The myriad emotions experienced while cleaning my house

Alternate Titles:
The Bloody Munchkin vs. The Vacuum Cleaner's Green Light of Cleanliness
1. Determination - "This kitchen is gonna gleam damnit!"

2. Frustration - *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "God Damn It FIghting Nun! Swiffering Here!" *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "I. AM. SWIFFERING!" *Tromp Tromp Tromp* "Pick A Room! Stay In It! Respect the swiffer!"

3. Confused Frustration - "O.k., so let me get this straight. I've vacuumed over this part of the floor at least thirty times, but theevil Red Light of floor dirtiness on the Vacuum cleaner hasn't gone off and the Green Light, representing all that is good and clean in this world has not come on? Why? I mean, I've vacuumed over this spot several times. It can not be that dirty. Can it?

4. Guilt. Guilt and Shame. - "O.k., maybe the floor really can be that dirty. I mean, when was the last time I vacuumed? Has it really been that long? Yes, yes it has been. This floor has to be absolutely. There's probably enough dog hair residing in this carpet to build a couple other dogs, or a sweater, or perhaps knit a blanket. I am so horrible. I can't believe I haven't vacuumed in so long that the floor will now be perpetually dirty. The dude from Dirty Jobs is now going to host a show in my carpet because it is that dirty. I am so horrible. I've had this house only, what, three months and now the carpet is so dirty that it will never get clean. I am horrible.

5. Contrition - "O.k. God, or the carpet gods or whatever. I promise from now on. to clean the carpet and vacuum every week if you see it fit to just make the clean light come on for just a little bit so as to verify that the rug is just a little clean. Please that's all I ask."

6. Anger - "What the hell do I have to do to get the FREAKING Green Light to come on so that I know that the carpet is at least somewhat clean for Christ's Sake? I just. HATE!!! HATEY HATE HATE!!!

7. Scientific Analysis - "It seriously can not be me and the floor. There's gotta be a reasonable explanation. Maybe the filter needs to be cleaned or replaced or I need to empty out the container...."

8. Dirty - This isn't so much a feeling as it is actually a physical state, because when I pull out the container and the filter, a huge mushroom cloud of fine silty dirt and dog hair came out, covering me in a thin layer of whatever's been residing in my carpet since the last time I vacuumed. I look like a badly assembled muppet that wasn't assembled with felt but with dog hair and flour. Actually, I look like... O.k. so remember that scene in The Sandlot when they're trying to get the Babe Ruth baseball out of the clenches of the beast and they use a vacuum cleaner, but then the beast pinches the hose and the vacuum cleaner builds up and explodes and covers all the kids in dirt? Yeah. Like that.

9. Triumph - "Ha Ha. Green Light of Cleaning success!!!! I am not a horrible cleaning person thingy! Yeah!!!"

10. Repeat Emotions 4 - 9 a good five times. I had to empty out that vacuum cleaner and clean the filter the same amount of times because I have a dog. Who is shedding. Shedding the equivalant of this body weight in fact. All over my carpet. And has been doing so since the last time I vacuumed which means I could build at least five little dogs out of the amount of shedded dog hair I cleaned up.

11. Commiseration - "Oh, Dirty Jobs Father's Day Marathon, how much you have brightened my spirits. I'm so feeling him right now."

12. Glee - At the same time I was cleaning, Fighting Nun and his dad were doing manly things and working on a car. And when you work on a car you get greasy. They asked me to help them get clean, which meant running the hose and doling out soap, which meant... In best Harvey Kietel voice "Well, now I'm sure you've both been to county." Then I sprayed them with water and cackled. It's not often i get to use that one. It made me inordinately happy. No, I do not know why. Yes, I will be seeking therapy. The second moment of glee came when I watched somebody twelve-point park a mini van in the Target parking lot. It was a cross between that scene in Austin Powers where he gets the golf cart stuck and like some stranger performance art.

13. Inadequacy - I can only blaim my feelings of inadequacy on the fact that my battle with the vacuum cleaner had left me feeling just a little bit vulnerable and shaken, but when I went down the cleaning supplies aisle, I felt my unworth just a little bit. My inner monologue went something like this "Dude, that is one big broom, and the little hand held broom with the dustpan." "What would you even use that for. You are not an umpire." "I know but it's all cool and tidy like. Ooh, look a the aweome little soap dispensing scrub brush. I want one of those." "You do not need a soap dispensing scrub brush." "Yeah I do... Oh look, a squeegee!" "You do not need a squeeqee, what would you even use it for any way." For squeegeeing stuff, and to get to say the word squeegee alot." "YOU DO NOT NEED A SQUEEGEE." "But look at all this stuff. No wonder I don't have a clean house, I am missing the important tools with which to do my job!" "Fine. Grab the soap dispenser thing and let get out of here.

14. Frustration - "God damnit Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. You are supposed to be the magical solution to all my marked wall problems! I demand! You Supply, Magic Eraser Thingie. Obey Me!" "Aren't you supposed to get it wet first?" "Really?"

15. Admiration - "Look at that, the markings on the wall came off!"

16. Urgency, followed by panic - So you know that rule about whatever can go wrong, will? I think that rule is trying to play itself out in our house. We sprung a leak, or more to the point, the second bathroom shower sprung a leak that decided to drain out through a hole in the eve overhanging the garage, which totally freaked us out. And made us curse up and down that we weren't more organized with our paperwork involving our warranty or whatever.

17. Control - One call to the warranty guy later, I felt in control of the situation, which isn't much like me at all...

18. Indignation - "Damn It dog! I just vacuumed! Did you have to pick this particular moment, right after I could build a to scale replica of you WITH YOUR OWN HAIR to shed the equivelant of another muppet costume? That's it. You're getting a B-A-T-H."

19. Commiseration - "I know you don't like getting a bath. But it's really not that bad. You're outside, see, so it's o.k. You'll get to roll around and lay in sun all you want once I've desasquatchified you. Really."

20. Wet - Not once, in the 6 years of owning this dog have I figured out how to fend off or avoid "The Shake" altogether. He shakes off water, I get wet. These are the facts.

21. Contentment/Exhaustion - "The house is clean, the dog is clean, unhappy with us, but clean, we've warded off domicile apocolypse for the time being. I think I'm gonna take a nap..."

I Got Quoted!

Like for real! On like another blog and everything! Somebody is actually using something I wrote to prove a point and like stuff. That, like never happens! But it's for a good cause! Bring Back Ish. And Danny. And Alex. And Big Dane.

Pimp My Ride: The New Class

So I caught the new episode of Pimp My Ride in the new garage, with the new cast last night, and may I just say, it was exactly as dissapointing as I predicted. Overall, it did what a Pimp My Ride episode does best, it had plenty of X to the Z eyebrow pops, it had the pimpee in question freaking out when he got his fixed up ride. What it didn't have was Alex, and Danny, and Ish, and Big Dane. What it did have was an owner who was too busy mugging for the camera to care about anything else. And can we talk about the owner, Beau or whatever, for a sec? What is up with the hair? Jon Bon Jovi circa the Dead or Alive video called. He wants his hair back. And while we're on the subject of hair follicles, the dude who is a sub-par accessories guy on this show, the one with the spikey hair and the equally sub-par eyebrow pops and half-ass attempts of looks of inquisitive that turn into looks of stupid confusion because all the TIGI products he is using to make sure his hair will not move have apparantly eaten at his brain? That guy? I refuse to learn names for the new cast because they are unworthy at this point, but that's besides the point. The point is he looks stupid with the hair and the hair dye and piercings and all. I'm not against the punk hair. I usually applaud the mohawk and the faux-hawk and especially the died mohawk. That hair takes guts and anybody who has got the guts to go for it, well in the immortal words of Eddie on Empire Records "You're a Rebel Man, We salute you."

But on this guy? It's just for show. The hair is pretentious and so is he. If you are sporting a certain look, you've got to own it is what I'm saying. Alex owned those chin spikes. Owned them. This guy? Not so much.

It's not say that this episode didn't have it's moments. The new interiors guy? The pseudo-Ish? Cracked My Shit Up. He made me momentarily happy. He gets a pass. But everybody else on this show, Mad Mike included? Better step their game up if they expect to keep me as a viewer is what I'm saying. Who am I kidding? I'll probably watch anyway, that's how low my TV watching standards are. I even watch "So You Think You Can Dance" so it's not like I ask alot from the programming folks, but still. Pimp My Ride, Step your game up or I'm walking...

Stephen Dorff, Confused Crossdresser?

Fighting Nun is not going to let me live this one down....

So once upon a time I was obsessed (OBSESSED) with Stephen Dorff. I mean, it was my teens and all, but it was full on. I'm talking just a leettle bit over the edge here. Actually let me start from the beginning. I was nine years old and I stumbled upon a really bad horror movie on WGN called "The Gate". I was enamored. Hated the movie. Loved the boy in the movie.

Fast forward to my teens when I become obsessed with a movie called "The Power of One". I'm talking "Had the Soundtrack and the Movie Poster" obsessed. Swooning obsessed. Later I found out that the lead boy in the Gate was one in same with the older PK. And it WAS ON. I have forced Fighting Nun to see some god awful movies to try and sate my Stephen Dorff fix. Space Truckers. Feardotcom. That Britney Spears video.

Fighting Nun made a joke out of my obsession, to wit "Why you into a gay man?" And now, here's some vaguely worded proof, or something. He's into women's clothing. If he's the next Ru Paul, I might have to fling myself off a building...

Nacho Libre

So am I nuts or am I the only one who wants to see Nacho Libre? I know I'm the only one in my household anyway. I get all excited when one of the commercials comes on, Fighting Nun just rolls his eyes and not even the dog can be bothered. But it's genius. Geeenius.

Jack Black. In Blue Tights. And what I'm taking to be a Jew-Fro. Wrestling. What's not to love? I mean that hair alone is worth the price of admission. And the mustache. And the eyebrow pops (I know, I know, he does that in every movie). Come On People. Brilliant!!!

O.k., I get Fighting Nun's reservations. We've been burned before. Orange County. School of Rock. Saving Silverman (shudder). But that doesn't change the fact that I'm Jack Black's bitch and have been since Airborne. He was Augie Damn it! The second he was in that film sealed my fate as such. That's a long story, but still. It's Jack Black in Tights and Jew-Fro. How can the man who brought to the world Inward Singing and Karate Schnitzel be bad? You know how? You don't do you, because HE CAN'T BE. He's in Tenacious MOTHER-FUCKING D for Christ's Sake. You and I must see his movie now!!! Jack Black Commands You!!! So Do the Tights!!! And the Jew-Fro!!! The Jew-Fro asks for Your Obedience!!! Obey!!!!!!!!!

