Black Snake Moan

So the other day I'm skimming over last month's issue of Spin in which they review Black Snake Moan, which based on the movie poster alone, I really want to see. So the movie critic gives it one star. A little discouraging sure but I wanted to find out why the movie got such a low rating. In the review, he describes a rather racy scene in which Christina Ricci gets it on with "a large black drug dealer, who plows her hard." My reaction to that statement was, 'I'm sure Fighting Nun would give the movie at least four stars.' And then "[Samuel L. Jackson's character] locks her to his radiator, and the camera licks its lips at the sight of a half-naked woman in chains." And then my reaction became "I'm amazed Fighting Nun hasn't run out and bought tickets right now."

The other night was the first night we got to see the trailer. Fighting Nun's eyes became as big as saucers, and, if I'm not mistaken, I heard some heavy panting going on. Apparently we're going out on opening day. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, get thee to the nearest movie theatre. I have no choice in this matter.

Fighting Nun seems to have a cinematic obsession with Christina Ricci, which as far as cinematic obsessions go, not a bad one. I've had far worse. This means that not only did I have to sit through Prozac Nation for the sole fact that Ricci showed her breasts, but most recently I had to sit through The Gathering, which not really on my top ten of Ricci movies, I have to say. Don't get me wrong. I like Ricci alot, both as an actress and as a celebrity. She's chosen some interesting indie roles followed by some interestingly bankable mainstream movies. In other words, a Ricci movie is usually worth it just for the Ricci.

But this movie actually looks like it has things to recommend it, other than Ricci for Ricci's sake. Although Samuel L. Jackson's movies can be hit or miss (We shall not speak of the motherf***ing snakes on the motherf***ing plane), he is almost always good in them. He shows up and does the work and makes it enjoyable. And as far as I'm concerned, the rest of his career could involve one steaming pile after the other and he'd still get a pass from me just because of "Look at the big brain on Brad." He's good people is what I'm saying. I haven't scene Hustle and Flow, so I can't speak to whether or not this director is any good, but damned if I won't give this one a try. I mean, did you look at the movie poster? Really look at it? Sweet Jesus. If it wasn't enough for me, it definitely was enough for Fighting Nun. See at the movies on Friday, apparently. (Psst. Fighting Nun, I put of the poster just for you. Thought you'd enjoy it. Try not to salivate on your keyboard too much. You're welcome. Love, The Bloody Munchkin.)

Logan's Run

So, a couple of months back I get into an arguement with a guy at work regarding Logan's Run regarding whether or not Farah Fawcitt was in the movie. I argued that she wasn't. He argued that she was. He was right, unfortunately. But here's the thing. I had only ever scene that movie from the last forty-five minutes or so on before this weekend. I had seen bits and pieces at the beginning sure, but I had never seen the whole thing from the beginning in one sitting and therefore I did not know that Farah Fawcitt had a small role in the movie. But I might argue that the last forty-five minutes or so is all you need anyway. From the time they get to the surface where the tin man on rollers intercepts them to the time they start exploring nature (where Jenny Agutter gives us the best line delivery of the whole movie by the way... "I hate Outside!" Love. Awesome.), and then the viewer realizes they were in a post apocalyptic world, to the meeting of the old guy, to the fight scene to the ending.

The first hour or so that I finally got to watch? Not good. I realize that is was the wild and crazy seventies and things like fast plot development and non-stagey dialogue hadn't technically been invented, but Jesus. Things that took 4 minutes for them to get to could've taken two. And was there an actual point to that bit in Cathedral? That Logan was turning against his Sandman roots? Yeah, got that. Thanks. I'll pass. Oh, and the one thing I did not, DID NOT need was to see Micheal York in a kimono. Any way you slice it, dice it, julianne it, it ain't pretty and I don't want it. Especially with lines like "You're beautiful. Let's have sex." Blech. Bleee-ech. Shudder. Just No! And then, when the movie jumps to the scene where they are swimming in the lake together and you can see blurry, pasty York buttocks, it makes the Kimono York even worse. It's wrong people. Sad and wrong.

And now that I've seen the Fawcitt, I have to say: The Fawcitt wasn't necessary. Look, her and all that feathery hair was just stagey and it didn't serve a real purpose. Stop blathering and get on with it for crying out loud!!!

I mean I get what it was trying to do, and I appreciate it on many levels. It's decent, even if it hasn't stood the test of time and the message it brings to the table it still very time appropriate, but there's certain parts I could leave. Especially the York Kimono. Shudder.

Sneakers

So I'm not sure if I mentioned this but for Valentines day, amongst the many wonderful odds and ends Fighting Nun gave me, he managed to procur Sneakers on DVD (with the Willow Special Edition on DVD. Eeeeeeeee!!!! Needless to say, Fighting Nun scored major points for this). I absolutely love this movie. Love. I love this movie so much, I can even put up with The Busfield. That's how much I love this movie. But during my first viewing in about half a decade, I came upon a revelation. Actually, I came upon several revelations, including but not limited to:

• Effing Donal Logue is a professor specializing in code breaking? Really? I mean really??? Donal Logue? The same guy who played a douche in Blade was a professor? I have no idea how to compute this information.
  


• That is absolutely the wrong mustache for The Busfield to be sporting.
  


• On the subject of bad tonsorial and facial trends, Ben Kingsley should never EVER EVER sport a ponytail like that EVER again.
  


• The number of places they show and or name drop in the bay area is astronomical. Placing bridges by how they sound? The building that Playtronics was housed in being right off the 84, excuse me, 84 (because god forbid I make the NorCal, SoCal gaff again)? Because I didn't live in the bay area back then, I didn't get all that back then, but man do I appreciate it now. Love.
  


• River Phoenix was such a hottie (O.k. That's not a revelation. That I knew. But come on. The hair that goes up to the moon when he took off the baseball cap? The "Hey, that's not easy what I just did!". The dancing. Swoon. Sniff.)

But the big revelation? The biggest revelation of them all? Why hasn't somebody greenlit a project in which Sidney Poitier, James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman have starring roles together? I'm serious. I mean that would be THE trifecta of powerhouse actors. I'm watching that scene where Sidney Poitier goes through a list of places he wants to go on vacation with his wife and the word "Tahiti" gets stuck in Sidney's teeth and he just chews on it and James Earl Jones just watches him chew with varying levels of irritation and Robert Redford's just standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face and I thought to myself: "Self, the only way this scene could've possibly been any better was if Morgan Freeman was somehow involved." And that's how I stumbled upon the epiphany that the most awesomest thing ever would be if the three of them were in a movie together. I don't care what it is, it could be a movie about a city dump, something involving gout, a movie involving angry spiders or snails. I don't effing care what the hell it is but somebody better make me a movie involving Sidney Poitier, James Earl Jones and Morgan Freeman now. Right now! Hurry before James Earl Jones dies or Morgan Freeman voices March of the Penguins 2: Electric Boogaloo and Sidney Poitier mistakeningly signs on for "Look who's coming to Dinner Now". Somebody get it done! I don't care what the effects of having three scenery chewers of their caliber sharing the screen together might have. It could rend the very fabric of space and time. I realize that. But it would be... Awesome!!!!!! Awesome I tell you. Hey, some movie exec somewhere, are you listening to me?!?!?! I've just come up with a project that is all but fail proof for getting an a little Gold Man! I demand, somebody better pony up and supply. Fail-proof I tell you!!! Fail! Proof!!!

Beauty and the Geek

So, the Beauty and the Geek Finale. What to say? Blah Blah Blah, Megan and Scooter won, Blah Blah Blah Cecelia was her normal assy self which is why she and Nate didn't win, blah blah blah Nate took the selfless route blah. Somebody get me to the damned reunion show post haste!!! The sole thought preoccuping my brain in regards to this show is: Are Jenny Lee and Nate still together??? Enquiring minds want to know. I demand, somebody supply!!! I must know eet.

Yes, I should know better than to get worked up about crappy TV. But, Hellllo, have you met me? It's what I do. I love Beauty and the Geek. I have watched it for three years running, much to Fighting Nun's shagrin. But I'm sorry I just love it, which is odd because I usually despise most things Ashton Kutcher has ever had a hand in, and yet here I am, week after week, glued to the tv from one embarrassing challenge to the next. And after every episode Fighting Nun rolls his eyes and asks "Why are we watching this again?" and about 70 percent of the time I don't have a good answer, and then Nate escapes the house, cutting himself on a palm tree, to give Jenny Lee a goodbye kiss and hug, and then I totally know why I'm watching this show. The squee. That's why.

I mean Jenny Lee and Nate. So cute. So effing cute it's ridiculous. Somebody get me to the reunion show so I can see if the two of them are still together kind of cute. I'm a sucker for that, and Beauty and the Geek seems to reel me in year after year just on the premise that some 'beauty' ends up 'shipping with one of the 'geeks'. I don't have a good reason for why this is such a draw for me but it is.

Actually, I take that back. I totally do have a good reason. I call it the Brian Krakow principle. I never got what Angela saw in Jordan Catelano. O.k., that's a lie. I mean back in the day Jared Leto was smoking. I totally got that (but now? In his Thirty Seconds to Mars phase? His 'I'm too emo for emo. Look at me with my eyeliner and black nail polish, look at me, look at me' phase? His 'I'm so goth that I date Lindsay Lohan' phase? yeah, not so much.). I know what she saw, but even back then in my teens, I knew guys like Jordan weren't for keeps, weren't for real. But guys like Brian Krakow were, that what they had to offer was more real than whatever Jordan was offering. It saddened me that Angela couldn't see that. I mean, Jordan wouldn't acknowledge that he was dating Angela for a chunk of the season, would make out with her in the boiler room but would totally blow her off in public and, AND, he slept with her best friend and SHE still took him back? Jesus. I mean seriously. (That's a lot of pent up emotion regarding a show that got cancelled during the Clinton administration, isn't it?) But Brian Krakow, with his sweetness, and his book smarts and his hiding in corners of Angela's periphery were just so appealing to me. Why couldn't she see that ? Right. In. Front. Of. Her. (Somebody get me the My So-Called Life DVDs stat!!! I'd ask Fighting Nun but he already got me Willow for Valentine's day so his obligations to my pop culture needs are moot.) So anyhoo. My money and my admirations were on Krakow.

