Hair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Unsightly Chin Hair;

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

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

Peace Out;

BM

Two Word Movie Review: Grindhouse

Awesome! Trejo!

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

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

I'm Sorry Fighting Nun...

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

Snarking the Trailer: Disturbia

Alternate Title for this post: An Open Letter to Shia LaBeouf

Dear Shia;

I like you. You really seem like a decent kid. You've balanced your c.v. with decent box office fluff and fun art-house things. I liked you a lot in Constantine, although I'm not totally sure I understood your character or his purpose all that much. And as much as I am loathe to admit this, I even liked you in Holes. You seem like a pretty decent kid with a good head on your shoulders, which is why I have to question your motivations for making a movie like Disturbia. You realize that the trailer for this movie makes it look like you're in a schlocked up version of Rear Window don't you? I gotta say, kid, you're no Jimmy Stewart. What do you do for an encore, remake It's a Wonderful Life?

Listen, I'm totally willing to forgive and forget if the Transformers Movie totally kicks butt, which, based on the trailer, it just might. But please note that based on all the hype and stuff I've read, my expectations are exceptionally low on that one. I'm gonna reserve all judgements until I see the movie though. But that's besides the point. The point is... Disturbia? Shame on you. Go sit in a corner and think about what you've done!

Peace Out;

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Would you please tell David Morse pretty much the same thing I told you, but insert a line about how the guy is legend in my mind not only for St. Elsewhere, but also for Contact and for just generally for radness and that he can do so much better. Thanks.

Made-Up Band Names

The Monster Burritos of Doom

Because, if doom is gonna reign down on us, I'd like said doom to be brought upon us by monster burritos. Am I the only one who thinks this band could be the next Aquabats, wearing giant burrito costumes and singing songs like "Chewy Housecats of the Sea" and being generally rad???

Thanks to "Mia", my co-worker, for the awesome band name.

Snarking the Movie: Gleaming the Cube

Remember when I said that when it comes to movies, where Fighting Nun sees schlocky and tacky I see awesome? Well no where is that more evident than when we watched Gleaming the Cube together this weekend. Fighting Nun couldn't suspend his disbelief for a second where as my suspension of disbelief was still hung up on Al Lucero's hair. Steven Bauer might be the first actor to have ever uttered "I know what I'm supposed to be doing in this scene, but what is my hair supposed to be doing in this scene? Also, my chest hair forgot its lines." I swear, if Steven Bauer had been less busy getting his hair to emote and more busy actually, you know, acting instead of scenery chewing, this movie would've been alot different. At the last scene Fighting Nun and I were all MST3K'ing the ending solely based on the fact that Bauer's hair had a better on-screen presence than he did. And when Christian Slater's squinty-eyed nasally thing is a more nuanced performance than your "Look at me and my manly hairy chest" thing, you need to hand over your SAG card post-haste.

And it's not that I don't get the whole squinty Christian Slater thing, because I do, well I did. Part of the reason I still sit through the crapulesence of Gleaming the Cube is nostalgia for those bygone days before Christian pulled a Tyson on his girlfriends ear. Well that and the Perlick (Yabo!!!). Oh, and Tony Hawk's hair. Tony Hawk's hair is worth the price of admission, plus some. I mean, the hair plus the visor. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the ninth wonder of the world.

So, yes the movie, but awesomely bad, in that way in which most eighties movies were awesomely bad. But it's at its best as snark material, as drinking game material. Every time they make the blue screen blatantly obvious, drink. Every time Christian Slater does the squinty thing, drink. Every time Steven Bauer tried to put his chest hair into the lime light, drink. If you don't find the utter hi-larity, the sheer tackiness of it all, you'll cry, or try to wipe it from your memory as much as possible. Like Fighting Nun.

Snarking the Trailer: Grindhouse

Fighting Nun and I have had an ongoing argument about Grindhouse for a good two weeks now, that has pretty much devolved into the following:

"She has a machine gun! For a Leg! Awesome." (followed by large squeal of excitement)
"She has a machine gun. For a leg." (followed by large eye roll)
"But, but, but, Machine gun. Leg." (followed by a big pout).
"Machine gun. Leg." (followed by large head shake and another eye roll for effect.)

Where he sees schlocky and tacky I see outright awesomeness, which should pretty much tell you everything you need to know about our relationship.

First of all, I think I've made my feelings about Tarantino known over and over again. Secondly I really liked Sin City for a number of reasons so Robert Rodriguez gets a pass from me. Thirdly, I like the idea of two pulpy shorts put together into a long feature. Fourthly, Freddie Rodriguez doesn't get enough work so I'm all for seeing him in something like this. Fifthly, Rose McGowan (who we have lovingly named Jersey Chick for years) with a machine gun. For a leg. A MACHINE GUN. For a Leg. Don't you people get it?!?!?!