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drifzzzzz

O.k., this is not a review of the movie, because I haven't seen it, am not going to pay money to see it in the theaters, and have done good to avoid the Fast and the Furious enterprise as a whole, except for the first one, and no I don't have a good reason why I watched it. I just did, O.k.?

This post is more of a gripe about Lucas Black, who I used to like whole hell of a lot, not in a Ohmygodheissooooocute kinda way, because I was in my late teens when American Gothic came out, and that show, and him by association gave me the heebs, but I can remember admiring him because here he was a kid in a very dark TV show and he pulled off his character convincingly. And Slingblade. He was great in that.

He was this kid actor, taking up unconventional roles and I applauded him for that. But jumping in on the Fast in the Furious franchise? It just bums me out. I thought better of him. And the way he's coming off in the ads, especially in the radio ads. Jesus. His accent in those ads makes me wanna tear my hair out. Tone it down a bit with the "Ahm juss a good ole boy" by way of the ghetto accent your trying to pull off, because? Not working. Also? Making you sound ridiculous. Also, when did you start looking like a cross between Sean Patrick Flannery and Paul Walker? Cause, when you were a kid, I did not see that coming. Now, looking at your IMDB profile, I can hear a casting agent in head going "Now where can I find a country-fried Paul Walker , but with slightly more brain cells? Hmm, I've got it. Lucas Black." And that just depresses me. I expected more from this kid is all than being a Paul Walker knockoff and starring in Paul Walker's throw-aways.

Pimp My Ride

I'm sure that the small audience I do have is probably sick of hearing me go on and on with my TV related rants, but you're about to hear another one, regardless. Ready???

Sunday, I got to do my second favorite activity, which is stay at home while Fighting Nun goes windsurfing so I can have complete control of the remote control, able able to watch whatever crap I want. There's something to be said about the utter fulfillment I get from being able to watch whatever happens to be on the television without the dreaded veto looming over me. You know what I mean, statements like "Oh My God, we are not watching this." and "This is a re-run. We have already seen it. Turn. The. Channel." with the eye roll to follow whatever channel choice I decide to make. The Veto. And let me just say that I know the crap I watch is crap. I know, that at my age, I have no earthly business watching whatever it is the braintrusts at MTV decides to roll out with, but I watch it anyway. But that's not the point here.

So I'm watching Sunday, and the skies part and the heavens open wide and there is a Pimp My Ride marathon on TV. I love Pimp My Ride. I love Pimp My Ride Marathons. I love Pimp My Ride reruns, which really annoys Fighting Nun because, see above. Yes I know I've seen the one where they make over that girl's truck and create a wall of TV's in the truck bed, but it does not diminish the awesomeness. I don't care. I will watch it again. Whenever it is on TV. That's how much I love Pimp My Ride. So I'm watching yesterday, and teasers for the new season come on. Which makes me happy. The teasers show a new garage. Which makes me confused. (GAS? This is not West Coast Customs. What is going on here???) The teasers show a whole new cast. Which makes me sad. It makes me more than sad. It breaks my heart actually. It breaks my heart into a million teeny-tiny pieces. You mean to tell me, that this new season is devoid of Ish? And Big Dane? And, and Alex? And, and, and Danny? I just, I just... *Sob*. I do not know what to do with this information. I mean, I love me some Xzibit and I'll probably follow him to the ends of the earth because he has some of the best one-liners and dead pans I have ever witnessed. But the thing is I loved the cast at West Coast Customs too. Alex hung chandelier parts off his chin spikes. That's some funny crap right there man.

I mean, I guess I get that the show decided to follow Mad Mike to the new garage or whatever, but he was probably in the bottom three on my list of favorites in the crew. Because did I mention Ish? And Big Dane? And, and Alex? And, and, and Danny? Those guys were awesome. They made me happy. Ish with his broken English, Alex with his chin spikes and picking on Danny, and Danny taking shuttlecocks to the huevos and Big Dane being Big Dane. They were great. They put a smile on my face and now they are gone, banished to reruns, from which they may never return. And Fighting Nun has twice denounced the procurement of Pimp My Ride DVDs, so I have no idea what I'm gonna do to get my fix.

And based on the trailers for the upcoming season, the new crew looks like a bunch of preening assholes. Your cockiness does not impress me dudes. You're gonna have to be funny, and ridiculous, and silly if you want to gain my love and respect. Danny did a take-off of that Mitsubishi Car Commercial with the dancing and the Dirty Vegas song, complete with ridiculous pink cap and scarf to win my affections. What are you gonna do for me? Huh, huh, huh??? Is this cast and crew willing to look like big dorks to win me over? I think not. Which saddens me. X to Z can only take it so far with the funny one liners and the eyebrow pops of confusion and the cracking up wildly on camera. The new cast has to bring it, with funny costumes, and completely over the top sight gags, and just the general tom-foolery, which I don't think is gonna happen. Which depresses me.

Once I saw the trailer a second time, I turned off the TV, thoroughly depressed in what I just saw. My heart just couldn't take it anymore. Watching old episodes of what is never to be again? I just, I couldn't take it. Pimp My Ride, why have you forsaken my West Coast Customs crew needs? Why would you do this to me?

Now if you all will excuse me, I'm gonna go sit in a corner and cry.

An Open Letter to my Car Radio/CD Player/Tape Player

Dear Radio;

Please, for the love of God, stop freaking out on me. I just can't take it. You've worked well for 6+ years now, but all the sudden you're starting to go all wonky and I'm at a loss regarding how to deal with it. When I first got you, along with the car, I was all "Rad! It's got a CD player and a Tape Deck. Sweet!" But truth is, I haven't used the Tape Deck part of you in the time I've had a car. I'm not sure if Fighting Nun and I even have tapes anymore. The one tape I even know that we still have happens to be a mixed tape I made back in high school that is highly embarrassing because It happened to be a mixed tape I made over something I had taped when I was in elementary school, which happened to be my third-grade self singing a song I had written at that age with my little casio keyboard. Not my best work. Trust me. I didn't exactly record over that part really well, so right at the very beginning of side B, I think, there's me singing. And Then Smashing Pumpkin's Siemese Dream starts up, which is a bit bizarre, but anyway. Fighting Nun loves this tape, for reasons I can't quite understand and has kept it in a safe location unbeknownst to me, because I swore that if I ever saw that tape again, I'd destroy it on sight.

Ahem, back to point. It just so happens that the tape deck part of you is the part that is freaking out. And I'm talking FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. I'm talking Joan Crawford style freakout except in tape form. I mean, I'll be listening to one of my CD's or the radio. And everything has to stop in obeisance of your temper tantrum. I get to listen nothing else for at least a good five minutes but you whining and throwing an electronic version of a SHIT FIT for no good reason. And not two minutes later, just when I think you've settled down, YOU DO IT AGAIN! You did that two me a total of seven (SEVEN!!!) times this morning. And I don't appreciate it not one bit.

Look, I'm sorry I haven't used you at all since I've had the car, but please, please don't do this to me. I'll go mad. Literally mad. I have not once had to endure a forty minute car trip alone, with no music and only my brain to keep me company, and I'm pretty sure that if I did, every subsequent trip would be the car ride equivelant to "The Yellow Wallpaper", and I can tell you right now, that ain't gonna be pretty.

So, please tape deck, no more tempertantrums please. I get now that you don't like me, and I'm starting to detest you, but let's just live in relative harmony for a couple more years. Although Fighting Nun says, that if the problem persists, we might break out a tape and try get you to working, which means we'll have to break out "The Tape" which means I might have a shot at destroying it, so by all means, go right ahead...

Keep it up and I'll show you a Real SHIT FIT;
The Bloody Munchkin

Sumo!!!

There's Sumo Wrestling to be had in the Bay Area, soon, and nobody told me??? For Shame. I had to find out about this event on the back of a municipal bus. And can I talk Fighting Nun into it? No. Not at all. Which sucks, because... SUMO!!!

Our conversation went something like this:

Fighting Nun: Hello.
Bloody Munchkin: So, uhm on the 17th of June, there's going to be Sumo Wrestling at the Oakland Arena.
Fighting Nun: So?
Bloody Munchkin: Soooo. SUMO! There's sumo and there's wrestling and... and SUMO!!!
Fighting Nun: That's nice dear (right here is where I could swear I heard his eyeballs physically rolling up into his brain.)
Bloody Munchkin: But, but, but... SUMO!!! Big guys, small short underwear things, one ring, two men enter, one man leaves... Come On. SUMO!!!
Fighting Nun: ...
Bloody Munchkin: It would be so awesome, and there'd be... and the... you really don't want to go do you?
Fighting Nun: Not so much.
Bloody Munchkin: Fine...

O.k. I realize I have probably an unrealistic view of the sport, what with the way it's portrayed on TV and all, but SUMO!!! I don't care if it has been sensationalized on TV and the event itself might probably way boring, but I'm convinced that watching two very big men both having man-boobs the size of my head slap each other around and wrestle for a couple of minutes each, cannot be boring. If we could drink, even better. I'm convinced there is a drinking game to be played somewhere in this event.

I'm still plying Fighting Nun, because SUMO!!! It's just... SUMO!!! What, now I'm losing you guys too? Sumo? Aw c'mon. Sumo! Sumo? Sumo...

K Fed Cleans Up

O.k., so remember when I said that K-Fed should shave often? Well, I've seen the result of a well-groomed K-Fed, and I have to say, I'm kinda wanting the old K-Fed back. I mean, look at this picture. I realize that this is the first time any of us have seen him without the two-day old stubble and without the haze of cheeto dust and Red Bull Mist that seems to be following him around, so I"m a bit shocked and ill-prepared, but this look is unnerving. He looks like he wants to eat your your first born with A-1 steak sauce accompanied with a nice red wine, right after he's sucked you into his multi-million dollar real estate investment scheme. He looks like the spawn of Al Pacino's character in Devil's Advocate, except with even less scruples. No, no. Who he really looks like is Christian Bale's character in American Psycho, right before he sticks and axe in Jared Leto's head. But More Unhinged

Do you see that smirk? And, and the pseudo-finger guns? It's just... Who does he think he is? Tony Robins? The ghetto version of Tony Robins? "Yo. Let me and my peeps give you some life affirming lessons, Dawg?" This is what will be haunting my nightmares tonight. Forget David Krumholtz, this is going to come raging from some corner of my sub-concsious tonight, jumping out at me from some corner and I'm going to sit bolt upright, maybe even flail and hit Fighting Nun and I'm going to scare the dog all because the clean K-Fed is even more disturbing than the dirty greasy K-Fed. The world, she is upside down.