Which is why I like Beauty and the Geek, because guys at various stages of Krakowian Development (consequently, Krakowian Development is my new band name) have a shot at finding themselves, and maybe finding a girl who gets and likes the inner Krakow. And that's why I especially loved this season's pairing of Jenny Lee and Nate, because A) not who I thought would pair up together and B) the utter sweetness and sincerity, especially on Nate's part. He's was gentlemanly, but totally sincere and cute the whole time. The Squee!!! It abounds people. It abounds.

So I don't think I can survive another week without knowing the fate of their relationship. Reunion! Show! Now! Damn it.

The Prison Break Gospel

And on the 16 Episode of the second season God looked upon the Prison Break faithful and said "Let there be a Sweet Dr. Sara and Micheal Make out session" and there was much rejoicing amongst the Dr. Sara-Micheal-shipper faithful ("Yeah!" or more aptly "Squeeeee!") and then God said "Let Dr. Sara choke a bitch." and that bitch was Kellerman and it was awesome. And then Haywire jumped and died it became less awesome, and yet, because of all the awesomeness that existed in the rest of the episode, the people still rejoiced. So sayeth the Psalm. Amen.

Life's Little Mysteries

So I pondered something this morning, something that I think has far-reaching implications if we stop and think about it; How in the hell does Terry Bradshaw have an endorsement deal with Superclips? I realized the paradox in this earlier this morning and am utterly stumped. I mean, isn't having him endorse your hair cutting service like getting a hairless chihauhau to be the mascot of a dog grooming service? It just seems so wrong. Wrong and sad. Am I the only one who ponders things like this and is utterly mystified???

Religion, Politics and Tarantino

You know that old addage that goes 'Never talk about sex, religion, and politics in front of polite company' or something like that? Well Fighting Nun and I aren't polite company. Especially in Fighting Nun's case. I mean I think if he could he'd talk about sex in any given situation. This is the man who recited the words "Tell your mom to tell your dad 'Way to lay some pipe!'" while I was on the phone with my mother. Yeah, so sex is a topic easily broached. The topic not easily broached with us is apparantly Tarantino movies. I wasn't aware of this being a spotty subject until we ended up having an arguement that started with Micheal Madsen ("The Kill Bill movies only counts as one so therefore Micheal Madsen has only been in two Tarentino directed movies." "The Kill Bill movies count as separate movies!! There are two of them!!", "Yes, but he wrote Kill Bill as one movie, so they count as one." "Two. Movies. Jesus."), really ramped up with Steve Buscemi ("He was so in Pulp Fiction! Buddy Holly!! Hello!!"), got going further with a long winded arguement about Tim Roth's hair color (don't ask, I don't know either) and ended in a tirade involving Four Rooms. So yeah, apparantly Tarentino movies are on the hot list of topics we shouldn't talk about in front of polite company, least the conversation degrades into the very scene in Reservoir Dogs where Micheal Madsen takes off the cop's ear that sparked the debate between Fighting Nun and I in the first place.

It's not that Tarantino films are a totally taboo topic. In fact, Tarentino movies are in and of themselves an unending plethora of juicy quotes and tasty little discussions that are fun for the whole family; Whether or not from Dusk 'til Dawn was worse than Desperado as far as movies he starred in go ( I actually have no context for that arguement because I've never seen from Dusk 'til Dawn all the way through, but I paid good money to see Desperado in the theatres, so I feel I have a leg to stand on in this discussion.), whether Bruce Willis or John Travolta had the cooler role in Pulp Fiction (Trick question, the answer is obviously Samuel L. Jackson. The guy quoted scripture before he popped a cap in your ass And he had the wallet that said Badass Mother.... No contest. No. Contest!), whether or not Uma is his muse or his source for unleashing his masochistic tendancies (That's a tricky question, it's toss up really.). So it's not as if the subject is totally off limits, but there must be boundries for having said discussions. So I've decided to compile this handie-dandie guide for discussing or arguing all things Tarantino.

1. Don't talk about Tarantino's love life if you've been drinking. Especially don't talk about Shar Jackson in terms of Tarantino's love life if you've been drinking in a crowded resturant. (It's a loooooong story.)

2. Try not to get too indignant about the fact that Tarantino directed that episode of CSI. Yes, by all rights you've heard the episode in turns both sucked and blew, but that's no reason to get all high and mighty. Just state that maybe him directing an episode of a show that jumped the shark some time before that wasn't exactly the best career decision, but hey, neither Desperado, and leave it at that.

3. Know that quoting Pulp Fiction in front of friends has its limits. Try to keep yourself to a two or three line maximum. I know this can be tough because there are so many very handy quotes to use. I have an affinity for 'Look at the Big Brain on Brad' when the occasion calls for it. Fighting Nun tends to use the 'I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is.' as often as possible. These are good lines. And there are several lines just like it scattered throughout his movies that are all worthy of requoting, in some instances ad nauseum. But they have their time and place and their use should be kept at a minimum.

4. Don't try to explain Pulp Fiction to your parents. They don't get it. They didn't get it the first time, they won't get it the next time you try to explain its genius, or they other forty million times you'll try. It's part of the age gap, so just let it go. I know its hard, but try.

5. Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to discuss your 'every other' hypothesis regarding the movies Tarantino directed, which, to wit, goes something like this (Ahem); with the exception of Reservoir dogs and Pulp Fiction, every other movie that Tarantino directs is slow and kind of boring. I mean, look at his directorial C.V. If you subtract the E.R. episode and his Four Rooms directing (which he didn't direct the whole movie, so that doesn't count.) So from Pulp Fiction, you go directly into Jackie Brown, which was good, but it kind of dragged. It was probably 20 minutes longer than it needed to be. Then his next directorial feature was Kill Bill 1, which effing rocked and was fantastic, and then his next release after that was Kill Bill 2 which, also good, but also dragged. I've found the easiest way to watch that one is in twenty minute bursts, because if I sit straight through, right from Micheal Madsen's scenes in the strip club all the way through the training sequences, I get all antsy. So, that's the hypothesis; that every other Tarantino Directorial feature is going to be a little bit draggy. Yeah see? Really boring topic isn't it? I lulled you into a Tarantino comma didn't I? So don't attempt that topic.

6. On the subject of Tarantino soundtracks, don't argue that you think he's not as big a music genius as he thinks he is. It's moot. I mean duh. Nancy Sinatra only gets a guy so far, as do the 5, 6, 7, 8's, end of story. No. End of story. I'm serious. End. Of. Story.

7. Yes, we all know and can preach to the amazingness of Samuel's Afro. We don't need a lecture, thanks.

8. Do not tell anyone that your new life long goal is to have a P*ssy Wagon. Nobody wants hear it. Especially if that isn't actually your life long goal. The sarcasm has soured. Sorry. And especially, especially is it actually is your life long goal. Because, blech.

9. Don't explain that you want a Hatori Hanso sword. Everybody wants a Hatori Hanso sword.

10. Try not to go into a long winded pro-con discussion of why there should or shouldn't be a revenge opus to the Kill Bill movies, because that list could go on forever, on either side. And it usually degrades into something like this. "Beating. A. Dead. Horse." "But, awesome!" "Beating. A. Dead. Horse." "But, awesome!" And nobody needs that.

11. Avoid the topic of Tim Roth's hair at all costs. This is a tricky one. I mean who knew really?

12. Try not to think too hard on the fact that there are sequels to From Dusk 'Til Dawn and what that might mean to society as we know it.

I Love New York

Warning: Fighting Nun, for the sake of our marriage, your sanity and for the love of little green apples, you shouldn't read this post. It will cause the mother of all eye-rolls, the likes of which we might never recover from. So don't read it. Save yourself the agony.

It should come as no surprise to the people that know me that I'm watching this. Yes it's awesomely bad. Yes it's probably a total waste of time (The operative word in that sentence is probably). But yet I'm still watching it. It ain't pretty. We all know that, but it sure is cheesetastic, which is all I ask of TV that panders to the knuckle-dragging denomenation of our society (in other words, me basically). New York has lost it. Actually, given that I didn't watch Flavor of Love or Flavor of Love 2, I have no idea if she had it to begin with, but damn. Girl Crazy is what I'm saying. But that's besides the point.

The thing I want to know, the one burning question I have right now is; How in the effing hell is Mr. Boston staying in the game? No, seriously? How in God's green earth has Vanilla Ica made it this far? I'm speechless, absolutely dumbstruck. Have you seen this guy? He looks like his momma is dressing him for prep school, all he's missing are the penny loafers and a briefcase. The first time I saw him and heard him talk, I was reminded of somebody I went to elementary school with, all prim hair and stiff collared shirts and a stick up his but so far he might as well become a puppet in a ventriliquist act. Actually, and this is a very bad association, he reminds me of the kid with the tragic hair, the collared shirts and the briefcase in Max Keeble's Big Move (Yes I saw that movie... every time it was on cable. No I have no good reason why. Look, would you accept that I really liked to watch Jamie Kennedy get his just desserts over and over and over again? No? Fine. I have no good excuse. I'm a pop culture knuckle dragger. Somebody's gotta be the voice of the bottom 5%. Might as well be me. Can we move on?). You know the kid I'm talking about, big teeth, the hair parted in the way that suggests his mother parts his hair every morning? (I couldn't find a picture of this kid, both Google images and Imdb left me out to dry, but if you saw the movie, you'd get what I'm talking about, or maybe you won't. Who knows at this point.) Yeah. I think Mr. Boston and that kids are kindred spirits, siblings even.

