very, very long time. It was just wrong. All sorts of wrong, from the cast of unknowns who CAN NOT ACT AT ALL to the plodding pacing to the horrible dialogue to the schlocky effects, it was wrong. So I've decided to detail all the many missteps the movie made.

1. Leave Sean Young out of it. Especially if it's a bit part. I realize at this stage, her career is a parody of itself, but she deserves better. She was in Blade Runner for Christ's Sake. And I realize that its a moot point being as we are in the post Ace Ventura era. But still she deserved better than Ace Ventura and she deserves better than to be a lame footnote in this movie.

2. Also, on that same level, do not, I repeat DO NOT make William Atherton a part of your schlocky B movie doings. He Is William Effing Atherton. William 'Dr. Hathaway' Atherton. He has elevated righteous indignation prickishness to level so far beyond some crap horror movie. And then what do you happen to do with the most awesome-smug-shit-eating-grin-scenery-chewing part of your movie? You kill it off a third of the way through. And it wasn't even an awesome death scene. it was all plastic hands and fake blood. I have it on good authority, even though I might not have actual evidence to the fact, but I'm pretty convinced that William Atherton could rock the hell out of a good death scene. Because he's William Atherton. He smugs for the camera. He plays, and I quote, an 'unbelievable bastard' quite well. If you feel compelled to kill his character off, at least give him a death scene. That's all I'm saying.

3. Did you really have to tarnish the reputation of an IROC thusly? What did the IROC ever do to you?

4. Get better actors. My God get better actors. The over the top asian guy who was, what was he supposed to be exactly? I was too distracted by the effected accent to figure out if he was supposed to be flaming, retarded, homeless or all three. And the main character's friend? Whose whole purpose was to smoke cigarettes, try to emote, run his fingers through his hair several times and drive the aforementioned IROC? Oh, and to schtoop some poor girl that was apparantly dragged out of the local Hooters and told to effect a horrible British accent? The point of their characters was what exactly? Oh that's right there wasn't one. Which brings me to my next point...

5. If you're going to have a gratuitous sex scene not involving the main character in a movie, at least let said sex scene be in service to something, a hacked up death scene, something. I know Fighting Nun will disagree with me on this fact, what with him having no problem with boobs for boobs sake and nothing more, but it had no discernable point that I could see. None. Just that the main character was a pervy voyuer and was all the sudden beseiged with strange visions. Oh thanks. So helpful.

6. Udo Kier is not a priest, not in this universe, not in any universe. Udo Kier is a creepy little guy who has succeeded in giving me the heebie-jeebies since before I can remember. He can not play a member of the clergy realistically, I don't care how much you try and convince me of that fact. The only thing he can play convincingly is something creepy and terrifying, which he did well at the end of his scene. If you had only made William Atherton's death scene as creepily skin crawling as Udo's, this might've been a movie I could get behind.

7. The ending was quite possibly the lamest thing I have seen in a long long time, and I think I've made it clear that I sat through the whole of You Got Served willingly. I know from lame. The only thing this movie succeeded in was presenting me with the longest eye roll ever. Rivelling some of Fighting Nun's eye rolls even.

8. Your main character does not need to run that much. And let me just stop right there. The one place where the movie got it halfway right was in the casting of the main character and the artist guy. I didn't love the characters, but the actors at least tried to do them justice. The main character felt like an older, more gothic version of Nick Stahl, so I was cool with it. There were some things the movie got right, some plot twists I didn't completely hate, but I did call them, but said twists could've had a little bit better lead in, just better something. I mean there's got to be something better than running. I mean it.

So yeah. This movie sucked. It couldn't even live up to the B movie glory it was trying to achieve. I blame the strange Asian guy. Although I will forever try to get intonation just right so I sound just like him when he says "Beetch". You know, just cause.

Bloody Munchkin Plays Catch-up

2007-07-13T09:39:00.000-07:00

I know, I know. It's been forever since I posted, and the last thing I posted was something about Silver Spoons??? So wrong. I've been very busy, with work but also other projects and I haven't had much of a head for the blog right now, as if I ever had to begin with.

I'm still recovering from a cold (THANKS ALOT Fighting Nun, really and truly), I just got back from a wedding, which I may or may not cover on my other blog, and I've just generally been busy.

I've been pouring a lot of energy into this short story project-thingie I've been forcing myself to write. I haven't decided what to do with it yet, but stay tuned (as if anybody but Fighting Nun is tuning in to begin with).

I'll try to be better about updates and new content from now on. Stay tuned for my review of a truly terrible movie and other pop-culture related goodies.

The Silver Spoons Drinking Game Discussion

2007-06-20T14:29:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-18T09:13:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-14T14:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-08T11:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-05T08:32:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-04T14:32:00.000-07:00

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!!!!!