Principal Vernon R.I.P.

I'm so depressed right now, I'm having a hard time forming the words. The man who forever made me a changed woman by uttering the words "Don't mess with the bull young man. You'll get the horns." is no longer amongst us. I'm just soooo... sad.

I haven't felt this sad since Pat Morita died and my dreams of becoming the Next Next Karate Kid were shattered to pieces. I mean, Paul Gleason, for crying out loud. If ever I was to write a movie involving a bitter, yet still in charge, rough police-man or principal, he would have been it. And now, my dreams of that are now snuffed and gone away.

All my 80's cinematic character actos are slowly being snuffed out. Vincent Schivelli, Pat Morita, Paul Gleason. My dream of putting together the ultimate 80's movie Homage is being snuffed out character actor by character. If William Atherton somehow biffs it this year, I'm just, I don't know what I'll do. And if Edie McClurg gives up the ghost *Sob*. It's too unbearable to think about...

More Dreams with D-Listers

It's happened again. Another dream with a D-Lister. What is up with that? That's like th fourth one in as many months. I can say I'm glad it's not a starange sexual dream with a co-worker, because those suckers send me reeling for weeks. I'll look at said co-worker and just shudder because there is not one person in my whole building that I would even think about touching with a ten-foot pole and yet, in my dreams, apparantly I want to, which yeeach! Anyhoo... So the dream this morning was particularly odd, because for whatever reason, it involved David Krumholtz. And not David "Singing Show Tunes in his Underwear" Krumholtz, or even David "I've got Dick on my face, don't I?" Krumholtz. That would be awesome, instead it was David "Yes I realized my hair veered away from Jew-fro territory and is veering somewhere very scary, maybe eve a Pseudo-Jew-Mullet, or Pseu-Jew-ullet territory" Krumholtz.

And he was all wild-eyed and intense in my dream and he had a gun and he was coming after me, and I was in a wedding dress, marrying, I think David Silver and all I could think was "This is going to be one awesome season finale of N3mb3rs." I don't even watch that show, partly because Fighting Nun gets all indignant about the bad math and partly because *Yawn*. But I watched a couple of minutes the other night, which apparantly my brain thought warrented reviewing or something, because there David Krumholtz was in my dream, complete with trucker hat and that hair, which now, coming to think of it is more Jewish Hair Metal Hair that it is Jew-ullet, holding a gun in my direction, all crazy-eyed intense.

My dreams are getting wierd...

Office Space inspiration

So, I was checking out the hang art gallery when I came across the following picture. It sure seems like the artist watched office space one to many times. Don't get me wrong I like the movie just a little to much myself, but to devote your god given talent to draw a frekin copy machine, that's some strange shit!

"PC Load Letter"? What the fuck does that mean?

Celebrity Fisticuffs gone wrong

Now, don't get me wrong, I like a good celebrity catfight better than anyone else. In my fevered brain, I've planned some good ones. I even have imagined a particularly good catfight where Ivanka Trump, decked out in a fox fur, complete with little foxy legs on it, goes up to Pamela Anderson and delivers a mean haymaker to one of Pam's siliconed boobs when Pam decides to go into one of her PETA-approved diatribes regarding the fur Ivanka is wearing. These little fevered dreams of mine make me happy, keep me sane.

But, Axl and Hilfiger Fiieeeeght!?!?!?! Wasn't exactly on my list of celebrity pairings I'd like to see duke it out. Not that Axl hasn't had a good smackdown coming to him for quite sometime, but at the hands of Hilfiger? It just seems not right somehow. I bet that Slash is in his snakepit, reading this news, kicking himself all "Some pansy fashion designer did what I've wanted to do for two decades and counting."

And it also sounds weak in my opinion. I mean, Hilfiger lays into him but yet Axl was still able to get up onstage and sing. What kind of weak, sissy-footed fight was this? If you are in the presence of mind that hitting Axl sounds like a good idea, at least go all the way with it and knock him out, dislocate his jaw or something. Don't just bat him around for a time and then leave him unmarked. Although, I'm not sure what I was expecting, coming from the guy who gave us Tommy Jeans.

And the truly sad part about this, is that Axl got smacked around way past his expiration date. I mean he needed a literal and verbal smackdown somehere during the Clinton Administration or possibly before, before the scary plastic surgery made him look like a waxen figuring of himself and the dreads made him look like the missing link between the Predator and Carrot Top, before he decided to physically abuse not one but two of his girlfriends. That would've blown my brace-faced, acne-fied, perm-haired, fifteen-year-old every-loving mind.

But no, it had to happen now, when the only reaction I can muster about this event is "Meh."

American Inventor Finale

God I knew it. I freaking knew the car seat guy would win.

O.k., I'm jumping ahead of myself. Let me start off quickly by saying that somehow, Simon Cowell is everywhere. He's Ubiquitous. He's everywhere. He's got his hands in everything now. So we're flipping between the Will and Grace Finale and the American Inventor Finale and there we were, watching NBC and they had an ad for America's Got Talent, Simon Cowell's new show. So He's got his hand in Fox, ABC, and now NBC. He's like a disease people! He must be stopped.

And yet, my unadulterated hate for Mr. Cowell didn't stop me from watching the finale. Because I am a dork. In regards to this episode, I'd just like to say I called it. Called it from the very beginning. I, for whatever reason, was rooting for Francisco, but as anyone who's hung out with me for any period of time knows, anyone I cheer for in any capacity (even in issuing a tiny woo, not even a hoo, in somebody's direction) is doomed to not win. So I knew he'd be the first to go. Sorry Bike Dude. It's my bad.

I also knew the football guy didn't have a snowball's chance in hell. Sorry football dude, but your product should be relagated to the infomercials they have on the sports channels when their running the little league world series or whatever children's sports they decide to put on because there doesn't happen to be any major sporting event at the time. It's just, it's really meh. Is what I'm saying.

And game dude? Valient effort, but did you really think you'd win when you were up against a safety seat that could save kid's lives? It was just so predictable.

And looooong. Boy was this episode long. I mean infuriatingly long for an hour program. For the love of little green apples, get on with it Announcer Dude. Stop with the looooong pauses and the commercial breaks for dramatic effect, cause it's been done. And keeps being done on American Idol in fact. Shut Up Ryan Seacrest for making the smurfy dramatic pause to commercial break a thing. It pisses me off. And it especially pisses me off coming from the announcer dude on this show. Also, can someone say wee? Because the announcer guy is teeny-tiny compared to the contestants on stage and it's quite hilarious. You can see the guy trying to muster some sense of superiority while looking up at the contestants nose hairs.

And don't, for the love of all that is right in this world, do the whole, "You didn't win but since we're going for the jugular of the collective viewing audience, you really did win" thing by giving the three runners up special opportunities and internships and whatever the hell. And for Christ's Sake, Stop showing up every where Jerry Rice! What, Once football was over, did you sign your soul over to ABC? I thought once Dancing with the Stars was over we wouldn't have to see your preening ass anymore. But nooooo. There you are with your shit-eating grin and the stupid superbowl ring AROUND YOUR NECK on my TV. AGAIN. Just stop. Grrrr. And don't think you get a free pass LANCE ARMSTRONG! SHUT UP. And take off your bike jersey. You RETIRED, remember?

O.k. I think that's out of my system. So in summary, American Inventor is a stupid, jerky show, that I somehow had to watch to the end. I guess I really do like my righteous indignation. Otherwise, why would I be watching this show?

Dreams Featuring D-Listers

O.k., I can not figure out what is going on with my dreams lately. I mean seriously, they've become bizarre. And they've suddenly involved a calvacade of unusual and low-ranking celebrities. Usually, I leave it up to Fighting Nun to have the truly bizarre dreams involving celebrities. I mean he had a dream involving XZibit, and he doesn't even like X to the Z. I'm the Pimp My Ride fan, at least I could get An X visit in my dreams, but no.

Take a dream I had a couple of weeks ago. So it starts out with me complimenting the guy who played Squints in The Sandlot and telling him how much I loved his recurring character on The Gilmore Girls and he's all "I didn't think anybody knew about that" and I'm all "Of course I do, I've seen everything you've been in. I'm a big fan" which is a big fat lie, to which he gives me a strange look.

And then suddenly I'm at a wedding, having to do some minor things before the wedding and I'm being directed by... wait for it... Suzanne Somers. No, I don't know why either. She's having me do something in this garden before the wedding reception, and I'm trying to pick flowers or something and I'm getting stung by ants. And I start crawling up this wall and I'm all, I have to tell Suzanne. And I see her across the garden talking to people and I refuse to flag any one else down. I apparantly had to flag her down. And she had the exact same hair she had in that one infomercial and she's wearing red spandex and she comes up to me all sweetly and I try to explain the fire ant situation to her and that's when I wake up.

O.k., I knew dreams could be bizarre, but I didn't know they could evoke alternate dimensions. Because, if the E! True Hollywood Story about Three's Company and that VH1 movie about Three's Company is any indication, a geniunely nice Suzanne Sommers is utterly impossible.
Bizarre.

Some of the dreams I have about celebrities I actually revel in. Like, man why'd I have to wake up revel. Shortly after the Olympics I had this dream involving Apolo Anton Ohno and Bode Miller in which they were playing beach volleyball not unlike that scene in Top Gun. I have no idea who was playing Iceman and Slider to Apolo's Maverik and Bode's Goose because that didn't matter. What did matter is later on in the dream Apolo started doing the Hasselhoff Baywatch run. Which Awesome.

But the one this morning I can not figure out at all. No seriously. Apparantly in my dream I happen to be a person with violent tendencies so bad that I'm relagated to an anger management camp for 5-10 year olds and Eric Palladino is trying to make out with me, a whole lot like his character in "Can't Hardly Wait" tried to make out with Jennifer Love Hewitt's character except he had gum in his mouth. Like what? I don't understand.