Mr. Boston's absolutely tragic, but he's absolutely tragic on the opposite side of the spectrum in which New York and all the other contestants are absolutely tragic. I mean, they are all trainwrecks. That's a given, but everybody else is the worst parts of Blind Date, The Fifth Wheel, Love Cruise and Joe Millionare kind of tragic and Mr. Boston is Beauty and the Geek, Revenge of the Nerds kind of tragic and those two worlds can never, should never meet. And if they do meet? Well the meeting shouldn't last long, is what I'm saying. In normal reality tv show.... well reality, he would've lasted all of an episode but in the crazy la-la land of VH-1 reality, he's lasted three episodes. Three!! Somewhere in Los Angeles, the very fabric of space and time was rended open and soon, very very soon, we'll all be sucked in and life as we know it will cease to exist. Thanks alot New York. Thanks alot Mr. Boston.

And was anybody as grossed as I was to watch those two kiss? I mean, the lap dance was one thing. I could watch that through my fingers but I could laugh at the same time with a kind of dettached interest, all 'Yeah he just humped her on national TV, but he'll be gone soon so it's o.k. to point and laugh.' But then he didn't go, and he still hasn't gone, and I have no idea what to do, how to react now. I'm just utterly mortified at this point. And I really don't think he's got much of a chance from this point on, I mean unless everybody else totally screws up, he's pretty much toast the next elimination right? Right? Please God let me be right, because if those two end up together, I will actually have no context for how the world works.

Actually, I totally take that back. They should totally end up together. They should have a televised wedding involving cheetah print bridesmaid dresses, pleather tuxedo pants, a wedding dress that has little LED lights on it, Sister Patterson officiating in powder blue satin suit, smoking a cigarette, and Mr. Boston humping New York's grandmother at the reception. If anything less happens, the fabric of space and time really will be rended open and life really will end as we know it.

The Bloody Munchkin's Media Consumption

Watched - Don't even get me started on this movie. I mean, I wanted to kill Madonna's character in this, just out and outright strangle her for her selfishness and utter self absorbtion. I didn't catch the first half of the movie, but the last half didn't intentionally make her out as a beholden bitch, but that's how she came across. She abandon's her friendship for Benjiman Bratt's character, blames her best friend for forcing that upon her, then he sues for custody of what he thought was his biological son, finds out, rather cruelly that it was not his son, which means she had lied to him about his involvement in the conception of what he thought was his son. There were just several moves, up to and including the trial that were just utterly mean, which made me question the point of the movie to begin with. I mean the performances were great, but story and plot itself seemed sort of sadistic and sad. Wouldn't reccomend it.

Watched - Liked it, but it was effing too long. You had the set up, the punchline and that's where it should've ended, but instead it went on for another 15-20 minutes trying to make its point, which was what, exactly? The Uma, Meryl friendship had absolutely no pay off, and the end of the relationship had no pay off either. The movie just couldn't figure itself out and I in turn couldn't figure it out. And one other thing... Bryan Greenberg was pretty cute, but, o.k., so he's the same age as me, and I'm supposed to believe he's 23 in the movie? Given, the movie was shot in 2004 and released in 2005, but still, that puts him at 26, 25 at the least... and you make him 23? Ooooookay. It's just odd is all.

Watched - Good. Really good. Hard to take at times, but utterly interesting and gripping. Del Toro holds nothing back, both visually and in the story telling and it ultimately pays off. I totally recommend it. Not much else I can say really...

Listening To - Everyone must own The Cold War Kids album Robbers and Cowards. So good, so textured, such an interesting narrative. I don't know of many bands out there that would create a song about laundry and sing said song with as much conviction as they have.

Anxiously Awaiting Release Of - I must get this album in my grubby little fingers. I must have eet now!!! I love Silent Alarm. Some of the songs on that album were so haunting that I'd keeping thinking about them after I listened to them. I can't wait for this album. The song getting radio play is really good.

Reading - I'm about halfway through and I'm hooked. The characters are very layered and lived in. The story itself is gripping, part horror, part character-based drama, part folk-tale. My only nitpick is that the author seems to rely on his little trick of only partly revealing the action in one chapter and the expositioning the same action later on in the next chapter. I get that he doesn't want to play the cards all at once as far as the action is concerned, but so far he happens to rely on telling and not showing a little too heavily. Still, a good satisfying read so far. Can I just say that I love Mrs. Laracy? I'm assuming all her backstory is going to lead to something, what I'm not sure yet, but she's gotten such an interesting, textured life that I could just immerse myself in it. It's my very limited opinion that we don't focus in on the narrative of our grandmother's and the women that came before them enough. Sure, their stories are littered throughout some literary works, but I don't think we've heard their voices, their stories enough either in books, on T.V. or in the movies.

I sometimes forget how much I love to read. Sometimes I'll read a string of books back to back, four or five at a time, and then I'll go for a long time without reading a single thing. Fighting Nun commented on this, something about TV getting in the way or something? That my affinity for bad MTV shows is deterring me from loftier pursuits? I have no idea what he's talking about.

The American Idol Debate

Let me preface what I'm sure is about to become a long winded post by saying that Fighting Nun and I are not avid fans and we only ever watch the show for the parade of dillusionment that marches in front of the judges and therefore onto our tv so there might be some things that an avid fan of the show might know off-hand that we have no clue about. So if the resulting diatribe seems as if we don't know what we're talking about in regards to American Idol, that's because... we don't.

So, remember last night, almost at the very close of the episode, they had the parade of deluded contestants 'sing' Don't Cha and it was generally very painful, but you had to give it up to some of those people because they didn't bail out. They should've, but they didn't. Even the uncomfortable-looking, collar-shirted-wearing, eyebrow-tweeze-needing, unfortunate-haircut-having, guy who lives in Utah put in the extra effort, for reasons that were inexplicable to us. So Fighting Nun raised the question if that was filmed before or after the audition of each and every one of these people, which I had no good answer for. Fighting Nun theororized that said 'singing' happened after their auditions, which had him convinced that said contestants had to have been paid to make another appearance after having been thoroughly demoralized by a pasty English guy and an over-the-hill has-been who is obviously self-medicating.

To which I countered that these poor poor souls couldn't have possbily been paid because any and all money related to contestant relations was obviously being put to Paula's ever increasing bar tab (although I heard this morning that she doesn't drink, which I want to call bullshit on but the theory that she's mixing hardcore anti-depressants into whatever happens to be in her strategically placed coca-cola cup is still viable) so they can't possibly be paying the contestants. That arguement seemed to subdue Fighting Nun enough but he wasn't swayed that the Don't Cha montage was filmed on a different day than the contestant's auditions. Which I can't refute. Apparantly the afforementioned Needs-a-Tweeze guy was wearing a different collored shirt in the musical montage than he wore for his audition. Leaving out the possible hypothesis that Needs-a-Tweeze required a costume change from one collared shirt to another collared shirt, we can only assume that the auditions and musical numbers performed by the hearing challenged were taped on different days.

But that seems odd to me because they were in the interview room, the room I once thought was only used for the sole purpose of allowing the banished contestants a place where they could vent and explain to the world how they were misunderstood and that they had true *talent* and Simon, that poor mean bastard and the other judges just didn't *see* it. So I automatically assumed they were asked to sing their little hearts out to the tune of Don't Cha once their auditions were conducted. Am I wrong about that? Does the room of a thousand shattered dreams have a duel purpose as a makeshift Kareoke room of badness? Because if so, that room just went up in my estimation.

But our question still stands. When were the contestants asked to their best Pussycat Dolls impression? Before or after their auditions? Inquiring minds want to know. We demand, you supply. If you read this blog and actually have an answer, please answer the question in the comments, or e-mail me. I'm curious. Otherwise, this'll just be an unanswered rant floating out in the eather. Also, if you can enlighten us if any of the contestants get paid for their participation or if the money does indeed go to medicating Paula, I'd appreciate that insight too.
Thanks.

The Sock Drawer

Every year or so I feel compelled to have a come to Jesus meeting with the sock drawer. It's not that I particularly want to, but I have to in order to exert some control over the particular breed of chaos that lies therein. It is anarchy, complete and utter anarchy. I mean, the sock drawer looks like a greek orgy at the best of times and a riot in the streets at the worst of times, certain argyle socks trying to escape out the side, for fear of being strangled by the white ankle sports socks that are angry and hate all the fancy argyles. So every once and awhile I feel compelled to bring peace and order to the inhabitants of Sockville. But I hate doing it because it never ends well.

This is how it usually goes; I finish all the laundry and put everything away. In the process of putting everything away, I look down at the sock drawer and sigh in resignation. I throw all the socks in the sock drawer onto the top of the dresser and start pulling the freshly cleaned socks from the laundry basket at the same time, playing the match game to the best of my ability. I look a sock over and realize that the hole in the heel is too big to wear ever again and set it aside, realizing that I'll have to perform last rights on poor Mr. Sockersons over there and possible his mate if I can find it. I start feeling sorry for the socks whose mate I can't find, because I realize that if I can't find the other sock, I'm going to perform last rights on them too, which feels horrible. I consider a viking funeral for the socks I must say goodbye to, since they were mighty warriors who performed honorably for Fighting Nun and myself. Then I finish unloading the laundry and do a tally of the remaining socks without partners. I then go into a bout of denial all "Oh, I'm sure I'll find the sock somewhere. Maybe it's in the last load or, maybe I stuffed it in a shoe, or Fighting Nun and I got into one of our sock wars (basically, Fighting Nun rubs his smelly sock in my face at the end of the day, and then I try to do the same back and then it just degrades into us throwing socks at each other for a full five minutes. Yes, we have a very mature relationship. How could you tell?) and the sock got traumatized and decided to hide from both of us after the affair, but maybe it's still around and I can pair it with the other sock. Maybe the sock trolls will return it. I'll tell myself anything not to throw away that poor sock without a mate. So I hold the partnerless socks back, all 'Maybe I'll find the other one of these days'. But then I'm paralyzed with indecision as to what to do with the remaining mateless socks. So the viking funeral is out, what do I do next? I can't just put them back in the drawer because I'll forget about their plights and how lonely it is out there in sockville for one sock and then they'll be all alone and bitter about being isolated. They won't have a purpose in life because you can't very well just put on one sock, I mean really. And they know that and they know they'll just be left alone in the sock drawer, never warn, never used again and then they'll get violent and angry at the other partnered socks and decide to take it out on them and they're part of the reason the sock drawer devolves into anarchy in the first place, that and the militant white sports socks with the little gold stiching at the toe. They really hate their lot in life.