What I did last week

2007-05-23T12:28:00.000-07:00

Hamvention. Ham. Vention. A Convention. For Ham Radio Operators. I'll wait a moment for that to sink in. Go ahead, let the thought of me going to a convention like that wash all over you. Done? O.k., we'll move on so that I may let you revel in my adventures at the Hamvention. Enjoy my little recap and rejoice in the fact that you didn't have to be there.

The three days spent at Hamvention went something like this: Song and dance, pony show, song and dance, pony show. "So what is the legal number of radios you can have strapped to your backpack anyway?" "I believe it's five." "Interesting." Song and Dance, Song and Dance. Marvelled at the parade of off-kilter humanity that stands before you. Recited my theory that everyone I've met so far is a variation on various people in my life; my high school science teacher, curmudgenly great-uncle, uncle, other uncle, father, that cool professor in college that Fighting Nun and I ended up drinking and talking about theoretical physics with, my ex-boyfriend, the comic-book guy on The Simpsons and a whole smattering of other people I've known. Uttered said theory to guys working booth. Got hit on by a seventy-five year old man who looks not unlike my grandfather (God rest his soul). HaD him lay it on thick for a good fifteen minutes. Felt thoroughly skeeved out by it. Threw previous theory out. Went to Lunch. Saw the Haagan Das counter and the Haagan Das guy. Swore off ice cream for the trip. Dog and Pony show. "Oh my God, that guy has on a Schroedinger's Cat T-shirt. That man is awesome." "Schrodinger's What?" "I... Well you see... You know what, too hard to explain. Let's just say I spent a leeeeetle too much time with Fighting Nun's Physics buddies back in college and leave it at that?" Song and Dance. Saw some amusing hats involving antennas and helmets. Marvelled at them. Pony Show, pony show pony show. Finished the show, ate, went back to the hotel, tried to explain my glee at the Schrodinger's Cat T-shirt to Fighting Nun only to be left out to dry. Slept.

Woke up to do the whole pony show over again. Pony Show, song and dance. Skeevy old dude. Again. Got skeeved out, again. Walked around rest of trade show. Pony Show. Took a lunch and inadvertantly stumbled upon the second coolest thing that day. Middle-aged Tron. That's right. Middle-aged Tron. He looked like the guy in Office Space who gets canned and then tries to kill himself and ends up in a bad car-wreck but also makes his jump-to-conclusions mat in all his mustache-twitching glory but in a Tron suit. And he didn't bail out either. Most guys in his position would've at least felt somewhat shamed by this display but he went full fledged into it, arms akimbo, smug smile. In the immortal works of Eddie in Empire Records "Well outlaw man. We salute you." Took a picture of Middle-Aged Tron with camera phone and pressed Store button, or thought I pressed store button. Got lunch. Ate Lunch. Discovered THE COOLEST thing that day. Cheesecake. On a stick. A slice of cheesecake, pie crust and all. Dipped (DIPPED!) in chocolate and frozen!!! The person who came up with that might soon find a marriage proposal addressed from me in the mail, just as soon as I figure out who he or she is. Now, before anybody gets indignant or upset that I'd leave Fighting Nun for someone who makes chocolate dipped cheesecake (ON A STICK!!!), know that I would never leave Fighting Nun for a desert-wielding person or persons. There would just be an arrangement see? An open arrangement where I am still with Fighting Nun but the cheesecake-on-a-stick person provides me with all the cheesecake (on a stick!) that I can manage. Although I'm not sure Fighting Nun would be happy with the arrangement, I'm sure we could come up with a compromise. Song and dance, pony show. Reveledl in the simulatneous glory if the delicious aftermath of the Cheesecake (ON A STICK!) and having seen the middle-aged Tron guy. Openned my cell phone to procur picture of middle-aged Tron to show to fellow pony show workers. Looked at cellphone incredulously when that the picture was not (WAS NOT) there. Went through the five stages of grief regarding not having a picture of middle-aged Tron. Recieved no comfort whatsoever from the fact that you can google middle-aged Tron on the internet. "It's not the same." Went back to booth and realize middle-aged Tron was gone!!! Pouted. Finished Dog and Pony show for the day. Ate with sales guys. Listened to them argue about The Sopranos for all of dinner. Went back to hotel, watched the end of The Sixth Sense and cried big buckets at that scene with Tony Collette. Don't have any good excuse for it either. Slept.