Why do I have to have such bizarre dreams?

American Inventor

Can we talk about American Inventor for a minute? By all rights I should not be watching this show, and in truth I'm not watching the show per say, so much as flipping through the channels, catching it for a little bit, rolling my eyes, getting beligerent in the direction of the tv only to turn the channel only to turn it back to repeat the cycle. I don't enjoy it. It is my personal belief that anything in which Simon Cowell had a hand in making is not meant to be enjoyed, merely tolerated. But I kind of have to watch it and I can't figure out why. I even watched most of the penultimate episode last night. Why? I think because I like to watch people cry, but let's talk about why I shouldn't be watching:

The judges all annoy me and they all remind me of people who are more famous than themselves. The redheaded woman? I had thought that she was the poor man's Catherine O'hara, but now I'm kind of convinced she's more like... O.k. I hate to admit this, but I actually watched Don't Tell Mom, The Babysitter's Dead like five thousand times. And the red-headed boss* who's all sweet to Christina Applegate's character? That's who she reminds me of. The guy with the glasses and the bad hawaiian shirts? Poor man's Dylan Baker, only fatter, with a bigger bald spot and less professional credentials.Or maybe he's when you splice Dylan Baker's and Rick Moranis's genes together. And can we talk about the Hawaiin shirts for a minute? O.k., this guy is supposed to be some big high-falluting inventor dude, and he keeps showing up to every show in a Hawaiin shirt. Do you see your compatriots buddy? They know this show is just as big a sham as you do, but at least they dress nicely.

The English guy doesn't really remind me of one person but reminds me more of a bad emalgum of several English guy stereotypes. Take a nice stock of Anthony Stewart Head, add in some Alexis Denisoff and Hugh Grant to spoil said stock, season with several bad Monty Python and Fawlty Towers stereotypes and add in some "Inventor Cred" and you have this guy essentially. And the one I can not stand is the one guy at the end. Why oh why does he remind me of this guy? I can't figure it out.

The narrator/Ryan Seacreat knockoff that doesn't require a beard that's a Desparate Housewife guy? O.k. first of all, I realized you were trained at the Shatner School of the Dramatic Pause, but you don't have to use it every freaking second of your air time. Secondly, I realize that now that you aren't just nasally narrator dude and now have to be intense moderator dude, you haven't exactly figured out what you're doing on stage with the contestants. But for the love of little green apples don't blue steel them and the viewing audience to death, Mmmkay? And it's all right to be a little jovial with the contestants. You're not telling them they are getting a death sentence, you're letting them know that one of them has a chance a million bucks. Try to loosen up a little bit. Oh, and lay off the fiber. You look constipated.

And the contestants? Sweet Jesus on a Pogo Stick where do I start? Look, don't get me wrong, I love a good schmoopy cry more than anyone else, but God! Stop milking it for all it's worth contestants! You're already on TV. Jesus! Let's take the final four for example. With the exception of the guy with baby seat, no one has a "good" reason to cry per se, but they all do anyway. Every one of these weenies cries like they all saw Steel Magnolias for the first time or like somebody cut an onion up in front of them. But I'm tired of the pulling at the heart strings. Let's take the guy with the word game. The first couple of times he cried, it might've meant something. But good Lawd, put the breaks on. And Francisco? The kid with the bike. O.k., he's kind of my dark horse for reasons I can't quite explain, but he's so weepy. He's acne-fied and bit too passionate for his own good, but mostly weepy and it's driving me Bazoo.

And with the exception of the centrifical force baby seat, none of the inventions are that good. You remember how I said that I get beligerant watching this show? Well I lied. I don't get beligerant. Fighting Nun does. Every episode we watch or paritally watch is met with the following monologue "American Inventor? They're not inventing anything interesting. And they don't know how to sell their product or even make it halfway interesting. These aren't american inventors, these are people with hair-brain ideas that want to try and get them off the ground. I've had better invention ideas in my sleep. My little pinky has produced better ideas. This show sucks." If anything can raise my husband's ire, then it has to be annoying.

But there is a reason I watch it, I think, other than it's fun to watch Fighting Nun get all irate in front of the TV. I think because there's little hidden gems in that show that are just too snarky to pass up. Take the episode in which Car Seat guy won. So he was up against "Bathroom Stall" woman and "Toilet Seat" couple. At the end, the "Bathroom Stall" woman said "I just really wanted to make my mark" to which Fighting Nun remarked quizzically "In the Bathroom?" which is priceless from where I'm sitting. It's the inadvertantly hilarious that make me put up with this show. This show proved a better source for watching the strange parade of life than American Idol has which is saying something.

*Side Note: I just found out that the woman who played the boss in Don't tell mom... happens to be none other than Joanna Cassidy who kicked all sorts of ass in Six Feet Under and thus I feel ashamed to make such a comparison. The woman on American Inventor doesn't deserve such a kind comparison.

Moral Dilemma of the Afternoon

"The homeless guy has the right ot way right? Looks like he's taking it whether it was his or not. Best give it to him so you don't have to worry about homeless guy splatter and trying to de-flannel-fy your grill. Because running him over would be wrong. But there wasn't a cross-walk there, so technically I'm right... Hmmm."

An Open letter to K-Fed after reading his Spin Interview

Dear K-fed, errr I mean Home Slice, uhhh I mean Kevin Federline:

Dude, can we talk about your Spin Interview for a second. Because seriously, we need to talk. I realize I haven't wanted much to do with you, up to and including knowing who you are, but unfortunately that can't be undone, so you've driven me to this.

So, the Spin Interview. Let's start with the cover shall we. When you happen to be the ugliest thing on the cover and you happened to be featured in the same eyeline as Flea's spandexed crotch, then you got a whole mess of problems to contend with, not the least of which is the stooopid fatigue hoodie you happen to be wearing. The other problems happen to be the scary facial hair, the scary hair you've decided to put back with a pony tail and the stupid-ass earrings. Not that you are harboring under these dillusions or anything, but you are not, in fact Claire from The Breakfast Club, so take out the diamonds MmmKay?

Also, when the only nugget of information that the Spin Editors can deem worthy for their front cover happens to be "I didn't pimp Britney.", well not that we needed any more proof but it just sets us all at ease that you didn't pick a career like brain surgery or rocket science.

And the the interview. Good Lawd, the interview. First off, don't blame the media for pushing you into a rap career. First off, if the media and the rest of the world had it's druthers, it wouldn't be pushing you into a rap career but rather into a flea bath and possibly a car wash containing a high-powered water gun, because bro, I'm here to tell you, you look like you've got a layer of grime on you that won't come off and hasn't come off since the Clinton administration. Is it the Red Bull, the Cheetos, or possibly a nefarious concoction of both? Maybe the world will never know.

And how "hawd" was growing up in Fresno anyway? It's Fresno. You make it sound like Compton. It's Fresno for Christ's Sake! I get that you were "rolling with your posse" or whatever, but it couldn't have been that bad. O.k? In this same interview they've got a picture of you in your soccer uniform. Proves your point so succinctly, don't you thing?

Also, "I did the You Got Served movie and all that." There's about seventy-five things I find funny about this statement, all are way too obvious to mention. But I will say this. I have in fact seen You Got Served (don't worry I didn't pay for it, it was on cable), and I did so just to play "Spot the Federline" and try as I might, I couldn't find you. Granted trying to spot the skeazy one with the bad facial hair and the baggy pants wasn't much to go on, because everyone on that movie fit that criteria. But the point is, don't be name dropping a movie you were in when the people watching said movie can't even find YOUR SKEAZY ASS!

Also it should be said, that when spin quotes you directly as saying "y'knowwhatI'msayin'" then you either need to enunciate, or better yet, stop talking altogether.

Take care and shave often;
The Bloody Munchkin

Keith Richards Has Head Surgery

When I first read this headline, my first reaction was "Shouldn't those surgeons be working on his liver instead? Because seriously." Is that wrong? I think that's wrong...

Kung Fu Breakfast Club

Alternate Titles for this topic:

Kung Fu Hardly Wait
Kung Fu-less
Kung Fu Things I Hate About You

O.k. I need to know something right now. Why, in the world hasn't there been a movie in which the two greatests cinema genres, being Kung Fu and teen comedies, been combined. I'm serious about this.

This weekened has provided me the opportunity to watch two of my favorite genres at work:
the teen comedy and Kung Fu movie. Saturday night I got to watch the most awesomest double feature ever to be devised by man, Kung Fu Hustle and Zatoichi. First of all, I didn't even know about Zatoichi, which I'm holding all of the Internet responsible for. Seriosly, none of ya'll told me this movie existed. What's wrong with you? It's your responsibility to let me know that something as awesome as this existed. But did anyone tell me to watch a movie in which a blind man that was not, repeat WAS NOT, Rutger Fucking Hauer, kicks fucking ass? No! No one told me to watch a fucking kung fu movie involving a blind man who was not Rutger Hauer kick ass. I'd have watched a movie, A KUNG FU movie, well a Samauri movie, not technically a Kung Fu movie (I get that, trust me I do), involving a blind man and a sword kicking FUCKING ass, if only somebody had told me, but NOOOOO!

I had to discover such things for myself on Starz Edge of all places where they decided to play a Kung Fu Hustle, Zatoichi double feature. Now, I know I've mentioned before how much Kung Fu Hustle kicks ass (There are men. With Axes. Dancing. That is all.) But Zatoichi? Kicks Ass! O.k. Sure it's a little stagey, and a little long ( the end choreographed scene. WTF? And the Geisha dancing? Was that really necassary? No, I mean really?). But this movie has some awesome parts. I mean, really awesome parts. And nobody, within the first three years of this movie's existence ever said "Hey, Bloody Munchkin, You need to track down this movie and track down this movie now. " Where were you guys? I'm disappointed.

But then Fighting Nun decided to leave me home alone and with a little bit of a wine festival wine buzz on. Which means I will preceeded directly to the nearest teen movie playing on cable. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200 dollars. The first teen movie to meet my direct gaze happened to be Sky High, which the less said about that the better. Actually, just a little needs to be said about that movie, that little being that Bruce "The Chin" Campbell is in it.That's right, Bruce "The Geriatric Elvis" Campbell is in this movie. Just his mere presence in any movie guarantees that said movie will go up a letter grade. This movie started out a D, but was upgraded to a C+ because of Bruce and also because of the addition of not one but two Kids In The Hall.