But I can't just leave them on top of the dresser, because that's like having their situation being put under a spotlight, all 'I'm alone up here and without my sock lover and now that message is being broadcast to the entire room' and you just know that the panties in the half-open pantie drawer are all laughing and snickering in their schoolgirl tone of theirs all 'Did you see Beige Joe without his other sock? Tee Hee, that is sooo wrong. Now he won't have anyone to go with to the Sadie Hawkins dance.", because panties are cruel that way, and let's face it, thongs are cruel in a whole series of ways, they might as well be cruel in that high school popular girl way too. So leaving them on top of the drawer is out. Making sock puppets is a consideration, but who do sock puppets entertain in this day and age anyway? Well besides me, because having my own Robot Chicken Sock Puppet theater is pretty entertaining but I have no audience for it and the dog certainly does not get my jokes. I just don't understand how my sock puppet rendition of Pulp Fiction fails to entertain my dog.

So I put them back in the drawer, defeated and sad. I perform the last rights on one Mr. Sockersons with the heel hole and I look back in on the sock drawer mornfully, hoping a riot or an orgy doesn't break out for at least a few days. The argyles need peace restored for at least a little while. Poor argyles.

Movie Review: Proof

Fighting Nun and I caught this the other night after missing most of the ending to The Ringer (I Know) and grumpily acknowledging that we'll actually have to watch The Ringer in its entirety now to watch the ending (I. Know.) I'll save you the details and just say that it is as stupid as it looks. So we watched Proof. I remember hearing about it but didn't know what to expect. It sounded simplistic but good. I have to say it was good. Infuriatingly good. I mean, you know for a big chunk of the time that they, with the exception of Jake Gylenhaal, are all playing unsympathetic characters, but they are playing the characters sympathetically, you know? I mean, everyone in the cast, from Anthony Hopkins, Gwynet to Hope Davis put the work in, made the characters what they were, instead of utterly unlikable characatures. I detested Hope Davis's character, but I could see where she was coming from, what her angle was, because Hope Davis made it obvious while still being subtle. Gwyneth, for her part, was brilliantly neurotic. I mean it was infuriating in parts, but it was endearing. The part where she and Jake are getting it on in her bedroom during her father's funeral after-party and she stops and starts kissing him and then, right as they're really getting into it, she cries? I haven't seen such a saddenly neurotic coital performance since Jane Fonda in Stanley and Iris.

I was kind of tired of the story jumping back and forth in time because at the very end it didn't really give us anything we didn't already know. If it wanted us to have a revelation through that last jumpback, well then it failed. That last bit with Anthony Hopkins just felt flat. Spoiler alert: I mean, I don't think I bought that she never wrote the proof. Somehow, I just believed from the beginning that she was capable of it and that Anthony's character was not, so the ending revelation that she did write it just didn't feel like a revelation at all.

And I've pretty much avoided this up until now, but I think it's worth noting. Well it's probably not worth noting but I'm going to note it anyway... Jake Gylenhaal in this role? Yummy. I mean Wow. Just. I mean... yeah, Wow is all I got. I have always had affections for the cute boys who go for the slightly neurotic girls and he is no exception. I loved his character (He plays drums in a band with other mathmaticians? Awesome!). He was perfect. Yeah Jake!!! More roles like this please! Thank you.

And I'm back

Sorry for the drought of posts lately. What with the holiday craziness and such, I have had virtually no time to write. There was some vacation time (although, what with all the family and everything, I'd hardly call it a vacation), and when I got back to work, things were even more crazy, so there has been even less time to write and all that good stuff.

I had totally planned to do a Kilt/All things Scottish rock week before I left for vacation, and I couldn't even get that off the ground. I apologize. Like I said, crazy couple weeks. Just for a quick recap, my Christmas vacation/resulting weeks went something like this...

Work, work, work, greet parental units, chouffer the parental units around, Bowl Game, Bowl Game, shopping, Bowl Game, cooking, eatingmstuffing face. Watch In Good Company (which, why didn't somebody tell me about the awesomeness of this movie? I mean, really? Topher Grace was great, which is something I was convinced I would never say about Topher Grace and Dennis Quaid just rocked. Scarlett Johansen was a breath of fresh air and the other surprise in the cast ruled. David Paymer? Glorious.) Unwrap presents, another round of present unwrapping, watch my dad's eyes come out of his socket as he realizes he was given actual tickets to an actual bowl game and actually gets to go to one instead of watching yet another bowl game on TV (that was totally awesome), another bowl game, Stocking opening, driving to Brother-in-law's for another round of present openning, find out from husband that mother-in-law bought me a sewing machine, try to muster up enough enthusiam to fake being happy about getting a sewing machine, realize I'm being over enthusiastic about getting said sewing machine. Fake enthusiasm turns into actual enthusiasm, because the sewing machine turns out to be really nifty, so all and all, its not that bad. Bowl Game, listen to dad try to come up with signs he can wave whilst at actual bowl game he has actual tickets for. Explain to dad that Fighting Nun will take an extended trip to the bathroom followed by an extended trip to the nachos stand followed by an extended trip to the beer stand because Fighting Nun does not want to associate with or be directly related to anyone holding up a sign, foam finger or other signage proving a person's affiliation with a team that might get said person on TV (Not that I'd know this from personal experience or anything. I still can not talk Fighting Nun into buying me a foam finger to save my life). Watch dad think better of making said sign. Do all of this while oldest neice thinks you are walking, talking jungle gym and proceeds to treat as such. Resign yourself to being a walking, talking jungle gym for rest of night. ... ( I actually don't remember what happened on the 26th, I think I fell into a bowl game comma. Seriously people. There are way too many bowl games. When will the madness end?!?!?!) Have a girls day out where you, your mother, sister-in-law, and mother-in-law go drink wine and otherwise get into terrible mischief. Watch Charlotte's Web whilst boys go to actual bowl game instead of watching bowl game on TV. Watch in amazement while your four-year-old niece recites Charlotte's Web pretty much in its entirety from memory. Watch mother-in-law tear up when *Spoiler alert, for those of you who have never read Charlotte's Web, seen the animated version, have not yet seen this version of it, or otherwise live in a rock* Charlotte is about to die, watch niece comfort mother-in-law and tell her its just a movie. Realize you still have a slight buzz on from all the wine earlier in the day. Visit El Diablo Park for the first time and realize that it is a looooong drive. Have parents leave. Clean. Loll around in underwear and watch yet another bowl game and fall into another bowl game comma, get ready for New Years Eve, go to the city, watch the Lovemakers in concert, have an amzing time, walk down some reeeeeaaaaalllllllllyyy sketchy parts of the City to get back to hotel room, have the most digusting experience in transit ever. Loll around in underwear on new years to recuperate from the New Years Eve revelry.

Thus endeth the festivities, thankfully. I am so glad it's all over. Now I can catch up on important stuff like celebrity gossip and being grossed out by whatever Britney Spears is wearing in public now.

Kilt Revelations

Not that it matters to anyone but me, but in light of recent kilt news, and some other Scottish-related revelations (which I'll explain later), I've decided to declare this week all Scots week. From now until my parents get into town (Saturday), I shall regal you, my 2 readers, with Scottish and Kilt related insights, starting with....

UTILIKILTS!!!! Thanks to a friend of mine from work who I happen to have utterly strange and fascinating conversations with, I now know that these fanciful things exist. These are awesome. And I love the names and varieties they have for these. I mean The Mocker, The Survival Kilt, The Spartan, The Tuxedo. Let's just stop there for a moment. They actually made a kilt with a tuxedo stripe down the side. The kilt when you have a fancy suit and tie function to go to. If Sean Connery was still playing Bond, He would've worn this kilt instead of tuxedo pants. Or more to the point, he should've. Because Awesome!!! And then you have the Utilikilt they have lovingly deemed The Leather, with which they have captioned it "Pure Sex, Baby. 'Nuff said." True Dat. Very True Dat. I mean, did you see? With the corset pleating in the back? It's wrong and yet so right all in the same Utilikilt.

My only quibble? Not enough plaid. No plaid actually. But that's o.k. I forgive them that minor transgression, because these fine people put a tool belt on a kilt and that's fine by me!!!

Kilt Shortage

There's so many things about this story that it's hard to know where to begin.

First off, there's actually kilt shortage? In Scotland? Really? No, I mean, Really? O.k., so I get that the goverment contracted out to have the kilts made and because of govemental red tape, they aren't done. But couldn't said regiment, or troops, or army-kilt-wearing-guys just like, I don't know, run out to the local Scotsman's store (If it's not Scottish, it's Crap, or so sayeth the ole' SNL skit) and just buy a makeshift kilt that served their needs until kilts were made? Because, the thing is, the sharing of kilts? There is so much ew in connection with that statement, that there just isn't enough ew to go around. O.k., this might be a horrible stereo types, but aren't most kilts typically warn sans underwear? Does a poor regimental soldier really need to borrow a kilt that Shamus went commando in? And, if the guy's stationed in Iraq, there's the possibility that he not only went commandoed it up but had a rather sweaty time in it to boot. That is just so wrong.

Scottish goverment types; Fix this. Your army deserves better than to have to share sweaty, soiled, commandoed kilts amongst themselves.

Eragon...

So all you need to know about my adventure in seeing Eragon was that I fell on the way to the theatre, ripping my favorite pair of jeans, scuffing my favorite boots and skinning my knees in the process. And that's it.