Woke up for one more day of the Dog and Pony show. Listened as the sales guys come up with an estimate as to how much I was worth. To wit, found out that my presence at said show brought in approximately $3,000 more than if I'd stayed home. Muttered under breath that I should've sandbagged it because this means I'll have to go back next year. Despite my better judgement, went back to the cheesecake on a stick guy, only to realize he was all sold out of cheesecake (On a stick!) and experienced the five stages of grief regarding the loss of said cheesecake (on a stick!), tried to convince myself that I'd be better off without said cheesecake (on a stick!) but whimpered because I knew it is untrue. Cheesecake makes all things better. Considered begging and pleading but thought better of it and took in the rest of the tradeshow. Considered, however fleetingly, of buying a three-hundred-dollar ladder. Had inner monologue about said ladder, to wit "You know, Fighting Nun said we need one and our anniversary is coming up...." "You'd actually buy your husband a ladder for your anniversary? Are you out of your mind????" "But if I buy it today, I can get the workbench and autoleveler thrown in. For Free!" "You disgust me." Marvelled at the fact that someone happens to be selling laptops for three-hundred dollars at the show and wondered if said laptops actually still had visible serial numbers or if they had been filed off. Counted the hours, minutes and seconds left before I could pack up the show and go home. Packed up the show and went home. Sat in airport and read book for a long, long time. Got home late and considered never speaking of the Hamvention ever again. Hugged the husband, hugged the dog and prayed to the powers that be I never have to go travelling for work again. Dreamt of Cheesecake (On a Stick!!!).

What I'm currently wasting time on...

2007-05-11T09:35:00.000-07:00

The Daily Puppy. I'm sorry, but if you don't like a daily dose of cute puppage, you don't have blood in your veins.

Book Review: Kushiel's Scion

2007-05-10T10:20:00.000-07:00

So I'll start out by saying that I liked the book. But I didn't love it. And I didn't love it for one reason, having to do with knowing what the author produced in the past and feeling that this book didn't really live up to that. If it was a stand alone book, meaning that if it wasn't a book in a series of books dealing with the same characters, I might've been willing to accept it on its own, but as it is, being a follow up to the books that came before it, I had a hard time accepting it.

Let me explain. Once upon a time there was this book see? Sitting in a corner of the local conglomo bookstore, see? And it peeked my interest because it had this awesome cover on it, with a beautiful girl with this awesome back tattoo exposed and I was intrigued. I picked it up and I immediately got hooked. That book was Kushiel's Dart, and I ate it up, every single word. Yes, it can be considered a rooooooooomance novel and yes there were some very explicit scenes. Fine I admit it, FIGHTING NUN, but there was a lot more to it than that, if you'd just let me explain, FIGHTING NUN. Beneath the desire and passion lied a truly amazing, sprawling tale, and Carey painted a very visual picture of court intrigue and war and of fierce loyalty that just took me by surprise. So I read the other two books and ate it up.

Then I heard about Kushiel's Scion, which picks up with the same characters, years later but under different narration. The first three were written in first person, under the voice of the main character, Phedre. This fourth book is narrated by her adopted son Imriel as he navigates his way through court intrigue and also through his adolescence. The book, as the other books did, does a great job of framing and shaping the main character. But the other books also succeeded in telling a very sprawling, intriguing story with lots of build-up and intensity, where I feel this one failed. Not for lack of trying, but it did. The set up was all there, but when I got to the end, all I could think of was "That's it?" All that work, all the build-up and anticipation for... that? And before you start, I know what you're going to say. That it's the first book in a new series with this narrator and there's more to it. And I agree with you and I truly want to get Kushiel's Justice in my grubby little mitts to continue the story. But if you compare this story arc versus the story arc covered in the first book, it kind of pales in comparison. *Spoiler Alert for those of you who haven't read Kushiel's Dart and want to* Phedre thwarted a full scale war of nations! *Spoiler Alert for those you who haven't read Kushiel's Scion* All Imriel did was fight in a little city-state siege. If I hadn't been aware of the story Carey was capable of telling from the first three books, this book as a stand-alone would be fine, but having read the first three, I'm aware of what she's capable of and this one felt like a mild let down. She laid out the ground work for a great follow-up book, but this one still felt lacking somehow. My rating: B, almost a B+

More proof of my spiral into insanity

2007-05-10T10:16:00.000-07:00

As if anybody needed any. Heh.

Bloody Munchkin: *Gasp* There's a white sock coupling with a pair of my panties! Wonder what all the militant white socks think about this. And I'm sure that pair of panties is getting mocked for her relationship. I. Am. Shocked.

Fighing Nun, paused in disbelief, frowning and squinting: What?!?

Bloody Munchkin: I just wonder what all the socks in the sock drawer think about this turn of events.
Fighting Nun, eyeing me fiercely, can't even manage and suitably sized eyeroll: I...

Bloody Munchkin: I feel bad for cutting their relationship off so soon before it even had a chance to fully bloom and grow.

Fighting Nun, shaking head, leaves room.

An open letter to persons and things of note I saw during the Warriors/Mavericks series

2007-05-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Baron Davis's Hamstring;

Don't ever do that to me again!!! You had me legitimately worried for the better part of a quarter. Baron deserves better than that.

Peace Out;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Don Nelson's Nose;

Oh how much I admire and respect you and the bulbous trajectory in which you are heading. There were several times the good film archive people decided to show clips of you from back in the day, when the course in which you were heading was just a glint in your nose hair, and then the good camera guys would pan back to you, in the present, and I could truly behold the wonder and beauty in the new path you are taking. You're trying for W. C. Fields territory and I have to say I appreciate it.