But back to the point, why hasn't somebody invented a Kung Fu Teen Movie? If someboy could come up with a hybrid of Kung Fu Hustle and say, Can't Hardly Wait or Clueless, you would have invented the perfect cinematic formula that would require me, The Bloody Munchkin, buying at least fifteen opening weekend tickets, and, AND! dragging The Fighting Nun along. Thats at leat a good 30 opening weekend assured ticket sales. Why hasn't Paramount greenlighted this yet? I'm not kidding here. I'll even write the script. Come On! Give me a chance. It'll kick ass!!!

Solving the World's problems

So I think I solved the problem of depression, low energy, hell I think the answers to world peace might lie somewhere in this very solution. Ready for it?

Talk to your best friend. Call her. Call her right now and talk to her and talk to her some more and then listen. Laugh. Laugh hard. Make her laugh. Cry just a little. Realize that your best friend is little bit neurotic but realize that you are a lot neurotic so you compliment each other perfectly. Blame both sets of parents for making each of you neurotic. Laugh about how neurotic your parents are. Talk about and also laugh about how neurotic your extended families are. Make plans. Not just plans to see each other again, although those need to happen to, but real honest to goodness plans, something creative and exciting. Moan about being a grown-up and how much being adult sucks, and mortgage payments, bills, blah-blah-blah-let's-go-back-high-school-except-not-really-because-high-school-sucked-but-we-actually-got-to-see-each-other-more-than-once-every-few-years-so-getting-to-spend-time-with-you-back-then-actually-rocked-but-high-school-sucked-cakes. Tell her to stop calling her ex and to stop taking his calls. Have her tell you that everything will work out somehow and not to worry.

I'm serious about this. Yesterday, given that it was Concert Recovery Day, I was wiped. I mean exhausted. I just wanted to lay down on the couch with Fighting Nun and veg out. And then she called and from the second I heard her voice, I was instantly energized. She was a blast of fresh air and whether I knew it or not, was exactly what I needed. We've been friends for years now. Given the small town I'm from, we've actually known each other from elementary school, but our bond didn't really form until high school. And even though I'm a horrible friend and I don't call her as often as I should and because we both move so much, we have a hard time keeping track of numbers and such, the bonds still run deep. Doesn't matter how long we go without talking, when we do talk, we always pick up right where we left off. And when we finish the conversation, we always say "I love you". And we mean that. J will always be my girl and I'll always have her back and she'll always bring me sunshine. I feel renewed and I feel grateful that she's in my life.

Hey J, I love you girl. Just thought I'd say that...

Various letters to people, places and things before, during, and after the Morningwood/The Sounds Concert

Dear the couple sitting next to us at the Thai food restaurant we went to before the show,

I'm sorry for any inappropriate comments I made during the meal. I blame the wine.

Mea Culpa,
The Bloody Munchkin

Dear awesome bartender at Sushi Groove,

Your Sake Cosmopolitans were awesome. I did not know there was such a thing as a sake cosmo. Now I know. I also know that I can not sip a sake cosmo and that I can put two down in relatively quick fashion. I now also know how to make one so that I can continue to put them down in relatively easy fashion in the comfort of my own home. I don't know whether to thank you or charge you for all my future hospital bills due to a failing liver, because Sake Cosmos Yummy.

Thanks for the tip,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. I didn't know that Mondays are the new Sundays for the binge-drinkers in denial. I now know that. I guess I should probably thank you for that information, I think.

Dear Sake Cosmopolitans,

Why do you have to be such harsh mistresses? You were tasty and easy to drink but apparantly hated that I decided to have two Full Sail Ales at the concert so you consorted with the beer and the wine to create a low grade hangover that's still flagging me down. You're so mean!

Bite My Ass,
The Bloody Munchkin

Dear the guy with the "I Fucking Hate Fall Out Boy" t-shirt working the merch booth,

Cool t-shirt dude.

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear the guy in the "I'm not fat, I'm American" t-shirt;

You also have an awesome t-shirt.

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Uhm dude, not to harsh the compliment or anything, but never ever wear flip-flops at a concert where you are relatively sure that there will be pushing and moshing and general rough-housing. Close toed shoes for concerts, you rank ametuer. Remember that tip, your toes will thank me later.

Dear Action Action;

I told you, the lead singer, as I was leaving that you played a great set, and I meant it. Fighting Nun and I might pick up one of your albums the next time we go to Rasputin.

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. I'm only saying this cause I care, but collectively, as a band you guys should pick better hairstyles for yourself. The shaved-side-faux-mullet your bassist was sporting was scary. And the Faux-Hawk your other guitarist was sporting somehow turned into a bad Flock of Seagullsish 'do and it was doing him no favors whatsoever. I'm just telling you because I care.

To The Lead Singer of Morningwood;

I think I love you. You are sassy and working it and you wore a leather gun holster for your microphone, which awesome, and you carried a wooden pony onstage which you proceeded to stick down your pants and then made out with. You have so much moxy that you sold it. And you also made it damn fun. Although I am disappointed you didn't play Babysitter, you were totally forgiven when you stripped the guy you dragged onstage to his undies. I really think I love you.

Be My Valentine,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Sorry I grabbed your ass when you walking through the audience. I blame the Sake Cosmos. And the wine. And the Beer.

To the Drummer in Morningwood;

You are sporting the most awesome fro I have ever seen in my life. You deserve praise.

Keep up the Hair,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the Bassist from Morningwood;

Gunner Nelson called, he wants his hair circa 1989 back.

Are you the lost Nelson Brother?
The Bloody Munchkin

To the girl whose stilleto got stuck in my laces;

Thanks for the bruise and the dent on my foot. Also, when I tell you lift your foot up, don't give me bitchface, just do it. YOUR STILLETO HEEL IS MAKING A CRATER ON THE TOP OF MY FOOT. Lift your leg, Untangle what I'm assuming are ugly-ass heels from the laces of my pumas, do it fast, before we're pushed some more and stay tangled and fall or I decide to push your tiny bitch-face ass out of the way and off my foot!

Thanks for the Stilleto Indentation, NOT,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the guy in the wheel chair who pushed his way up to the front for The Sounds;

You've got moxey dude. I hope your o.k. It was pretty violent up there. Call me. Fighting Nun and I wanna make sure you survived.

Mad Props,
The Bloody Munchkin

To the lead singer of The Sounds;

Just a few quick notes to you. First of all, Formal Shorts? Are a) totally not a good look for you b) an atrocity to fashion, and c) look really bad in black. Were you sporting Cameltoe or was it just me? Read Go Fug Yourself, get a clue as to what to wear that won't make you look like Fergie or a rejected Project Runway model. Also, try as you might, you are not the Blonde Parker Posey. Snear all you want, but you just aren't. Also, that strange tattoo on your forearm of a girl or something looks totally smurfy. I'm just saying.

Formal Shorts are out,
The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. You sounded good for the fifteen minutes that we listened to you though. Whatevs.

To my feet, head and bruised body;

I'm sorry for all the trauma I put you through. I realize I'm going to have to deal with mystery bruises for a good two weeks after this, and I apologize.

The Bloody Munchkin

Analyzing the last five Minutes of D2: The Mighty Ducks

So, I have a strange obsession with The first two Mighty Duck movies, more of a love-hate relationship really, being that most of the love is directed solely at Elden Hensen's character Fulton Reed because when I was a teenager, the adoration was full on. I'm talking Bloody Munchkin Hearts Fulton Reed in big red ink. Yes, I knew he was a fictional character, but that didn't matter to me. I needed me some long-haired strong-silent ruffian, and I needed him baaad. It was full-on scary ya'll. All that pent-up fifteen-year-old school-girl-crush energy that girls reserved for The New Kids on the Block, excuse me I mean NKOTB I diverted to Elden Hensen, well that in about a bajillion other tertiery characters in about a bajillion other movies (Can you say Seth Green's character in Airborne? Can you also say Breckin Meyer's character in Clueless?), but that's beside the point.

The Hate was soley directed at Emilio Estevez because: Shut Up! Shut Up Emilio's prickish behavior, holier than thou attitude, stupid ass smirk, and feather-ass-that-later-becomes-greasy-ass hair. Shut up the girlish love interests in both movies who are supposed to be the thing that grounds Gordon Bombay (Emilio's Character) who just come off whiny and why would a prick like Emilio end up with wet blankets like that? Because seriously. Does kind of explain Paula Abdul, but that's besides the point...

God, I can't believe how much energy I've wasted on explaining what a prick Gordon Bombay end up being. Here I am stating the obvious again, like that point hasn't already been broadcast in space.

But anyway, to get to the point. Somehow I've been catching D2 on cable alot lately. I haven't figured out why I have to watch it ever time it is on cable because that movie has lost alot of the allure it once had for me. There's so much cheese emitting from the screen I'd be able to make enough fondue to last a lifetime. Usually I skip the last five minutes, because booooring.
But this morning I caught the last five minutes, and I got to say, I'm really freaked out now. Like seriously freaked out.

So here's the thing, at the very end, when the credits start rolling, there's this wierd camp out the whole team does and they are sitting there around a camp fire, with Goldberg lighting his marshmellow on fire and Joshua Jackson looking all cute and "The Bash Brothers" hamming it up and the such. There's two things that have me freaked out about this scene, and its not the lot's butchering of "We Are The Champions" either. First of all, it's the longing stares Micheal Tucker's character Tibbles and Emilio have, which emit "Brokeback Hockey" for the two seconds its caught on screen, which, what is with that really? I mean, ew! Micheal Tucker being the Ennis to Emilio Estevez's Jack is not the mental picture I've ever wanted. But I have it now. And I can't un-have it either. Is that why they all went camping, so that their two characters could play tonsil hockey in a tent while chaperoning the other kids? I really think it is.

The other thing that has me freaked out beyond comparison is right before the screen goes to black, there's this wide shot of everyone around the campfire, and you see the bash brothers wrestling by the fire, which is a brokeback moment in and of itself, but then, on the far right of the screen, you see Emilio rocking back and forth in his seat next to the teacher/wet blanket all scary-like. I think he was supposed to be rocking out, but it comes off all unabomber, Charles-Manson-ish and I have absolutely no idea why. What was that all about? I really want to know. Did the director go "Em, we need you to rock out this last scene, but rock out with intensity." and this happened to be Emilio's answer? Did he some how do some drugs he swiped from his brother Charlie right before he started and just got really into the moment? If that last scene is really indicative of Emilio's normal behavior, well then I am beginning to see why he hasn't gotten alot of work in the last ten years and nobody has greenlighted Men at Work 2.