Oh, you wanted to know about the movie. My bad. It's just that... It's really hard to... It's not that good. There I said it. Look, I'm not proud of it either. I know I hyped this one up, and therefore I made my expectations high, so its my own fault. I'm just not very happy with it. The casting is great. Jeremy Irons did better than I expected, especially given the material he had to work with, Rachel Weisz voicing Saphira was an especially nice touch and dear Jesus did Bigby just chew through as much scenery as he possibly could. The problem was very much not the actors but the script.

Look, I understand that the book is freaking huge. I poured over it. I have an estimation as
to how much ground they had to cover, but I was reasonably assured that they could cover such ground. Yes there, would have to be holes and many things left unsaid, but the important things could still be covered, but they weren't. And in some instances, things were brought up, but never explained fully. A lot of exposition was put out there, but it wasn't given the breadth and width the book gave it. Show, don't tell is what I'm saying. Don't get all expositiony about magic, and the words used to evoke it, unless you show more of it. Give me a two minute montage of him fighting and training and using magic with Brom, and I've got it. Don't say a bunch of crap about it, and then just glaze over it. That's cheap.

And don't introduce characters and then give them no context or texture for why they are introduced. Like the introduction of Murtagh. Fighting Nun was like "What was that all about? Hi I'm Murtagh. I'm weird and helping you escape." and I had to be all "Well, they had to introduce him, because he was really important, and is really important to the second book, oops I've said too much." And yeah, he is a key character, but the way in which he's introduced and dealt with throughout the rest of the movie makes him feel so one note. And Angela, good lord in heaven was that ever done wrong. First off, the book made her out to be less of a young mystic and more of an older wisened sage, so that was miscasting right there, secondly, her cat, lynx, whatever they heck it was, was never shown, and he had some integral things to add to the story, namely that Eragon could make thought connections to other animals, not just his dragon. But this was another way in which they dangle an important character/plot point in your face only to rip it away just as suddenly. If you're going to make mention of his future, go all the way with it, don't wuss out!

And then we have the whole deal with the Vardan. I thought"they've got to spend some time there. Eragon's got more training to complete, the twins to deal with (and the twins were never introduced, which I guess I should count my blessings there, seeing as how that would've been another thing they botched up), and *spoiler alert for those of you who haven't read the second book* a baby to bless. Surely some of that has to be covered." But no, they just went straight to the effing battle. And I guess I can forgive that if the battle scene was really good, but... it wasn't. It was o.k., but it all felt rushed to get straight to the battle with the shade, and that itself felt rushed. The way that battle took place was in and of itself totally wrong. And plus *another spoiler alert*, bitch better get cut by the shade's blade. It is important!!! But no, that's just another thing they didn't touch on. Grrr!

My main problem with the movie adaptation is that Paolini crafted a very lavish, expansive story that I thought was made for the big screen, and the way this movie approached the material made it feel as if that expansiveness, the feeling Paolini captured so well in the book, wasn't worth trying to capture on film. Overall, I give it a B-, more like a C+. It pains me to do so, given the high hopes I had for it, but that's all it deserves.

Do you know what Day it is?

It's December 15th! And do you know what that means? Eragon gets released in theatres. Do you know where my but is going to be tonight or this weekend? That's right. In a cushy theatre seat, gummy bears in one hand a large diet coke in the other, sitting back and watching the show...

If there is a God in Heaven...

Then I will have the Willow Special Edition DVD in my grubby little hands sometime soon. Val Kilmer. In a Kilt. That is all.

My Boys

So, uhm, I hate to admit it, but I like this show. I didn't want to like this show. I didn't even want to watch this show. But this show caught me at a vulnerable period in my TV watching (read: Prison Break's Holiday Hiatus. MAHONE! *Sniff* Kellerman, you magnificent bastard you.). There was nothing on last night so I had to find some way to fill the void. So I watched My Boys. No, I'm not proud of it either.

But its actually decent. It gets the girl-trying-to-be-one-of-the-guys-whilst-still-being-a-girl dichotomy pretty well. And it gets that guys club thing down pretty well too. I mean, I pretty much lived that during college. Only difference was that Fighting Nun and I were in a committed relationship and there was never that girl-trying-to-be-one-of-the-guys-whilst-crushing-on-one-of-the-guys tension there. I was and still am in some respects the girl in the guys club. I go to Hooters. I let Fighting Nun and Driver's License ogle the girls and make jokes. I fit in with that realm of things rather well, so its nice to see that it's represented well in this series.

Here is my one quibble with the show, and its not so much something thats wrong with the show as something that might be wrong with me. Kyle Howard. No listen, let me explain. There is nothing wrong with him, or with him in the role. He's quite good actually. It's just that I kept watching the show the whole time like "Who's the reasonably hot, scruffy guy she happens to be crushing on? Kyle Howard? I know I know that name. How do I know that name? He looks like that cute kid from The Paper Brigade but all growed up and cute and stuff. That can't be possible can it? Can it?" Turns out it can be possible. Which makes me feel impossibly old. And I'm not old. We're the same age, Kyle and I. It's just that the three roles I happen to know him from date me. I mean The Paper Brigade? Baby Geniuses? (Yes I saw this. Shut up!) Orange County? Prove my age both literally and mentally. Do I have any good excuse for seeing The Paper Brigade in college when I was somewhat mature and should've known better? No. Do I have any good excuse for watching Sky High every time it comes on cable now (I blame Bruce Campbell myself. I mean Sonic Boom? Awesome!)? No. But have I watched such veritae and do I continue to do so for no good reason at all? Yes. Yes I do. And I have no good reason for doing so other than I am still mentally 14 years old. So I'm at odds with myself about this show for this one reason. I like the show. I recommend it actually but I'd like it more if I didn't have to grapple with the romantic lead in the show being the same kid in The Paper Brigade. That makes no sense at all does it? I have unbelievably odd Pop Culture fixations, don't I? Sigh. Yeah, I kind of figured.

Well, there's something I didn't know...

Bloody Munchkin: Stop putting that pillow on my face.
Fighting Nun: But its my justice pillow. It has to go on your face.
Bloody Munchkin: Your justice pillow?
Fighting Nun: Yeah my justice pillow. I no longer have the underwear, so now I have to have a justice pillow.
Bloody Munchkin: Justice underwear? Like Justice League underwear? We've been together since the Clinton administration. In that time, I have never known you to own Justice League underwear.
Fighting Nun: I didn't say I've had them in the recent past. But I did have them.
Bloody Munchkin: At the time that you had them, could they may have technically been called Justice League Underoos?
Fighting Nun: Look it. They were Justice League Underwear. I could *Fight Crime* in them.
Bloody Munchkin: *Snerf, Spfff* Bwahahahahahaha.
Fighting Nun: Look. I could. The only thing they weren't impervious to were taco tracks. I was done in by the cafeteria Chimichanga. So good. So evil.

Made-Up Band Names: New Submission

I proudly introduce one of my more favorite made-up band names ever:

Zeus Hates Whitey

That's got some sort of ska band written all over it.

El Vez!

Is it wrong that I'm very much want to see this show? No, I have no idea who El Vez is. I do know that I would very much like to see a show involving anything having to to with a red vinyl jump-suited, possible Elvis impersonator with very impressive sideburns. I also no I don't have an excuse as to why. And I have the vaguest impression that all my attempts (which might include begging and possible seduction) to talk Fighting Nun into a entitled "My Mexican Merry Mex-mas" would be met with eye-rolls, sighs and a very emphatic "No. No Way. Not Going To Happen."

I'm assuming that this becomes part of a very long numbered list of strange oddities I would love to see that Fighting Nun has no earthly intention of seeing whatsoever. Said list includes, amongst many forgotten oddities:

1. LL Cool J ("Momma Said we gotta go to this one." "No." "Aw Come on. Going Back to Cali, to Cali, to Cool J?" "No!")
2. Billy Idol. Apparantly Fighting Nun has no predilection to see an aging rocker who has abused peroxide to the point that should be a punishable offense strut his stuff in leather and or pleather pants he has no earthly business stuffing into. Who knew?
3. Rent or any other musical on the face of God's Green Earth, and definately not Momma Mia. I have always wanted to see Rent, especially live, but Fighting Nun has some sense of self-preservation or something that keeps him from having to do anything with musical theatre. We rented The Producers not too long ago, and at certain points of the movie I had to keep lethal objects out of his for fear of the bodily harm he would do to himself or me for agreeing to watch the movie in the first place. Broadway Musicals? Definately out of the question. Broadway Musicals featuring the lyrical stylings of ABBA? There is no way . No. Way. Not. One.
4. SUMO! He just doesn't get Sumo's genius. I've tried to explain the coolness, the importance of it to him, on several occasions in fact (o.k., not several, and the explanation basically involved me yelling SUMO! really loudly over and over again. Probably not the dissertation that was going to convince him, if you know what I'm saying).

So El Vez will probably be added to that list. But see, He's wearing a red pleather jumpsuit, with a belt that looks like a WWE title belt The Rock misplaced, side burns that ate Pittsburgh, a pompedor that is eating his humongous fivehead (a fivehead, for those of you not savvy and in the know is a forehead that is so big its a fivehead. Learnt somethin' today didn't ya?), and has a mustache that I would otherwise detest but somehow completes the outfit. It's a must see! Aw come on Fighting Nun. How about Xanthia? Come on Xanthia, you have to see the genius in this! Takers? Any takers at all?

Fine, I'll just sulk in the corner, somehow content in the realization that I'm the only one who understands the good to be had in this.

Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock Get Divorced

Dear Pamela;

Hee. Hee Hee. *Giggle* O.k. I can't hold it in anymore. Bwahahahahahahaaa. Man, If I had only created a Divorce pool with my friends I would've so been on the money on this one. I knew this marriage had the shelf life of a bunch of sea monkeys. Four Months. FOUR. FREAKING. MONTHS. That's it. I think there might be a box twinkies left on a display counter somewhere that is now officially older than your marriage.