With deep respect and admiration;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Matt Barnes;

I have to say I didn't get it at first. Truth is, I kind of totally disliked you all season. I have this weird dislike for basketball players with visible arm and neck tattoos that I can't explain or articulate. It just bugs. No, I don't know why either. And then? You decide to sport a faux-hawk for the playoffs. At first I totally guffawed and openly mocked you. But now? I totally get it and I fully support the faux-hawk. I know. It makes no sense right? Non at all, but somehow, with all the visible tattoos and the little ruffian hawk, I'm totally into it. Maybe I was at odds with your random bowl cut you seemed to sport all season, as if the hair style plus tattoos didn't make any sense. But now? I'm digging it man. Don't change it. Go with it. You have my approval.

Stay Cool Dude;

The Munchkin

Dear Andris Biedrins;

You mind if I call you Beedee? Cause That's what I've been calling you all season... anyhoo. You're awesome dude. I ain't here to refute that. You kick ass. What I am here to do is plead with you to lay off the spray-on tanner and to back down on the abuse of the L.A. Looks Extra Hold hair gel. And it's not that I don't understand. I totally do. You're a pasty Latvian in sunny California. You're trying to adapt. I get that. It's just that.... Well you see... With your hair the way it is and all, the spray on tan is totally obvious. Your face color before your hair line... A darker than necessary bronze color. The skin color in your hair line, pinkish-pasty white.

And if your hair maintains its current course... Well, I hate to say this, but Dolph Lundgren will have you on speed dial demanding you return his hairstyle of the Rocky props closet where it belongs. The NBA already has one Dolph Lundgren hair-style sporting person, and his head (and heeeee-uge pimple) happen to be big enough to handle the weight and responsibility that comes with the Lundgren.

Just sayin;

Bloody

Charles Barkley;

I have to say the second to best part of this whole series has been to self-satisfyingly watch you have to eat your words against my team bit by bit. I still haven't recovered from the reaction shot of you, after game four, after the Warriors took a 3-1 lead in the series. It started with a wide shot of you and the rest of your Inside the NBA cohorts. Slowly, the camera panned into you, wearing a Mavs jersey, with your eyes looking down, a down trodden look on your face as you shake your head in disbelief and shock. I have to say, I'm totally revelling in that. Thanks dude.

Also, It's really lame when you decide to wear the Warriors shirt at the end of game six, like you actually were on the band wagon the whole time. Don't think I didn't notice and that I'm not utterly perturbed by this turn of events. Best check yourself before you wreck yourself Barkley. That's all I'm saying. (Yeah I have no idea what I meant by that either.)

P.S. Could you tell the pasty white guy on the end there that when they do a wide shot of you anchors, he looks, for some reason, uncannily like John Waters, and it kinda totally freaks me out. Thanks. I appreciate it.

Dear Mark Cuban;

Heh. *Trying to stifle a giggle* Hehehehehehehe. *Trying to stifle it again* BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Excuse me. I'm sorry. I know it's wrong of me to kick a man when he's down but I have to say there are few emotions better than the laughter that comes from watching someone truly begging for it get their comeuppance. While watching the last quarter of the game, any time they would pan to you, I couldn't help but want to scream at my t.v. "That's right Mark Cuban. Suck it! Take your greasy hair, the bad molester facial pubes you're sporting, your stupid looking Mavs shirts and go home." I have since tempered that emotion now... who am I kidding. No I haven't. See ya next season Cuban. I know you'll have long hours of bitter tears ahead of you but take comfort that you can console yourself in your giant man boobs.

I'm truly very for your loss *Snicker* Heh;

P.S. Shut up about the arbitration and just give Nellie his due, jerkwad.

All's fair in love and Scrabble

2007-05-01T16:20:00.000-07:00

If anybody ever tries to tell you that marriage is a compromise, or marraige is sacrafice or any of those other platitudes is either A) trying to sell you something or B) obviously not married. You want to know what marriage is? Marriage is a competition. And everything in the relationship actually consists of several smaller competitions. Who gets to take out the dog is usually settled by a highly contested game of 1-2-3 Not It! The nightly battle of "Who makes sure if the door is locked downstairs is usually decided by a best 2-out-of-3 (highly contested) round of rock-paper-scissors, closely followed by an argument about cheating and that you can't change from rock to paper a SECOND after you clearly chose ROCK (FIGHTING NUN!). Who gets to wash dishes, who gets to cook, who mows the lawn, all part of the competition that is marriage. And the good thing about this competition is that there's at least of 50% likely hood of pulled hair. But still sportsmanlike. Definate sportsmanlike hair-pulling going on.