This is a very long-winded way of me saying that I finally understand why I've skipped this scene the five-thousand other times I've scene this movie, because I am seriously scarred for life now...

Murphy's Law Bites My Ass

I think there's some murphy's law that somehow Karma always seem to want to bring about onto Fighting Nun and myself. Well, there are actually several murphy's laws that get inacted on us on a daily basis, one of which is that, even if you pick the shortest line in the super market, it will inevitably become the longest line, complete with little old lady paying for her thirty dollars of groceries in change.

But the one law of murphy currently kicking our asses happens to be a law that states "Whatever you have put good-earned money into will be irreparably damages so that it is truly yours" or something like that. The thing we put good money on is obviously our new house, and although not irreparably damaged yet, within the month and a half that we've lived there it has become "ours" because between the wine stain and the dog who shall not be name BECAUSE HE IS STILL IN TROUBLE tearing up a patch of the carpet, it's now officially got the "Bloody Munchkin and Fighting Nun were here. You can tell by the swath of destruction we've laid" stamp of approval all over it.

Thing is, we were doing so good though. We've been taking our shoes off so as not to get the carpet dirty. We've been fixing the umpteen little things the home-inspector dude found wrong with our house since we moved in and I have been obsessively cleaning the kitchen like Mr. Clean on crack. We were being the good little home-owners I always knew we could be.

And then what happens? We spill wine, a great glassful onto the carpet. Which sucks but whatever. We got a steam cleaner, we're dealing with it. Although it's turning out to be the little wine stain that could, or the ghost of spilt grape juice past, what with haunting the spot we've cleaned in a vaguely brownish color. But we'll deal. What we don't have good solid answers for dealing with is the spot of carpet by the closet door mr. still-in-trouble-pants decided to create because he thought jut was apparantly a good look for the floor.

But I can't totally blame the dog. Well I can, but part of me, a small sliver of me knows it was Karma putting a murphy's law in action on our asses. I mean, why is it that when the world tries to cosmically balance itself, Fighting Nun and I find we're on the wrong end of the see-saw when it happens?

Babies

Can I just say how endlessly amusing I find it that Tom Cruise's and Brooke Shields's babies are born hours apart? That's gonna be a fun school yard five years from now. "Go back to your pill popping mom." "Shut Up Sari. Why don't you worship Xenu with your couch-jumping dad." And then the gloved will be O-F-F. That's gonna be fantastic...

Words are fun!

I once read a Non Sequiter comic in which the main character were just shouting words at each other because it was fun. I decided to send the comic to Fighting Nun, and we immediately started yelling inane words at each other, like arugula and mestication (well, those were my words really) over e-mail. It was fun. I don't know why we stopped. Oh yeah, that's right, work and stuff. Darn work. Always screwing stuff up.

With that said, today has turned over two doozies that I must broadcast to the world. Well, not the world because I have like no readers and therefore am merely posting where the world can see it if the world so chooses, which it doesn't, but anyway.

The two words of the day are:

Goldiglo

Teledildonics

They could also be in contention for awesome band names, but Teledildonics would have to be a really loud, Lords-of-Acid-like band to really pull off the name.

The President's Head is bouncy

I don't know why I find the above link so perversely amusing, but I do. There is something disturbing entertaining about watching a charicature of the W getting bounced and crushed and put through his paces in a wierd little bouncy ball world. And you have mouse control, so if the president gets stuck, you just pull him through or over an obstacle. I have found that I'm taking too much pleasure in putting this guy through his paces. Let me tell you, you have not lived until you've watched the Commander in Chief forced through a tiny opening doing the full standing splits. I also like that when W is stuck somewhere, his little character body is heaving, like he's breathing heavy as if he's just had to think incredibly hard or was straining to comprehend foriegn policy or something like that.

I wonder if Barbara Boxer or, like the founding members of move-on are playing around with this right now all "And this is for the War in Iraq, and this is for your policies on public education, and don't eeeeven get me started on this new immigration bill." Heh!

Turtlegate

I'm not sure if its obvious, but apparantly I'm hardwired to buy a bunch of kitchy crap I don't really need. There are certain things that I'm convinced a company in China made specifically because they new I would by it. Any sproingy, brightly colored toy of varying cuteness or playfulness I will either buy or lament not buying, and in some cases, I will buy multiples of. Take my cubicle for instance. Somehow I have amassed three slinkies, two bean-bag lizards, four strechy rubbery lizard toys, all in various states of decay and destruction (it's not my fault their legs are easy to rip off, really!), at least ten bouncy balls, some of which light, some of which light and make noise, some of which are supposed to light and make noise but whose batteries have died, four jelly rings that light up, a lava lamp glittery thingy and a plastic Godzilla Lizard, and a stuffed Intel Guy. And that's just a partial listing of the toys I can see!

So, point is, if it is cute and amusing, chances are I either have it, have multiples of it, or deeply waaaaaaant it if I don't have it already. Usually, Fighting Nun is able to curb that instinct I have. Our new house isn't cluttered with cute and amusing things, sadly. This is because my need to outfit our house with needless stuff is usually met with a good helping of resistance. A trip to Bed, Bath, and Beyond usually goes something like this:

"Look, it's a soap dispenser thingy with froggies floating in it!"
"You don't need it!"
"But it's, It's a soap dish.... With little froggies.... Floating in it!"

Fighting Nun usually pats my shoulder, rolls his eyes and walks away from me at this point, thus settling the dilemma and leaving me without an amusing froggie-floating dispenser, sadly. But sometimes, just sometimes, Fighting Nun can't walk away from my stunning powers of persuasion mixed with the desire to have amusing things, such as our latest outing to the hardware store. Yes, I realize that a hardware store is hardly the place to find something that suits my cuteness needs, but this last time, there was just the thing.

Bloody Munchkin: Look, they have a glow in the dark froggie light!
Fighting Nun: *rolls eyes*
BM: No, but look, its a little solar-powered frog that can sit outside in our new backyard and it can be an extra patio light. We need another one! You said so yourself...

At this point, Fighting Nun walks away from me, but the beauty of a hardware store is that nothing is where it is suppose to be, so you end up walking up and down the same aisles a bunch of different times, trying to find the stuff you need, which at this particular moment was cloth fiberglass, bondo, a spreader and expandable foam (don't ask) all of which were conveniently not placed anywhere close to each other which meant Fighting Nun and I were forced to walk passed the same spot where the awesome glowing froggies of wonderfulness happened to be. Which meant I could ply my wonderful powers of persuasion on him *cough wearing him down cough*.

Bloody Munchkin: But see, he's so cute and he needs a good home.
Fighting Nun: I am not buying you a glow in the dark frog.
BM: But he'll light up in the patio and he's soooo cute and I'll name him Ralph!
FN: You name EVERYTHING Ralph!
BM: No I don't! I name everything Pepe and that can be blamed on the movie Airborne. The only things I name Ralph are my shoes, and those are only the righties!
FN: *walks away*

After the third time walking past the display and "persuading" Fighting Nun that we needed a lighted up frog, Fighting Nun was at his wit's end.

FN: I AM NOT BUYING YOU A GLOW IN THE DARK FROG!
BM: But, but, but... (Cue pouty lip and big, puppy dog eyes)
FN: ....But I will buy you the glow in the dark turtle.
BM: There are turtles!!! I didn't even see those!!! Those are awesome! I like those better!

So we now own a glow in the dark turtle which I have ceremoniously dubbed Thomas (I couldn't name him Ralph because all my right shoes are named Ralph, and I couldn't name him Pepe because my plant at work is named Pepe, so I had to come up with something else. And besides, Ralph the Turtle? Does not have a good ring to it. Now, if I can just convince Fighting Nun the next time we go to the hardware store that Thomas the Turtle is lonely all by himself in our big, huge patio and needs friends, like say possibly two more glow in the dark turtles and maaaaaaybe a frog? Come on, what do you say?

Made-Up Band Names

Metrosexual Backlash.

I'm envisioning a very grungy plaid wearing alternative band, but not in Kurt Cobain kind of way, more of a Mel Gibson meets Grizzly Adams kind of Way. Zack Galafanakis, I think I have the band name for you!

Screw You Weather, Part Deux

What is going on with the Bay Area's weather right now? I mean seriously. It's April. April for Godsakes! Fighting Nun and I are supposed to be Windsurfing! right now. I am, by all accounts supposed to take my humongoid life raft of a beaten-up board and one of Fighting Nun's beat up sails and I'm supposed to be beating them up right now. Not right now as in right now, but right now as in, we were supposed to start windsurfing back in March. It's supposed to be sunny and windy and Fighting Nun are supposed to be out at one of the handful of windsurfing locations scattered around the bay area right now. Everytime we drive over the bridge, Fighting Nun is supposed to look forlornly out to bay and lament not being able to sail the white caps. Now Fighting Nun just looks out to the bay and laments it not being windy. We're both inside, miserable, watching the rain come down for like the umpteenth consecutive day, listening to the doom and gloom of the weather reports on TV ("Mudslides in Marin, Highway 1 closed forever, more rain for at least a month, more at 11").

And its not just the lack of windsurfing I'm lamenting. It's Baseball. Did you know there was supposed to be a game last night? Had there been a game last night, we would have watched it, but instead, it got rained out and Fighting Nun made me watch the first thirty atrocious minutes of "Saw". Shut Up Weather! You're screwing up baseball and forcing me to watch horror movies with my husband, and that I just won't stand for! Do you hear me weather, or do I have to drone on and on about what you happen to be doing to MY HAIR in addition to the havoc you are wreaking with my social activities? Because I will!!! Just you wait. Except I've already droned on about my weather-related hair woes here before, but I will again if that is what it takes for you to stop raining and turn sunny and windy! Don't think I won't, because I will!! I mean it!! And don't think I don't have an extra special rant about what this rain is doing to all the traffic in this area, because I do. Short form: It's turning people into idiots. Well, even more so than they were before.

Weather, hurry up and do what you are supposed to do: get sunny, get windy and get ready for me to shred!