What happened Pamela? Did he started comparing you to Jamie King again? Did you get tired of all the BPR's and cigeratte butts lieing around all over the place? Could you just not take anymore Lynard Skynard? Be honest, was there another stripper incident that hasn't made inot the news yet? Did you finally have enough of his greasy, limp hair? Where'd all that love you had for each other four months prior go? You went through the hassle of having three separate weddings, the leat you could've done was wait until the calander year ended. Sheesh.

I'm sorry Pamela. That was harsh. I didn't mean to kick you while you were down. I realize this letter is in poor taste. I apologize for being so sarcastic. I'm sure you've got a lot to deal with, between your imploding marriage, your coyly denying your involvement or noninvolvement in Borat, your coyly dodging Tommy Lee's horn-doggedness, and everything else and all. I really thought you two crazy kids could've made it work. I had so much hope and faith in your union. I mean you two really were a match in trailer-park heaven. I just couldn't believe it couldn't last. O.k. Now I have to apologize for being sarcastic again. Sorry.

Can you just do me a teensy leettle favor? Try not to get married for the rest of the year Mmmkay? That way maybe I can make a New Years Resolution not to bag on you anymore and I might be able to keep that resolution until maybe March. I'd appreciate it.

Tell Tommy Lee 'Sup for me;

The Bloody Munchkin.

Howdy!

So, with my detailing my little run-in in the company stall at work, its safe to assume I'm back from a nice four day weekend filled with family, wine, whining (my nieces) and lots of food. Yeah Thanksgiving. I've actually come back decently super charged. I got to make fun of and have fun with Fighting Nun's little brother. I got to watch an actual movie in an actual movie theatre (I never thought I'd say this, but Daniel Craig, I salute you. Jolly Good Show, Jolly Good show indeed). I got to geek out about Eragon coming to the big screen a total of about a bajillion times. (I've seen movie posters and trailers everywhere now and instead of making me bitter and upset regarding some of my little pet peeves, damn it, all I could do was be happy. Eragon!!! December 15th!!! If you'll excuse me I have to go hyperventilate into a paper bag now.) I got to catch up on class work (Almost over. Yeah!!!!). I got to drag an irritable and cranky Fighting Nun through a number of stores, which, I'm sorry but when a man is grumpy when looking at a bunch of HD TVs, he's been out to long and needs to go home. I'm slowly beginning to learn that.
Happy post Turkey Days everybody. I hope to have a marathon movie review posted sometime this week regarding all the above-par, par, and sub-par movies I've seen recently. Stay tuned.

Further Adventures in the Bathroom Stall

Yeah, it's another one of THOSE posts. But every once in a while strange crap (pardon the pun) happens in the stalls at my office.

So today I walk in when I hear what sounds oddly like a motor in one of the other stalls. I was unsure how to procede. Was there work being done? Was the bathroom now a construction zone and I wasn't told? Had our company somehow tracked down some motorized toilet brushes we were trying out? I'm a little uncomfortable but I sit down in the empty stall anyway. Out of curiousity, I look down to see a pair of feet at the stall next to me, women's shoes. That ruled out construction. I was still considering the motorized toilet brush until another thought popped into my head. What other motorized object would somebody be running in a bathroom? They wouldn't be running THAT KIND of a battery operated object in the company bathroom this early in the morning would they? WOULD THEY? I hear no moaning, but I'm still a tad suspicious. These days you can never tell.

I go to wash my hands and a co-worker pops out of the other stall, brushing her teeth with a motorized toothbrush. She was in the other stall. Brushing her teeth. Brushing. Her. Teeth. Over. A. Toilet. Why would you? How? Did she conduct other business while running the toothbrush? Could she not do both separately? Does she like combining the two activities? I don't understand. I am glad to see that both the motorized toilet brush and the other motorized gadget theory were both discredited, don't get me wrong. But I was also disheartened to find that it happened to be a tooth brush. Look, I'm a fan of oral hygiene don't get me wrong, and I realize that most oral hygiene prep takes place in the bathroom, but unless I'm totally out of bounds, it does not take place over or around a toilet. Furthermore, that sort of activity should NOT be conducted whilest hovering over the crapper. Sometimes my gag meter is a little uncalibrated and I can tend to get grossed out by some strange stuff. I mean Airborne in a glass tends to give me the heebs and tests my reflex more than it should be tested and I have no idea why. It's not like I'm being forced to drink a hair clog or anything but I just can't hack it.

But still, it just seems off somehow. Listen I don't doubt that I haven't done the brush and pee. I can't think of any recent examples, but lets just say I wouldn't put it past myself during my college days. I was living with two dudes. Decorum wasn't a huge issue for myself. And besides, back in those days, most of us probably came face to face with two side effects of the all-night rager; extremely stale beer breathe and an overwhelming urge to pee. I get that truly. But in the work place? Do they, should they really combine? Maybe I'm overthinking this. Maybe she realized her coffee breathe was kind of menacing the same time that second cup kicked in and it couldn't be helped. There could be any number of circumstances, I don't doubt that.

But here's the kicker. She tried to have a conversation with me as she was finishing up at the sink. Gah! Don't do that! Just don't. There is nothing more annoying than trying to talk to someone with a toothbrush and a head of foam and toothpaste in their mouth who isn't my husband. Because I tend to look at your mouth while you are talking, so I am watching you brush your teeth and talk at the same time, and it ain't an enjoyable thing to watch. In fact it's the opposite of enjoyable. So lady, even though I like you and we get along amiably, I'm asking, I'm begging you; don't conduct your oral hygiene business over the bathroom stall and don't talk to me whilst still in the midst of your oral hygiene business. It's testing my gag reflexes and not in a good way (is there a good way to test gag reflexes? I'd venture that there isn't, but I don't want to find out.). Just don't. Thanks.

An open letter to Stephen Dorff

Dear Short Stuff;

Once upon a time, I was very convinced that wherever you led, I would follow. My devotion was that blind, that deep. You were in The Gate for crying out loud, the only horror movie I watched during the whole of my childhood (I hate horror movies) because you were in it. Of course I didn't know you were in it until years later, but still. And this went on for years, through crappy made-for-tv movies and a couple straight-to-vidoes that aren't worth mentioning. But I watched them all. And one in particular I watched over and over, without remorse and I even bought the sountrack. It was that strong Stephen, it really was.

And then, well I don't know whether it was Space Truckers, FeardotCom, or your relationship with Pamela Anderson, but I became less blind. I could see the light. And the light eventually led to a revelation that while you're still cute, you aren't worth the effort. Sure, there's be a movie here or there that you redeemed yourself with, but for every sunshiney day, a little rain must fall. For every Entropy, there must be a Alone in the Dark. And pretty soon, there was more rain on your C.V. than sunshiney days. As much as I worship the ground you walk on for being a part of The Power of One, I can not forgive you for the blight of some of C.V. credits. But I wasn't totally deterred, I was more vigilant, better able to determine the duds from stars, but not deterred.

I wasn't enamored with you any more at that point. I wouldn't force Fighting Nun to watch a Stephen Dorff movie just for the sake of you being in it after that. I only Tivoed and rewatched that video of Britney's you were in a few times (What? Don't give me that look Fighting Nun. He. Was. Shirtless. The Abs. And then there was that scene in the bathtub where Britney was essentially naked and he dove in to get her. I just. I... I just... I didn't have a choice. I don't judge you every time you pause a football or basketball game to ogle cheerleaders. Don't judge me. Besides, that was more than three or four years ago. I get a pass.). You've been like an old high school crush who I run into at the local Town and Country while I'm buying gas and then I spot you dispensing a not so moderate helping of nacho cheese on a plate of nachos and get a good look at you. I realize that, whilst still cute, you've become the victim of "The Spread" and one too many Slim Jims. I no longer see you with rose colored glasses anymore, but I can see what it was about you that the younger, more naive version of me was so enamored with.

But now you've crossed a line and I don't even see that anymore. Where to begin? (you might want to click this link Fighting Nun. It's a video clip so you won't have to, you know, read and stuff.) First off, since when would you date a woman that would think Steve-O was a suitable boyfriend in any way, shape, or form? The dude, amongst his many misdemeanors against humanity PEED ON A RED CARPET IN FRONT OF A BUNCH OF CAMERAS. Peed. On a Red Carpet. Sheeesh. Anybody that thinks he's suitable boyfriend material was either let out of the institution far too soon or was somehow struck by a heavy object right before meeting him, because Yeech. And secondly, if you do date a woman who has succumbed to a mental illness to the point that she wants to get with the guy from some of the more oogey stunts of Jackass (the less said about Wild Boyz, the better), you shake Steve-O's hand, say congratulations, and see those two crazy kids on their way. Then you throw back a Corona and thank God you are no longer dating a person with the same IQ as a Cracker Jack prize. You do not threaten the both of them with physical harm and or death, and you do not, DO NOT leave said threats on the girl's answering machine! Jesus. What are you, new?

So It's over. I know it's wrong to break up with you this way, to called paid to what little we had left together in a letter, but that's the last straw. I'm sorry. I know this is never easy, but I just can't handle this anymore. I need time away from this difficult situation, time apart from you, because you're not the person I thought you were. Who knows, maybe we'll see each other again in a few years. Maybe when you've got a couple more mediocre releases under your belt and can move on to more challenging and possibly more dignified roles, like say a historical figure (of course said historical figure would have to be short. Napolean perhaps?) or a maybe an indie movie about the perils of drugs and Pamela Anderson (at least you'll have personal experience with subject matter). But for now its over. I wish you the best for the future. Really I do. I just won't be there watching it.