But when the competition of marriage actually involves an actual competition? The gloves come O-F-F. You wouldn't think so. You'd think a friendly game of Scrabble would be just a friendly game of Scrabble. You sir, would be wrong. How wrong? I once saw Fighting Nun accuse my own mother of cheating because she used the triple word score. That's how wrong. Awhile back, for example, I think I was officially written out of Fighting Nun's will because I used all my tiles (worth a 50 pt. bonus!) to spell "wrinkled". He was trying to burst me into flames with his eyes.

"How dare you."
"What?"
"I was thiiiiiiis close to catching up and then you spell 'Wrinkled'. Wrinkled?"
"What?"
"Let’s do a quick game recap, shall we? You put frozen down, which was on a double word score, then you put vacant down, now there’s wrinkled? You’re cheating."
"How am I cheating? I’m just using big words. It’s allowable. Not against Scrabble rules."
"You’re getting all the consonants, with high scoring value. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in vowel-land. You rigged the tile bag."
"I rigged the tile bag? How could I possibly rig the tile bag? Like I put little tracking devices on all the consonant chips? Besides, vowels are important."
"Actually yeah, I do believe you could’ve done that. Also, vowels are only important if I wanted to put e-i-e-i-o down on the board. Which I don’t."
"I’m sure you can use all your vowels."
"Shut up. Wrinkled? Jesus."

A few turns later, now Fighting Nun won’t admit this if you ask him, but he admitted defeat and asked if we could quit the game before the carnage got too great. As soon as I accepted his white flag, with only a mild gloating grin on my face, he tossed the tiles over the bed and said "Winner gets to put it up." You win some. You lose some.

Civility isn’t one of our strong suits during game night. Civility definately doesn’t have a place when the in-laws come over for a "friendly" game of parchessi. Civility is usually in the other room where people aren’t threatening physical violence against other people because of two doubles in a row. The insults and accusations run rampant in the both families, which makes playing games with extended family fun, if by fun you mean utter mayhem. There is something to be said about watching your brother-in-law openly accuse his wife's grandmother, a frail lady who can't go anywhere without her oxygen support, of outright cheating (which it turns out, she actually does), but what is to be said I don't quite know yet.

Also not one of our strong suits; losing gracefully. See the aforementioned example of 'Winner gets to pick it up'. Also, we don't win gracefully either. Do yourself a favor and don't ever smugly eat a cookie after winning a game of chinese checkers because you will only get looks of disdain and disgust from the other family members. Not that I would know from experience... cough.

I know what you're going to say. You're going to convince me that it's all fun and games and we as an extended family unit shouldn't take it seriously. Well it is, but it isn't, and we don't but we totally do. Hey if the Scrabble board doesn't get flung around at least once during a family gathering, than we as family members, neigh, as people, are not doing our job.

Snarking the Trailer: All the trailers shown before Hott Fuzz (excluding Delta Farce)

2007-05-01T15:55:00.000-07:00

Not since the trailers before the movie Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the original (yes I saw it. In the the theatres. I was a teenager and very susesptible to Corey Feldman in all his forms. No I don't have a better excuse than that, unless Elias Koteas counts as an excuse, but I was too young to register him then, so no.) have the trailors before a movie been so tailored, so hand-picked to my tastes, my needs. Well, that's excluding Delta Farce, which I am strongly averse to, because Larry the Cable Guy. Larry + a movie role does not, I repeat, DOES NOT an enjoyable cinematic experience make, no matter how much I like DJ Qualls and Danny Trejo. And the Trejo rules, we all know that by now. But even I have my limits (I Know! I'm just as shocked as you are!).

Ahem. But the other trailers before Hott Fuzz? Awesome. Utterly awesome. Killer awesome. Starting with....

Knocked Up. The buzz on this movie has been very palpable, but up until now, I've kept my trap shut, because what did I know? Yes, It's a Judd Apatow movie, he gets a pass from me for Freaks and Geeks and I'm still beating myself up for not watching Undeclared (dude, I'm sorry!). This looks utterly awesome. Maybe it's the Paul Rudd (Clueless, 'Nuf said). Maybe it's the Jason Segal, who keeps growing in esteem in my mind. I mean, first off Freaks and Geeks, second off SLC Punk ('The rain forests man. SOMEONE has to do something about the rain forests.') And now How I Met Your Mother, which I absolutely love, not least of which for the Marshall. Also, Martin Starr. Martin 'Bill Haverchuck' Starr. Martin 'Remember that time in civics when I had to fart, and it came out, well, a poop? And I had to flush my undies down the toilet? Do you think I wanted to tell you that?' Starr. I realize that Apatow reuses all his favorites and therefore I shouldn't be that surprised, but love!!! Big Ball O' Love for this silly movie. Must Watch Eeet!!

And then, and then, and then... Superbad. My love for high school romcoms makes it a statistical inevitability that I have to see this movie. Micheal Cera people!!!! I'm not sure what else I can say other than that scene? Where he accidently touches the girl's breast because he was bumped into her? Genius. Sheer genius and if the movie is one tenth as funny as that scene? I'm in. Sign me up!