Paralyzed with Helping, Part I

So a couple of weeks ago, I went into this huge rant about public schools and how we as in the government we is trying to do things to help the school system but it instead hampers them and weighs them down with unnecessary red tape and not enough funding to clear the red tape and help the kids out at the same time. I even wrote quite a lot of paragraphs about it for the blog, but, because what was starting as an articulate rant ended up as an inarticulate gurgle of fury directed at anyone in charge not seeing the problem. Lots of vigorous head shaking and unexplainable frustration weren't really gonna get my point across.

Which brings me to my point. There is an organization that is doing something about helping our kids, and that I enjoy helping very much. Here's the problem. I recently came into a little money as part of my departed grandmother's estate (I haven't talked much about her or that experience either, well I have, just not in this space. I wanted to keep that experience of losing her separate from what I'm doing in this space). So Fighting Nun said that any devices I had for the money were my own. Part of that money went into a project for the house (buying my awesome dog Kissinger a doggie door so he can get in and out of the patio easily). It's a piddly thing to use the inheritance on, but I don't think my grandmother would mind. So now I have 40 dollars left over, and I'm paralyzed as to what to do with it. I've thought about spending it on myself, but I'll just buy crap and I'd like to do something nice in my grandmother's memory, so I'm thinking of earmarking that money for a project on Donor's Choose.

Thing is, I can't decide which project to give my money to. There's so many good ones, and I'm paralyzed with the choosing and the helping, and also asking other people to help and get the project I pick on the ground and rolling for these kids. So I'm leaving it up to my two readers to help me decide. Right now, I'm leaning to these two projects: Marin Headlands Camping and Bay Area Kids Experiencing the sea around them. I'll make my decision soon, but any ideas would be appreciated.

The Mustache Strikes Back

Remember when I remarked about how bad Fabritzio's mustache was? Remember how I also said how I was horrified that the 70's pornstache was making a comeback? Well, this topic came back up in discussion, and I'm still mystified by the fact that there are men out there who think they can pull off the nice thick mustache without coming off sleazy, creepy or not like Ron Jeremy. Because I'm here to tell you, trying to pull off that stache will not work. And I know why.

First of all, the guys trying pull off that stache are twenty-something wannabe hipsters who are trying to come of as ironic or retro or vintage or however they try and spin it as. First of all, if it's the ironic facial hair that you're going for, well that train has passed. The age of The New Sincerity is upon us. The Age or Irony is so 1996. So don't do it. And if you're trying to grow it because you think the perfectly groomed mustache will be a great accessory to go with your vintage "If this Trailer's a Rockin', don't bother Knockin'" t-shirt and Camaro belt buckle, well then you are an idiot. Look, the only think that accessorizes with that t-shirt is a grease fire (although the belt buckle is pretty rocking) and secondly, the porn-stache accessorizes with nothing but orange shag carpeting and the "wakka-wakka" music of impending bone-age.

My friend, the one who is considering a forray into this most unfortanate of trends argued that his stache could maybe be very Sam-Elliot-like. Let me explain something. There's only one person, well two people in this whole wide world that could pull of the Sam Elliot mustache and those two people are Sam Elliot and my dad. But see, Sam Elliot knew how to work that mustache, and he also accessorized it with awesome salt-and-pepper hair and a Harley a la "Mask". My dad pulled off that mustache, and continues to pull it off, because he's rocking the same salt-and-pepper look and also because my dad looks a lot like Sam Elliot, only with a bigger beer belly and a more pronounced bald spot.

And don't even bring up the Sellick. O.k., I respect the Sellick, and, fine I'll relent that he rocked the stache on Magnum P.I., but if you even think you can go Magnum, well then you are delusional and an idiot. Only Magnum can go Magnum and only Sam Elliot and my dad can go Sam Elliot.

My friend also argued that he thinks it would be cool to try for the handlebar. Why? No, really. Why? There's only been two people in recent TV history to sport the handlebar, one of which is pretty much portrayed as an idiot. An idiot with good intentions, but an idiot nonetheless. The other was a guy on a reality make-over show and he was forced at camera point to shave the unholy union of a banana slug and pubic hair off his lip. Why would you even want to try a handlebar? Because you think it might be fun to reenact old vauldvillian schtick or every silent movie involving a helpless damsel and railroad tracks? Because if that job's not already taken, it should be, by Rip Tayler. Because the crazy, and abnormal facial hair are both prerequisites for that job, and he's already got both qualities in spades. I mean, did you see the picture?

So please, for the love of all God's creatures, save us the inhumanity and don't don the stache. Please. For me?

Gum on my shoe

So, I've got gum on my shoe. I'm not sure how it happened, but it happened. It happened earlier in the week actually, but now it's making it's presense known to me. I've also got gum on my car floor mats, because of the gum on my shoe which means that I can't put my left foot certain places when I'm driving, which is consequently the foot with the shoe that has gum on it. My life is one gummy nightmare and I want to wake up. Reason # 232 why I HATE gum. HATE IT! With a fiery passion that is usually reserved for boy bands and Kenny G albums Hate it! I hate gum so much I'd rather listen to said boy bands have a medley featuring Kenny G while I'm getting a brazilian wax by monkeys than chew a piece of gum. Gah! Hate! Evil! Gah! Someday I'll explain the other 231 reasons I hate gum, but for now I'd like to talk about the evils of gum as it relates to my footwear, because...

My poor shoe. It deserves better than this. Seriously. The kicks I'm wearing today are these awesome brown suede and pink leather Pumas I got last February and have held up like champs. I mean, they've been put through the ringer and have held up magnificently. They've survived many a beer-drenching concert, several rainy outings, a trip to Vegas and several packings. And now the guys (Yes, my shoes are guys, The lefty is named Larry and the righty is named Ralph. Like you don't name your shoes. You don't? Oh, well, nevermind) have gum on them. And the gum has gone from the wierd pink-white color it was originally (at least that's my assumption) to the horrendous grey-black color that is faintly tar-like in color and is just evil. Not just evil, eveeeel (Insert Mike Meyers' annunciation from So I Married and Axe-Murderer here). I tried cleaning it with soap and water in the bathroom, but without much luck, which means I have the cleanest gummy sticky spot on my shoe in town. But it is totally annoying. Everywhere I step I feel my shoe slightly stick to the ground, and I vaguely hear that "crk, crk" noise like velcro being smushed together and pulled apart over and over again. HATE! Hatey-Hate-Hate! Just, Grrrrrrrrrrr.Evil (Insert Inarticulate Hate Gurgle Riiiiiiiight Here). I know Larry and Ralph will survive this as they have many other trials and tribulations I've put them through, but they shouldn't have to deal with the sticky evilness that is gum.

Somebody's Making a Videogame of my hopes and dreams

Bob Ross: The Videogame. This might possibly be the Best. Idea. Ever!! No, I have no idea what the premise would be about or how they could possibly pull it off, but if the videogame in some way, shape, or form involves the phrases "Happy little cloud" or any other of his little catch phrases, I will happily play this game until my thumbs fall off and my eyes bleed. And I don't even play videogames! Such is my love for the departed yet immortal in my heart Bob Ross. Bring on the Bob Ross love in videogame form, is what I'm saying!!!

Walken + Ping Pong = Awesome

So, apparantly, Christopher "Needs more Cowbell" Walken has decided to make a movie about competitive ping pong, ahem table tennis. I haven't been this happy since I was convinced he might be president in 2008. (I still have my Walken for President button ready to go if you want me to campaign for you Walken. Seriously, call me. I had these awesome little daydreams in which Willem Defoe was his Vice President, and Scary Blue Velvet era Dennis Hopper was his secretary of defense. It was a strange world full of True Romance references and Spider-man posters in Lincoln's bedroom, but it was awesome). When I found out it wasn't true, well, I haven't been that depressed since I actually sat through New Rose Hotel. Twice. But I still have him posted up in my cubicle along with my two other dark horse Presidential candidates, General Zod and Invader Zim. Sure, they want to enslave us, but at least they are honest about it.

But this movie. Will. Be. Awesome. If, and this is a big if, the Correct Walken shows up. What do I mean by "Correct Walken"? Well, let me elaborate. To my mind, there are two Walkens. There is the utterly entertaining and fun, song and dance Walken, a la that Fatboy Slim video where he dances and floats and is generally awesome. The "Needs more cowbell" Walken is equally entertaining. The Walken that does not need more air time is the Suicide Kings Walken, the Batman Returns Walken, the Hickey Walken. That Walken still gives me the creeps. Just, blech. I'm shuddering just thinking about it.

Looking at his c.v. though, there's a whole slew of Walkens I didn't know, or had forgotten existed. The awesome 80's Walken, the period piece Walken, which Wha???, the what the hell are you doing? Walken. But that's besides the point, the point is, the funny Walken better show up and this movie better involve no fewer than 23 crotch shots, or I'm resending my services as your campaign coordinator. That's all I'm saying.

Only a boy...

Would design a video game system that could be installed in a FREAKING URINAL. As if Fighting Nun didn't already going number 1 was a fun little game that he got to play with his "joystick", now he actually can play one, with his, erm "joystick". This is so freaking wrong, in so many ways. I wonder if they've installed a bonus round in the actual stalls. "Two kerplops = 2,000 points." Ugh, I just made myself sick...

Random Morning Commute Topic

Becuase Fighting Nun and I have had to car pool right now, we've ended up having some strange discussions. This morning's went something like this:

Fighting Nun: You need to have a coffee pen name.
Bloody Munchkin: A what?
FN: A name you can put on your coffee order.
BM: I don't understand.
FN: You need to come up with a name to put on your coffee order.
BM: Is this because you're tired of me using your name, because we both know it's easier because if I give them my name, I'm gonna have to spell it, and then their gonna look at me all wierd and then I have to do that eye roll that tries to convey "Yes I know the spelling and the name don't match, my parents are hippies that thought giving their daughter a strange name would be fun" in less than a split second...
FN: I'm not saying use your name. I'm saying come up with some name, other than mine to put on your coffee order.
BM: Like what?
FN: I don't know, Cat or something. And then you could like use it as one of your aliases, like if you ever write a book and stuff.
BM: Cat?
FN: I don't know, it's just a suggestion.

Fifteen minutes and a dance in my car seat to the tune of Morningwood's Nth Degree, and we came back to the topic.