And lastly, and this may seem like an odd reason for wanting to watch a movie, but Josh Brolin's hair. I saw that mane in the trailer (which I sadly can't find a picture of), reminiscent of Kurt Russel's pseudo-mullet in Big Trouble in Little China and I wondered in amazement if it might have lines in the movie. Seriously, does that coif have its own SAG card? Josh's hair reminds me of that Robot Chicken bit where William Shatner goes to sleep and his hair comes off his head and turns out to be an international super spy and it gets a medal but then goes back home on top of William Shatner's head before his alarm goes off and then he wakes up and the medal falls off and The Shat's all "Why... does this... keep happening to me?" Yeah. Josh Brolin's hair is like that. It's most likely taken a life of its own, goes by the name of Fernando, and has opened a chain of ballroom dancing studios. I bet that hair even calls Diane Lane "Toots."

So yeah. I want to see Grindhouse. For the thrill, the gore, the machine gun leg, for the mane. Now if I can only convince Fighting Nun.

Snarking the Trailer: Blades of Glory

O.k., here's the thing. I should know better. I really should. This movie could be a steaming pile. No I take that back, is almost positively a steaming pile. I'm sure of that deep down. To be a Will Ferrell vehicle is to be the same jokes recycled over and over again. I get that. After having seen School for Scoundrels, It's obvious that Will Heder has the one look, that "What an Idiot" scouly look he perfected in Napolean Dynamite, and that's all he knows how to use. I get that too. Will Arnett deserves better than to play the same character over and over again. That? I also get.

But does that stop me from wanting to see this movie? No. Does the trailer for this movie make me giggle like a school girl? Yes. Yes it does. Repeatedly, and with vigor. It's a figure skating movie!!! I can't not watch it!!! I have a long and storied tradition of watching most anything pertaining to figure skating. When Fighting Nun's out of the house, I have watched most of Ice Princess. Twice. ( I can never catch it at the beginning, otherwise I would watch it entirely.) And I know exactly what you're going to say; "Michelle. Tractenberg. Yeech. Seek Therapy." And believe me, after the rotting turd that was the last three season of Buffy, I get that. I seriously get that. And Yet. "Flying Shrimp." Hee. I have seen Ice Castles new fewer than twenty times ("We forgot about the roses." Swoon!!!) I had a fleeting, yet very palpable crush on D.B. Sweeney for about 3 months in my teens. ("I got better.") I have seen John Hancock's Champions on Ice. Twice. (I know!) Once I was even sober. (I.know.) And I know I've mentioned frying a TV for a certain French Figure Skating superstar (Phillipe!!!! Eeeeeeee!!!).

It's figure skating!!! And yes, I'm quite aware that Blades of Glory is a figure skating parody, but if there's been one sport that's been deserving of a parody movie, it's got to be Figure Skating. As much as I love the sport, it has just been itching to be poked fun at. Between the 'scandals' and the 'stereotypes', and the all the glitter and some of the worst costumes involving sequins and leotards this side of ballroom dancing, it needs a movie that makes light of it. So yeah, I'm in. I'll probably have to wait til it comes out on cable, because there is no way Fighting Nun is even remotely interested in this one. The trailer comes on, my eyes go wide and and the giggle starts and Fighting Nun just groans, which are just as frequent as his eye rolls. I got to say. Fighting Nun, you should really see a doctor.

The 300 two-word movie review

Un. Relenting.

A few more words on the movie:
I mean let up on the slo-mo impalings just a little bit. Jesus.

A few more words:
I like that one episode of Samuari Jack about the same thing a little bit more. What can I say, I like my epic battles animated. And with robots.

Made-Up Band Name

Introducing....

Abnormal David

With their hit track...

It all started in catholic school.

(Long Story. I'll explain later.)

Anniversary

So I don't talk much about Fighting Nun and myself on here, other than to recap a random conversation or five (heh.), but I don't talk much about the relationship itself, because everything is pretty good, and in blogdom good = boring. Nothing to see here. Move Along. It just works, we're done here.

But I will talk about it now, just briefly. So we're running up on our tenth anniversary, not of marriage mind you, but the anniversary of when we met and started dating. Ten years I've been with this guy. And they've all been great. The other day Fighting Nun sent me this e-card, which was utterly cute and adorable, asking me to marry him. The answer is yes. I'd do it again, a thousand times. Happily. Without any regret.

We've been married for close to seven years now, and we're not renewing our vows or anything, but it's nice to know that without any objections on either side, we'd both happily do it all over again. Fighting Nun, I love you. You're my best friend and my partner in crime, you're my rock and I'm yours . Here's to another ten years, and another ten years after that and many more to come.

Made Up Band Names: New Submission

Today, I bring to you a band name so extra-ordinary, so deviously simple yet ingenious in its creation, you be astounded. Ready for it? Here goes:

The Dangling Participles

It's so cool I'm amazed I didn't think of it sooner....

Girl Scout Cookies: The axis of evil???

Girl Scout Cookies - The Bane of Humanity? I think so.