Peace Out;

Bloody Munchkin

Open letters to persons, places, and things on Music Videos I watched this morning;

Dear Eric Roberts;

Listen. I understand your need to be in the rash of music videos you've been in lately. Really I get it. No, I totally understand. You haven't really, truly been culturally significant since the Reagan administration and this is your way of exerting some control over your seeming pop-culture exsistence. And nowadays you not only have your sister's shadow, but now your daughter's shadow from which to try and step out of. Not an easy feat is what I'm saying. It's just, well, taking part in a music video for a rapper I've never heard of before, not the way to go about stepping is what I'm saying.

Look, it's not that I don't appreciate your recent contributions to the Music Video art form. I can kind of see why you've taken the offers you did. I'm sure Mariah called and was like "Hey, I need you to play a slightly oily, pretty smarmy character, so essentially you'd be playing yourself." and you were like "Scenery Chewers like myself gotta eat, why not?" And then I'm sure she called you up again and was like, o.k. I need to you to play exactly the same character except I leave you spurned at the alter for Wentworth Miller (which, being the devoted Prison Break fan that I am, I totally do not blame her. I mean Eric Roberts vs. Wentworth "Blue Steel" Miller is very much an uneven fight in my opinion), and you were like "Sure I can do that. Being spurned and heartbroken won't really be a stretch for me, seeing as how I'm still miffed about not being in Julia's Academy Award acceptance speech... I got this one in the bag." And then soon after this, The Killers, or Justin Flowers or perhaps Justin Flowers mustache (more on that later) came a calling and were all "You see that thing you did there in the Mariah video? The thing with the being a spurned paramour? We want that for our video. So, essentially, we want you to play yourself, but slightly more violent but with a Madame Butterfly angle? Think you can handle that?" and you were like "Sure, can I bring my shit-eating grin?" and they're all like "We'd prefer it if you did."

See, all that? I get. I'm cool with, because you're flicking bits of video backdrop out of your teeth and the glitter detritus from The Killers video is everywhere. I appreciate it. But see, some videos aren't really worth you're scenery chewing abilities. Like the one I witnessed this morning, which had you playing the same guy you played (so, essentially playing yourself. Again. My, how you stretch your acting abilities there, Mr. Roberts.) in that Killers video as reenvisioned in a skeezy night club. WTF? No seriously. Why are you taking that role? I mean, I don't think what you're getting for that kind of role would be enough to pay for your SAG union dues, so why take the work? No, I don't understand. Why? Your daughter's about to make Disney money pretty soon, so you shouldn't be aching for the moola, unless you have some illigitimate children who are blackmailing you somewhere and you've been forced to pad your regular salary with these measely scenery chewing gigs to pay off the kids you don't want anybody to know about. But really, I think you should step back, take stock, wait for the checks from big Ole' Mouse Ears to roll in and enjoy life. No more music videos for obscure rappers or otherwise, Mmmmkay? Thanks.

Apparantly co-starring with Mickey Rourke has had some unforeseen long-term side-effects, who knew?

The Bloody Munchkin


Dear Brandon Flower's Mustache;

Die. Just Die. I don't care how. Just get the hell off of his face. You can slip and fall on a strategically placed lady bic and a dollop of shaving cream. You can decide that all your whiskers need to commit mass follicular suicide and you can just fall off his face all at once like all those leaves on that tree in that one scene in Monty Python and the Meaning of Life. I don't want to know the messy details, I just want you gone.

I think I've made it blindingly clear where I stand on the mustache issue. But for those of you just tuning in, I'll give you a refresher. I DO NOT LIKE mustaches. I hate them actually. Hatey-hate. Hate them with a blinding fury that can only be matched by my distaste of Pamela Anderson (which I have also mentioned). I do feel I should clarify on something though. It's not that I detest the mustache in all the forms it takes. I can handle a 'stache if it's paired with other follicular (is that a word? I don't think it is. I think I just made up a word. I'll have to double check with mw.com later) accoutrements. Beard and 'stache? I don't particularly want it up in my grill but from afar I can appreciate it. Stache and strategically placed goatee or soul patch? Yeah sure. Why not? But a mustache for mustache sake? Nothing else but a mustache? Can. Not. Abide. I can't. Especially in Brandon's case. I mean, he wasn't exactly my cup of tea during the Hot Fuss days. Slightly effeminate for my tastes, and somebody should've taken the blush and eyeliner out of his hands, but not bad. But now? Now it looks like a catepillar comprised solely of Ron Jeremy's pubes (shudder) crawled up on his face then signaled the death rattle and left its corpse on his upper lip. It's just too horrible to look at, and yet I can't look away.

Shut Up Brandon Flower's stupid mustache, I hope you meet a horribly tragic end;

Bloody


Dear Devon Aoki;

Stop being so ubiquitous. Thanks.

At least you weren't brandishing a sword this time;

BM

P.S. Tell you're brother I said hi and to stop being such a douche.


Dear Wierd Al;

Heh. I love that, even in the crazy times in which we live, there is one constant. And that constant is that no song is on such a high pedastal that it can't be parodied to absurd levels. And you happen to be the man to bring that to light, over and over again. "White and Nerdy." Classic. Also, tell Seth Green I liked his cameo and I admire his action figure collection.

I haven't bought any of your records since the Clinton administration, but I admire what it is that you do;

The Bloody Munchkin

Something You DON'T say to your boss

"I'm right over here, Dumbass."

You'd think that one would be a no brainer, but one of my co-workers had to learn that one the hard way. My adventures in cubicleland never get boring...

Made-Up Band Names: Submissions 11 and 12?

Burrito Aftermath

Mr. Lucidity - Courtesy of The Tick

The Joys of the Internet

Did you know there happens to be a place on the Internet called Burritobot? Did you know said Burrito to the Bot exists for the sole purpose of rating burrito places? Is that not awesome? Is it odd that the knowledge of the existence of the Burrito Bot makes me happy?

I guess the answers to those questions are: Now I do. I did not know that. I guess it is, but not very, and yes, it is very odd Bloody Munchkin, you need to get out more.

Terrell Owens writes a Children's Book

Bear with me, I realize that statement is a bit much to take in. I mean, I heard this sentence today, and It's in English, but I really just don't understand. Terrell Owens. Wrote a Children's Book. TERRELL OWENS. Was Allowed. To Write. A Children's Book. No, I don't understand it either. And get this, the title is... Little T Learns to Share. No, Really. Terrell Owens is probably the last person in the world I would've expected to write on the topic of sharing. Next you're going to tell me that he has a book planned about TEAMWORK (tenatively titled, Little T learns to SHUT UP and Play).

So this got me thinking; What other books could be written by superstar athletes in which they put forth a life lesson that they actually haven't learned themselves? Given that I'm a novice when it comes to professional sports, I'm not sure I have the tools at my disposal to make accurate guesses, but I'm willing to give it a shot.

Obeying Traffic Safety, By Ben Roethlisberger

Headbutting Is Wrong, by Zinadin Zidane

Being Polite While Using NYC Transit , by John Rocker

Just Say No, By Micheal Irving

Drugs are Cheating, Drugs are Bad, by Mark McGwire, Jose Conseco, Jason Giambi and special guest writer Barry Bonds.

Good Sportsmanship, by Ron Artest (alternative titles: Don't Throw Things and Turn the Other Cheek)

Being Santa Claus, by Bobby Knight

How to be Humble, By Charles Barkley, special insert by Shaquille O'Neal

Girls CAN TOO play with Boys, By The University of Colorado Football Team. Special Foreward by Vijay Singh.

What No Means, By Cobe Bryant

Don't Make That Bet, by Pete Rose

I'm becoming my mother

It was somewhere around the 580-238 interchange, somewhere between my third or forth listen of Thirteen by Ben Kweller, right during the harmonica interlude, when I realized I had become my mother. I didn't really want to. It just happened. It's like Ally Sheedy said. It's not that this revelation is new. I've always sensed it. There are just certain things I can't quite escape no matter how hard I try, our shared predilection for chewing on our fingernails, the way we both get overly-invested in an arguement, our inherent need to bitch for thirty minutes whilst wanting none of our problems solved because all we wanted to do was bitch, we didn't want to like solve our issues and stuff, Damnit. All these things I knew.

What I didn't know? I have somehow been accumulating several albums that my mother would intrinsically like. I always thought that one the issue of music, there was at least a degree or two of separation. My mom's not into punk but Tim Armstrong is my co-pilot. My mom is a bit obsessed with Bruce Springsteen, whereas I'm indifferent. My mother's fixation for singer-songwriters the likes of John Prine, Tom Waits, Billy Joe Shaver, and the ilk is a little much for me to handle sometimes. My mother, still to this day does not see what I see (or saw) in No Doubt. This is kind of a point of pride for me or has been for awhile. Assertion of individuality if you will. Sure, we've always had little intersections of musical agreement. Nick Drake for instance. We both love his stuff, which is fine, as long as my tolerance for Muddy Water's back catalog remains relatively low. (Before you open outlook and run off a pointed e-mail about the importance of blues greats, understand that I like the blues, just not as much as my moms, which is totally fine by me.)

But now, that play book got thrown out the window. Alot of the music I've been listening to, I can see my mother realy getting into. Part of this is my co-worker's fault, because he's been lending me music that, while I might not pick it out for myself on any given music run, I end up giving myself over to. Ben Kweller? Something my mother would totally love. My other new favorite, Persephonie's Bees? Could've sworn I've heard it in my own mother's music collection, only it was called It's a Beautiful Day. Cat Power? My mother would totally love Cat Power, especially because she's like Lucinda Williams except less smokey. Rocky Votolato? Run Run Run? Totally my mom's style. Which means, I'm turning into my mother musically. Which makes me want to run out and buy the Lords of Acid back catalog (as if we don't have most of their albums already), and sing Bloodhound Gang songs obnoxiously at the top of my lungs just to quelsh the musical genetics that happen to be at play. Damn you Ben Kweller, for making a song that got me all teared up but reminded me I'm my mother's daughter musically. How dare you!