And lastly: Balls of Fury. I think I mentioned sometime back when I first heard about this movie that Christopher Walken + Ping Pong = Awesome, and after seeing the trailer, I have to say, the equation still stands. It's ping pong, it's Christopher Walken. What's not to understand and love? Yes, the movie will probably be one tired joke after the other followed immediately by a crotch shot or three, but let's be honest with ourselves, do crotch shots ever get old? No. No they do not.

So yeah. The genius trailer putter-together-ers couldn't have hand-picked a better set of trailers to try and sell me on if they had tried. Or maybe they like to see Fighting Nun rolls his eyes even more while I sit there giddily jumping in my seat and trying not to squeal.

Made-Up Band Name

2007-04-24T12:36:00.000-07:00

I think this might be my favoritist made-up band name yet....

The Dummy Gladhands

This name brought to you courtesy of the semi I was following yesterday during my commute. The full sign I read might actually be the title of my auto-biography:

Caution: Use Dummy Gladhands When Airlines are Disconnected.

If you stop and think about it, that is really a metapho for my entire life. Nobody take my idea, or I will cut you.

Almost as good as a wife beaters t-shirt

2007-04-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

As I know this is a sore point with BM I take pride is poking her in the stomach.

This chair, magnificent display of manhood is yours for the low price of 1299. If you order today you get pre-soaked beer stains for absolutely no cost! Make your hubby happy and spoil him, go on you know it goes with the decor of the house!

Dancing with the Stars

2007-04-24T08:36:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't really watched this show ever before and I'm only watching it now out of mutual respect and adoration for Apolo Ohno and, scarily enough, Ian Ziering (Yes, I should know better!). I'll keep my thoughts brief but the one thing I have to say, and I feel utterly bad that this was my initial reaction, but Julianne's brother's hair? Jan Micheal Vincent called. He wants his hair from his Air Wolf days LEFT THERE. My god. Sorry, that's all I got.

Hott Fuzz, the actual review

2007-04-23T08:44:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I liked it. I loved it actually. If someone could tell Simon Pegg and Nick Frost that I absolutely love them and would like to buy them a couple of rounds I'd really appreciate it. I don't love it as much as Shaun of the Dead, but I did like it. Not all of it works, but enough of it does. What works? The kicking grandma in the head part. That? Was awesome. Also cheesily awesome? THe Point Break send-up. That was hi-larious. Also. "It's alright, Andy! It's just bolognese!" That was awesome. Also, was Timothy Dalton having too much fun with that shit-eating grin or what?!Fighting Nun's rating for the movie was a 6. Mine was a 7 1/2 (out of ten). Given what I've said about our relative movie preferences, that should tell you all you need to know.

Two Word Movie Review: Hot Fuzz

2007-04-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

Kick. Ass.

The Gnat

2007-04-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

Last night, Fighting Nun and I had a discussion the likes of which no one has ever heard:

Bloody Munchkin: Fighting Nun, come here for a second.
Fighting Nun, sitting at computer, sullenly: Why?
Bloody Munchkin, somewhat anxiously: Because I need you to check my eye for a gnat?
Fighting Nun: You need me to check your eye for a what?
Bloody Munchkin, more exacerbated: While I was walking the dog, a gnat dive-bombed my eye and now I have gnat body parts commingling with my eyeball juice.
Fighting Nun: Heh.
Bloody Munchkin: Would you stop laughing and look AT MY EYE for a GNAT body.

Moments later:

Fighting Nun: Yep. There's a gnat carcass in your eyeball alright, go upstairs and flush it out.
Bloody Munchkin: O.k.
Fighting Nun: Oh and Bloody Munchkin?
Bloody Munchkin: Yeah?
Fighting Nun: Try not to get any more gnats in your eye on the way up there (Insert an eight-year-old's chuckle here).
Bloody Munchkin, with anger rising: Grrrrr.

Not a conversation someone has everyday, I'm guessing. Also, not one I ever want to have again. So yeah, I had a gnat carcass tucked in between my eyeball and my lower eyelid for the better part of fifteen minutes last night. The ten minutes or so it took to flush out the little body? Apparently that was enough time for Fighting Nun to put together a whole ream of jokes about said incident in his head. From that point on it became "Try not to get any more gnats stuck In Your Eye." and "Bzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Blink." Gee thanks. So helpful. Remind me to write that on your gravestone.