BM: So, like how complicated should the coffee pen name have to be?
FN: Not very.
BM: Because I have Evanka on the brain.
FN: Fifteen minutes and the best you can come up with is Evanka?
BM: I don't know. I've had like five hundred other thoughts, most of which revolve around the fact that One Tree Hill sucked last night.
FN: Hey, you're the one who wanted to watch it.
BM: I know, I know. Well, what other names?
FN: I don't know. I'm kinda liking Cat. Short for Catarina. You could pull off a Catarina I think.
BM: It does seem to be the dark horse doesn't it.
FN: Dark horse? It's the only horse we've come up with.

Ten more minutes elapse...

BM: Angelina?
FN: Maybe...

A few more minutes...

BM: Violet.
FN: I don't know...
BM: Violet Benderspink. Violet Benderspink the Third. I kinda like that as my coffee pen name.
FN: Violet. Benderspink. The Third. Hold on. What? VIOLET. BENDERSPINK. THE THIRD? The hell?
BM: Well, not that I can't pull off the Russian Spy persona that handing off the name requires, but.
FN: Persona?
BM: Well, I mean, don't you have to assume a Russian Spy name if you're assuming the name of Cat?
FN: You aren't assuming a whole other persona to put down a FREAKING name on a paper cup!
BM: But if I'm using the pen name to write a book, then I'd have to give the person writing the book a whole other persona, thus Violet Benderspink the third. I think I could pull her off really well.
FN: O.k. first off, do you really want to give your "persona" a last name that sounds like sphincter?
BM: Heh. Sphincter. Good point, she was probably teased alot in school.
FN: O.k. Heh. But, not the point. The point is you're making a whole other persona TO ORDER COFFEE.
BM: Hey, this was your idea...
FN: Which you've taken to a wierd, wierd place. *Pats shoulder, rolls eyes*

The subject was then summarily dropped, not to be spoken about for the rest of the trip. But I'm convinced this topic is still open. Its Coffeegate people!

She said, he said

She Said "Damn it, it doesn't have to be all or nothing all the time!"
He Said "See, that's why I like anal sex and you don't!"

Second Best Music Video. Ever!!!

I am serious. The genius of this song and video is only eclipsed by Aha's "Take On Me" (You can argue with that contention all you want. But resistence is futile. "Take On Me" is the best music video ever. Keep argueing if you want to but you'll see things my way.)

But this video is in the running. I mean, it has everything. The bad powder blue tuxes, Intel look-alike dudes, girls in skimpy Robert Plant "She's Addicted to Love"/Motley Crue "Girls, Girls, Girls" hybrid outfits, which are so sluttily awesome that only Sir-Mix-Alot's "Baby Got Back" video had more sluttily awesome clothes, the disco ball. Which, can I just stop for a sec and explain how underused the disco ball is in music videos. I'm serious. It is way underutilized, and I, for one, want it used more widely in music videos. No, really. If you have a music video in which you instruct me to shake my groove thang, or my ass, or my moneymaker, I better know you're serious. And the best way to do that? Put a Disco-Motherfucking-ball right smack in the middle of it bitches!!! That's how.

I lurve this video. Since FIghting Nun, who is the epitomy of cool, sent this to me, I have listened to and partially watched this video new fewer than 2394 times and I plan to watch it many more time. The Pen Fifteen Club. Makers of the Second Best Music Video. Ever.

An Open Letter to DirecTV

Dear DirecTV;

I realize we've only been together a short time and I might not be giving this relationship enough of a chance, but I'm starting too have second thoughts.

Don't get me wrong, your a great TV channel service provider, I just don't think you have what it takes to meet my needs the way cable and TiVO met my needs. Yes, true you swept me out of a strange love triangle, but it was a simbiotic love triangle that provided me with so much comfort and joy. And their programs were easy to find and TiVo recorded what I asked it too. I'm not getting the same level of loyalty from you and I'm starting to reevaluate the relationship.

Let's take the last two night for instance. Wednesday night, I asked gently that you record the final episode of Beauty and the Geek for me(Yes, I watch Beauty and the Geek, loyally. I didn't ask for your mocking in the manner, I asked you to record the program for me, which YOU DID NOT! So shut up!). I tried to Watch it last night, and nothing. I either couldn't find where you would store such programming, or you outright refused to record it for me. I thought this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship, so why you running so hot and cold for me?

And then, last night, you leveled me with an act of outright disobediance. You. Would Not. Play Invader ZIM. Would outright not display the show on TV. Look, I know I asked for that channel, I outright saw that channel displayed on my little channel guide thing, which said I would get channel, but you? You didn't not display the channel. You said you were "Trying to Find" the channel, but you would not display the channel. Forgive me for turning into my mother and guilt tripping you, but there is not a lot I ask for in this relationship, (well once I figure out the DVR thing, there will be a lot I will ask from this relationship, one of which will be to record ever episode and rerun of both Made and Pimp My Ride, but baby steps...) but one of those things is to watch Invader ZIM on a regular basis. Tivo didn't mind this, hell, Tivo recorded it without me asking and introduced me to the goodness that is GIR because my Tivo knew that I liked The Tick. You wouldn't even play Invader ZIM, much less record it for me. What am I supposed to think about how you really feel about me?

And another thing, last night, I couldn't sleep and I went to you for support, to be consoled because I was feeling icky and you looked like you were going to be compassionate to my needs, what with being on the exact channel that "My So-Called Life" happened to be on. Yeah, it was the last fifteen minutes of an episode, but it was pure goodness. I mean, Brian Krakow and Jordan Catellano for Christ's Sake. I was consoled, and I was happy, and I thought you really got my needs, but the rest of the hour I spent tooling around, nothing. Well, there was Ice Castles, which totally enthralled me as a kid, but is doing absolutely nothing for me now. (Robbie Benson, where did we go wrong?). But Nothing, I was hoping for another episode of "My So-Called Life" and You said you had "Aah, Real Monsters" to play, but alas with the "Can not find station" crap again, I couldn't watch it.

I just don't know if it's going to work out. You are just not at a level I need you to be. I know you say that I should give it time, but the Tivo/Cable relationship, as strange as it is, is looking more and more appealing. Just don't make me regret this big change I made. That's all I'm asking.

Love;

The Bloody Munchkin.

Phil Collins and His Wife are splitting...

There's a joke in here somewhere about Phil spending way too much time at the GBC clubhouse, but I can't quite put it altogether. Let's just hope he didn't divorce her by fax this time...

New Holiday?

I didn't know this was a new holiday. I'm sure Fighting Nun is creating a petition right now to make this a national holiday. Can I claim religious differences so I won't have to observe it?

Twelve Things I Realized After Seeing Ultraviolet

1. Anything, and I do mean anything, can be made better by the presence of William Fichtner. I am absolutely convinced of this. I can't substantiate this claim with real proof at the moment, but I'm convinced I'd watch an opening of a landfill if he was present, just because he is that freaking cool.
2. I am absolutely convinced that there is some rule about sci-fi movies that there absolutely has to be tight vinyl in at least 3/4 of the movie in order to make it a believable sci-fi movie, which I utterly do not understand because, we have vinyl and latex in the present, but we have the presence of mind not to wear it absolutely all the time, so what gives? What, in the future we're all going to be "Let's where impossibly sticky and hot vinyl"? Sure whatever.
3. Milla Jovavich has a nice ass. I'm jealous.
4. The kid in that movie is starting to creep me out. I mean Dakota Fanning level creep me out. I mean, first of all, that kid is starting to be in like everything and secondly he's trying too hard to be preternaturally ... something. I don't know. The kid just wigs o.k.
5. Another rule of sci-fi happens to be that vampires are stupid. Sure, they were called hemo-phages or what the hell ever, but seriously.
6. "You cannot have a yankable ponytail in a chicken fight." You think in the future, your average henchman would, you know, get that. But apparantly not.
7. Any bad movie (with the exception of "Dude, Where's my Car?") can be made better when you are under the influence. Two cape cods and that movie when up a letter grade. It was a C- but with a little drinkage in my system, and being able to laugh at the dialog, it became a B- easy.
8. "It is on" "Oh Yes. It is on." is the new "You got served."
9. The bad guy in this movie, not so convincing. I don't know. He is just not bad enough. He's menacing and kinda creepy, but he's obviously way too Howard Hughesian about the germs and all. I'd just be around him when my allergies were bad and watch him have a germaphobic fugue and pass out. Easy enough..
10. All your armies of darkness or mal-intent or whatever, especially if they are robots and especially if they are ROBOTS MADE OF GLASS are easily destroyable, and you are an idiot for building them.
11. Anything, ANYTHING (even this pile of crap) can be made better by the presence of William Fichtner.
12. Did I mention that William Fichtner can make your movie better?

Lost in the Quagmire

Quagmire. God that is such a strange word. Seriously. But I am. Lost in it, I mean. I'm seriously knee deep in crap right now. Moving Crap, Work Crap. And to top it all off, I don't have cable. Do you know it has been a week since I've seen an episode of Made or Gilmore Girls. I'm starting to twitch. I might have to be admitted to Betty Ford if those goes on much longer. I actually cracked a book last night. That's how deprived I am. I have had everyone, including my mother, tell me every juicy detail of the Academy Awards, which: Salt, meet Open Wound. I'm sure you'll become fast friends.

To top it all off, I haven't felt very writing inclined. I just feel drained of anything to say. Well, that's not exactly true. Fighting Nun and I have had fifteen-hundred conversations, most of which were funny (one of which involved us getting a mouse chouffeur which launched into a discussion of whether or not said mouse should be able to cuss at traffic. The Verdict? Absolutely.) and probably blog worthy but are now lost to the anals of time (heh, I just said anals) because I haven't (read: didn't) taken the time to write them down.

I feel constricted in the writing department right now, like there's so much that needs out of my system but that I can't concentrate on any one thing so nothing gets out. I do not know why. I've been sitting on a post about this awesome dream I had involving Apolo Anton Ohno and that shirtless volleyball scene in Top Gun where Val Kilmer and Tom Cruise are in Volleyball Match to the D-E-A-T-H which I haven't done anything with. Quite heartbreaking really. But rest assured, I'm trying.

Those Crazy Australians...

...and their band names.

So I'm listening to Live 105 this morning, which really isn't bad now that Howard Stern is gone. So I'm listening and they play a band called Wolf Mother. Let me reiterate. Wolf Mother. From the country that brought you Midnight Oil and Silver Chair, please enjoy Wolf Mother. The band ain't half bad, what with it sounding something like cross between The Darkness and Jet, but... Wolf Mother. That's the best you could come up with? Really? No offense or anything, but hoakey...