Song for a Wednesday Morning

We've been in the rain
We've been on the mountain
We've been around the fire
and fancy hotels
Drank water from farm wells
We sang with the choir
I kissed your dry lips
We jumped off the high cliffs
and splashed down below
skin to skin in the salty river
made love in the shadows
oo-oo-oh

Read books to each other
Read the mind of the other
Flew one thousand jets
We laughed and we cried
At movies and real life
and our ridiculous bets
We dance in the moonlight at midnight
We pressed against back doors and wood floors
And you never faked it
And frequently we ignored our love
But we can never mistake it
oo-oo-oh

We met on the front porch
Fell in love on the phone
Without the physical wreck
You gave me the necklace
that used to hang around your mother's neck
We questioned religions
Gave bread to the pigeons
We learned how to pray
We stood by the ocean
Turned our hearts into one
We laid in bed all day
hey-ay-ay

We skipped on the sidewalk
Skipped stones on the water
Skipped town
We've seen the sunrise with new eyes
We've seen the damage of gossip and true lies
We've seen the sun go down
Had passionate make-outs
Had passionate freak-outs
We built this world of our own
It was in the back of a taxi
That you told me you loved me
And that I wasn't alone

--Thirteen, Ben Kweller

Damn You Ben Kweller, why you gotta make me cry on a Wednesday morning?

You Got Served...

....Divorce Papers Kevin Federline. Oh, you know somebody had to make that joke. Might as well be me. I'm more than happy and capable.

Like we didn't see this one coming. Once she got the two kids, he reached his limit and was out, I guess. Damn. I mean, damn. A few years too late, but Damn. Does that mean K. Fed can just go away now? Because I'd prefer it. Let's get skip the unscrupulous court proceedings in which we find out all of K. Fed's nefarious goings ons, and then let's go straight into forgetting he ever existed. Can we please? That would be awesome. Hey K. Fed. Say Good-bye, your fifteen minutes of fame just walked out on you. I guess we'll see you when you decide to make "You Got Served 2: Weasely Boogalow." or some such crap. Buh-bye now. Buh-bye. Tell your gravy train good-bye while your at it, Douche.

Danny Trejo

I interrupt my normal pop culture bitchery to bring you pure, unadulterated fan-girlishness. Actually, this is for Xanthia, to prove a little point I have to make. If ever I get the chance to cast the movies and TV shows I have written in my head, this guy would have a heeee-uge part. This guy is just rad. There are no two ways about it. He looks like he could break you in half but yet he still has a soft side. How can I prove that he has a soft side? He was in Bubble Boy, that's how. Anybody who was willing to let Jake Gyllenhaal ride bitch in a plastic bubble on the back of his Harley is the type of guy I'd throw back beers with. Yes, I've seen Bubble Boy, and can here by attest to the awesomeness of this movie. No, I'm not gonna back down from that view point. Bubble Boy was awesome. It had Fabio in it, as a cult leader for crying out loud. It had possibly one of the best lines ever, that I would be dying to use in normal every day conversation. I just haven't found the perfect time to interject "Back off Bitch, He's the Messiah" into a cocktail party convo yet. But it'll happen, rest assured.

See, Xanth, how cool he would be in the fevered dream of the TV show I have planned? Can't you see just how awesome he would be in the rough fatherly type. Wouldn't his tattoos make an awesome addition on a TV show not related to a gritty prison drama. I mean, they'd make an awesome addition there too, but he needs to be more stand-outish. Don't you aggree? We need to make this happen Xanth. This guy needs more work!

Questioning Made-Up Band Names

So you know how, every once in awhile, I'll come up with a band name that I think is by rights, awesome and gee, I'm just so clever, somebody needs to give me a job? Well I realized that maybe I should stop. Because no matter how clever I think I am, a four-year-old is always going to win out.

My co-worker has a four-year-old and apparantly they were brainstorming band names together last night and his kid came up with Poison Toilet. Somewhere, a Death Metal Band from Idaho is crying that they didn't think of it first. And I am crying because I hadn't thought of it either. The Slug Hunters was my second favorite, in case you were wondering, but point is, if you want a really good band name, have some random four-year-old make up something, because first of all they have the imagination for it, secondly, they also have reckless abandon, so they can get away with stringing words together and it not sounding trite, and darn it, whatever they say can be darn catchy sometimes. Fighting Nun and I, appropos to nothing will say "Awe Pickles." Why? Because our niece said it and whatever she says, we sometimes mimic. We still haven't let go of "Why is grandpa.... so.... old." The precociousness just sticks. And so does Poison Toilet. Damn it.

Halloween

Traditionally, Fighting Nun and I don't do alot for this holiday. It's not that we're not into it, its just that we haven't had alot of reason to get into it. I don't think we've been to a Halloween party since college, alot of the places we've lived since college haven't exactly been inviting to trick-or-treaters, and after an unfortunate incident involving carved pumpkins, that part of the holiday has been pretty much out of the equation since the Clinton Administration (Carved Pumpkins can get moldy? Who Knew). Like I said, it's not that we're not into it, it's just that we haven't had much of an occasion to get into it.

Now that we're in the burbs, we didn't know exactly what to expect for the occasion. We now live in a neighborhood with a moderate amount of kids, so we thought we'd buy a couple bags of candy, put out a pumpkin light and play it by ear. We really just didn't know what to expect. But can you blame us really. The last two halloweens we had no kids, not a one. Not that I blame them. The house we lived in was the suburbian equivalant of the Bates House. From the street, it cut quite an intimidating shadow so I can see why the 1.5 kids that actually trick-or-treated down our street chose not venture up our path. I think the other reason they chose not to venture up our path is that whatever amount of candy we might shell out was not worth the hour of cardio any kid would have to endure just to get said candy, the week of training at Mount Everest base camp just to get up the driveway only to find that there were stairs to be climbed. One year I think we just ended up renting a couple of Hitchkock movies and eating the candy we so dutifully bought. The next year I don't think we even did that.

So It's safe to say I didn't know what to expect this year. But after walking through one of the streets in our neighborhood and I saw a full sized replica of the front end of The Black Pearl complete with a giant squid and working gang plank, I realized that the gloves had come O-F-F as far as the holiday was concerned. I really wish I had taken a picture of that because, talk about disposable income. All the stops were pulled on that one. It got me a little excited for the holiday because if somebody in the neighborhood was willing to go that far, then the kids must be bringing it. And I must say, on the most part, they did. There was the standard mix of witches and ninjas and a few t0o many power rangers for my taste this year, but what do I know. My next door neighbors brought their eight-month old and let me tell you. The tiger costume? Cute! So cute I almost collapsed. Brilliant is what I'm saying. And the biblical horde of princesses and the fairies? So sweet I have a toothache people! I must say I enjoyed myself.

But you know who enjoyed himself most? The dog. A non-stop calvacade of strange people ringing the doorbell who have come to pet him? Yes Please. Not to mention that the dog hardly ever gets to bring out his "Big Assertive Bark of Protectiveness". The only time he ever uses it is when the doorbell rings and given that the doorbell rang approximately 57 times last night, he got to bust it out big time. I think by the end of the night, he had a smug little smile on his face, knowing he got to use the bark. He was a hit with the kids too. The bark usually gave them a jolt. He was our lame ass version of the trick part of the trick-or-treat. The really young ones were enamored with him. This fairie who was all of three years old thought Kissinger was just as big a present as the candy. I think she wanted to take him home and he probably would've gone. There was another kid who literally jumped for joy at his presence. "Doggie." he said, all big eyed. Cute people! I'm about to explode with the cute. I don't even need to go to Cute Overload today, and I always need my hammie fix!

The not so cute portion of the night? The junior high kids who weren't even trying. Black shirts and back packs. That was it. And they were loaded with candy ya'll. I'm talking those guys were filled to the brim. I asked one of them what he was going as, and holding up his little glow stick, he said "The Human Torch." I think it might be wrong to call a kid who's just hit the worst parts that puberty has to offer a douche, but I think I'm gonna do it anyway. Hey you, assy teenager, AKA the human torch, You sir are a douche. If you come to my stoop next year, you better bring your A Game or I'm not giving you any candy. And if you even think of egging our house, I'm going to sic my dog after you. Sure, that won't have any ill effect at all because he'll probaby end up going home with you and acting all buddy-buddy with you, but that's besides the point. You know that episode of Prison Break where Haywire runs from the mean barking dog and then ends up giving the dog some beef jerky and then befriends the dog? Yeah, that would be my dog right there. Not so bright that one. Unless you're a cat, or another animal that he can chase, attack or in any way pester, he's not really that malevolent. Actually, he's the exact opposite of malevolent. He's a big wuss actually. But anyway.

Also the not so cute portion of the night? Watching Silent Hill. I didn't hate it, in fact I might venture to say that I kinda liked it, but the ending left me all perplexed. I'd write full movie review but all I can manage is "Huh? What in that what? I..." because that's how I feel. I don't know anything about the videogame. I don't pretend to know anything about the videogame, so I'd like to know if movie followed the videogame story line decently well, up to and including the strange ending. Also, I gotta ask, what is with this guy suddenly showing up everywhere?
Last week's Prison Break he was happily chewing threw scenery right next to William Lichtner (which I somehow can't prove that was him right now, because Imdb happens to be leaving me high and dry right now), and now he's giving Sean Bean a run for his money, in both the scenery chewing department and the ubiquitous department, although I think Sean Bean still holds the belt for that one. Nobody bests Borimer, except for maybe a hobbit, but whatevs. (On a side note: Nobody told me Sean Bean was in Heroes! If I had known, I'd be watching it! Shame on all ya'll. O.k., O.k., I get that I have nobody to blame but myself, but seriously! Fine I'll wait til it comes out on DVD. Sigh.)

All and all, a satisfying Halloween. I had fun, I ate ice cream, watched a (somewhat) scary movie, had issues working our front door (SHUT! UP! FIGHTING NUN! I don't want to hear it. Leave me alone.), literally almost went into convulsions regarding the cuteness factor and ranted about douchey junior high kids not having costumes. Exactly my kind of Halloween.