You know who I feel the worst for in this little anecdote, well besides me, the gnat-in-the-eye recipient? The gnat. Poor little Garry McGnatersons, just flying around, minding his own business, signalling to make a right hand turn with his teeny-tiny appendages-as-turn-signals, when all the sudden his being squished between an eyeball and lower lid. I mean, out of the many ways a creature can die, getting one's self sandwiched in between an eyeball and an eyelid is not a way Mother Earth intended for her creatures to go I'm guessing. You think Mr. McGnaterson had an interesting conversation with the Gnat version of St. Peter (who I shall lovingly call St. Gnatter from here on in)?Picture it, he got to little gnat heaven and St. Gnatter was all "And how'd you die?" and poor Mr. McGnaterson looked down at the cloud floor and was all like "I accidently divebombed myself into a human's eye." and St. Gnatter, and all the other gnats who had died by being froggy food start snickering. And then poor Mr. McGnaterson would have to explain before the heavenly gnat gates that as his little gnat soul left his little gnat body, he watched me wash his carcass down the faucet and down the drain. *Sniff*. Man, if I'd only known how much this would effect me, I would have given the McGnaterson a proper send off. I didn't realize how much I'd get involved until now.

And now I've snapped myself out of it because.... I had a GNAT! In my EYE!!!! And more fodder for Fighting Nun to MAKE FUN OF ME!!! Like he needed any!!! I'm not sure what my point was with this diatribe other than... I HAD A GNAT!!! IN MY EYE!!!

Made-Up Band Name

2007-04-18T14:50:00.000-07:00

This weeks newest submission?

The Battlescones

Yet another band that could be The Aquabats' proxy. Just sayin'.

Hair

2007-04-18T12:23:00.000-07:00

Ready for another rant which happens to be pretty inane, comprised of nothing and tends to make no sense have no definitive conclusion whatsoever? Well too bad. You're getting one anyway. Today's rant is brought to you by my hair, which happens to hate me. I just happen to have the sense enough to hate it back.

I have issues with my hair. Actually, I think my hair has issues with me, deep-seated issues that not even couples therapy can solve. And I know where it started too. It's my mother's fault really (Hi Mom! It's really not. You didn't over crisp my hair and burn my ear that time. That was all a bad dream. Really! I don't need any guilt trips! Really). For whatever reason, my mother had no actual experience with managing and taming a child's hair, so up to the age of eleven or so it ran wild, like a feral cat (and probably looked much the same). At about that time, I committed the heinous act of forcing the spiked mullet on my hair. My hair stopped talking to me after that. After committing further atrocities against my hair, totaling three perms and a shag hair cut, during my mispent youth, it's pretty much declared all out war. I can't say I blame it much.

But we've tried to come to terms with each other, not an all out truce mind you, but a cease-fire. I provide it with frequent brushings, frequent washings, and decent enough stylings, and it repays me by trying to keep the tangling to a minimum. I take it to see Sabrina every 10 weeks (which it LOVES! I don't know if Sabrina lulls it, or beats it into submission or subconciously bonds with it. but it does fabulous things for her that it would snarl at doing for me. I swear, the last time I went in for a cut and a style, I head it purring. Scout's Honor.). If it doesn't hate me too much in a given month, I don't threaten it with 'The Sinead' (It knows I'll never do that and I know I'll never do that, but it's a last resort tactic). I don't force it into any ridculous coifs and it has provided me with three modes at which it comfortably agrees to. These are the terms of our cease-fire.

But I'm finding the three modes a little less agreeable as of late. I don't know if it's because my hair is getting longer and therefore less willing to agree to said modes or if I'm finally no longer under the dillusion that said modes are 'stylish', 'retro' or otherwise. Maybe It would help if I explained my hair's three modes:

1. The Nerdy, Yet Sexy, Librarian - This happens to be the one and only up do I can manage comfortably. It's either a messy bun in a pony tail or my hair bursting out of a hair clip in a cascade. Either way, picture something that you can comfortably stick a pencil in. It has things to recommend it, like the fact that I think it plants a seed in Fighting Nun's head that I could throw the clip off and start twirling my hair around like I was rejected for the lead in the Hot for Teacher video, which makes him just a little panty and drooly. Make of that what you will.

The issue with that do now is that my hair is getting long, and I'm keeping it in the bi-layer cut, and so the hair in the front comes out of the clip or ponytail and just kind of lingers there on the sides of my face, being a general nuissance. It's less Hot For Teacher and more frazzled school marm, which blech. Fighting Nun kinda likes the messy hair coming out of the bun, but it kinda drives me nuts. Operative word: Kinda.

2. The Molly Ringwald AKA The Claire - This is what I call my hair when I blow dry it. OK, I actually don't have the cut or the color for my hair to officially look like Molly Ringwald's in the Breakfast Club, which, as far as I'm concerned, is a good thing, because if I had those bangs, I'd kick my own ass. But when my hair is straight and down, my hair tries to emulate that frizzy, yet at the same time feathery look Molly had going on in the movie. I'm not sure why. Maybe I watched Breakfast Club too many times during my formative years (and/or now) and it just figures that it happens to be what I'm going for.

Now that it's getting longer, it's sadly decided that it's less Molly and more Ally Sheady, which I absolutely have no idea how to compute. If I wanted to look like a frizzy wierdo with a lieing compulsion who likes to use her dandruff as art, I'd make that happen on my own. Thanks but no thanks.

3. The Charlie's Angels AKA The Farah - So lately I've been taking showers at night and letting my hair air dry while I sleep. When I wake up, my hair has taken on the whole feral cat thing I mentioned earlier, which is less of a look and more of a monstrosity. I've got too much to do in the morning, so I can't rewet it, hair-dry it and create The Molly, so I resort to the third option, which is to work with my hair's natural kinda-curly, kinda-wavy, kinda-kinky, kinda-all-over-the-place tendancy. So I curl it. Instead of curling it under, because my hair HATES anything coming close to the Dorthy Hammill look and FIGHTS IT (The cease fire would be O-F-F and the battle would be O-N), I curl it in ringlet's. Not Shirley Templet ringlets mind you. I'm actually trying for Sheryl Crowe ringlets circa her Tuesday Night Music Club days, but I've since given up any and all dreams of ever coming close to that look and now just hope for the best. The resulting do is what can best be described as The Charlies Angels look. It's bouncy and enjoys the occasional head toss side to side as much as I enjoy doing the tossing (That? Sounded horrible. I apologize.), and I occassionaly do the whole lunge-profile thing while making a finger-gun like the Charlie's Angels' logo, just for fun. But by the end of the day, the hair has realized it can't keep the curl up, although it kind of holds onto it the best it can. So it tosses the very ends out all Ehn and the resulting look is a messy Farah Fawcett.

The sucky thing about this look that I'm only realizing now? It's becoming less Farah and more Kelly Wearstler. I know, right? Who in their right mind whould knowingly do THAT to themselves, and yet I've apparantly been doing it. I realize that It's partially my fault. Look I know that if you're going to go ringlets, you have to go all the way with it and curl all your hair. I get that. And I realize it's lazy that I only curl the top layer and so the bottom layer looks frizzy in context. Not a corner I should be cutting. I get that. I especially get that now that I looked in the mirror and saw The Wearstler staring back at me. The Bozo-The-Clown-Bride of Frankenstien Hybrid is doing nobody any favors, especially me. I'm learning from my mistakes.

I couldn't have lost my male readership (as if I had any, heh.) any harder if I'd tried, could I? Even Fighting Nun tuned out paragraphs ago all "Oh Gawd, she's talking about her hair again. I'm Doug and I'm out of here." What's the point you ask? You should know better than to ask that question, becuase the question, much like this diatribe is pointless and fruitless, much like any attempts to work on a treaty with my hair. Just so you know.

Dear Unsightly Chin Hair;

2007-04-16T14:40:00.001-07:00

Stop it. It's not funny. I mean seriously. Quit it. From now to eternity. Just stop it. Yes, I realize somewhere along the way I often mused about how awesome my dad's salt and pepper facial hair was growing up, but just cause I offered up such a musing does not mean I want said facial hair on my face!!! I'm a girl damn it! I like girlie things! Sure I realize I have the same genetic predisposition as my father for John Wayne movies and eating foods that can best be considered as "experimental" ('Peanut Butter, Cheese and Mayonnaise sandwiches anyone?" "Sure Dad, I'll have one."). I enjoy those traits. I also inherited his traits of talking loudly, asking everyone to repeat what they were saying, and the tendency to rattle off inane anecdotes when the situation may or may not call for it. I don't enjoy those traits, but I put up with them, as do the people around me (*cough Fighting Nun cough*). The genetic trait I hate??? Having my father's more stubborn mustache hair suddenly appear on my chin and on my lip. Why??? Dear God Why?!?! If I wanted to go all mountain man I'd have done it by now. I don't need my follicles to help with something I do not want!

So chin hairs, I'm begging you. I'm pleading with you. Please for the love of God stop feeling all pin prickly, stop showing how black and stick-outy you are in comparison to the rest of my face and please, please, please stop growing entirely. Your presence in my life is starting to freak me out.

Peace Out;

BM

Two Word Movie Review: Grindhouse

2007-04-12T10:16:00.000-07:00

Awesome! Trejo!

(O.k., technically I get that Trejo wasn't in the movie and was in the movie trailer itself (a movie I want to see badly mind you. Machete!!! Awesome!!!!), but Trejo is so freaking awesome that I had to comment, so therefore my movie review is a redundancy, but still. And to be honest, I was pretty buzzed before we went to the movie. Thank you ever so much Chevy's margaritas. Also a contributing factor? Pyramid's Apricot Ale. So I don't really have anything of substance to say about the movie, other than, surprisingly Kurt Russel's hair actually eclipsed Josh Brolin's on the having a life of it's own factor. And Freddy Rodriguez? Totally awesome. "I never miss." Ha!!!

If you want an actual movie review, go directly to the reel fanatic's blog. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. My inebriated recollections probably won't cut it. Just saying.

I'm Sorry Fighting Nun...

2007-04-12T10:09:00.000-07:00

...Haley got voted off American Idol last night. Your reason for watching American Idol has ceased to exist. No more hot-pants ogling for you! Sorry.