Before I get started, I just want to let you know that I know exactly what you're going to say. "Bloody Munchkin. Can I call you munchkin? Here's the the thing. It's girl scout cookies. There is nothing inherently wrong, bad, evil or otherwise about the sweet little innocent girl scout cookie." To which I say: Wrong!!! You sir are sad and wrong if you are so disillusioned not to see the evilness deep down in the core of the cookies.

I understand where you are coming from. It's hard at first to understand dastardly machinations behind the cookies, or the girl scouts themselves for that matter. Which is part of the cookies' Machiavellian ingenuity. It's just a box of cookies, see. Just a simple box of cookies, and the profits go to the local girl scout troop and what's more sweet and all-American than supporting your girl scouts, see? Nothing more, nothing less. It's devious in its simplicity really.
And they make it so easy, don't they? They've got eight boxes and given that you only get to pick the cookies out once a year, you've streamlined your decision making into a nice hierarchy, the hierarchy being: Tag-alongs, Somoas, Thin Mints, everything else, so when you get to the selection process, it's all rather easy. You got Somoas? I'll take a box of those. Done. Easy. It's gotten to the point that you've even memorized your significant other's Girl Scout Cookie Hierarchy (from now on deemed the GSCH) which reads as follows: Thin Mints and Somoas (both weighed equally), the little shortbread ones, everything else. You have both hierarchies at the ready in the event that there needs to be a compromise or the nice girl scouts don't have the oh so delectable cookie that you want.

But they always have the ones you want, don't they? If not, you can go down the block to the other girl scout cookie table stationed outside the nearest pizza parlor or the other grocery store or whatever and buy what their selling, because, at this point in time? They are unavoidable aren't they? The tables stationed at every turn, the angelic faces looking up at you from behind the table of cookies, so pristine, so innocent, with their little merit badges and their little hats. You can't say no. Oh, you've tried, and failed miserably, but you can't say no. So you buy the one box. That's all you need really. But then the next day? They find you again, badges polished to a pristine shine, all the girls with smiles and that look that says 'You don't want to rob me of my innocence and crush all my girl scout loving dreams do you?" with eyes batting, using their best puppy dog look. So another box it is then. It gets to the point that you're worried they'll tackle you at any given turn if you don't buy a box (maybe two?) of their delectable cookies that only come out once a year. "Oh Please Mr. Won't you please help the girl scouts?" So you've bought another box and then put a check mark next to another cookie listed on the GSCH. There's nothing wrong with that.

But there is something wrong with that. Something you've forgotten about: Pre-orders. That schlubby guy at work, with the two kids and a look of despair readily apparent on his face, remember him? Yeah, remember how back in January he came by with the little order form, and you put your name down for a box of Tag-alongs because the guy just looked so brow-beaten, which brow-beaten dad is almost as Machiavellian as the innocent puppy dog eyed girl scouts themselves because it's a pity buy, all "Would you please? It's for my daughter *sigh*. I really appreciate it (eyes down-turned in resignation)." and you're like Ah, Poor Bastard and then you buy a pity box. So next thing you know, you're up to your eyeballs in girl scout cookies, with all the cookies on your GSCH checked off and then some. You don't even like the do-si-does (doesn't mean you won't eat them though, heh) but did you buy them? Yes you did.

And it's not just that the acquiring of multiple boxes in as many ways is as possible is what's wrong with the Girl Scout cookies. The thing that's the most wrong with girl scout cookies? Is that you can polish off a sleeve of thin mints in less than five minutes and not even think twice about it. You know this about yourself because Fighting Nun timed you and you both were beguiled by this information, because that, along with knowing that your significant other, conditions permitting, can clear a room with just one air biscuit, you've lost a little bit more of your relationship innocence. There comes a point in every relationship where you start knowing things about the other person that you wish to God you didn't, but now you know them and you can't un-know them and neither of you knows where to go from there. Knowing that the woman you married might hold the world record for the most girl scout cookies consumed in five minutes might be one of those things I'm guessing.

So do you see now? How Girl Scout Cookies are a beguiling evil the likes of which the world has ever known? Do you see how they must be stopped at all costs? Do you see now? Do you, do you? Don't you want to help me rid the world of this evil. We'll get started right after I polish off this box of tag-alongs.

An Open Letter to Mark McGrath

Dear Mark;

Dude. Just Dude. It's come to this? Really??? Was life really so tough that you've had to become a makeshift Seacrest to a bunch of no talent hacks? Were the royaltiies off Fly just not enough to make ends meet? Is your monthly hair gel expense reaching limits so absurd that you've had to resort to this, the hosting of The Search for the Next Doll? Dude, you totally lost me.

Truth be told, you lost me somewhere around that Extra gig and maybe sometime during your guest judge appearance on American Idol. Which, just because you were on that show doesn't mean you get to be Ryan Seacrest's proxy. God knows one Ryan Seacrest is more than enough, and yet you had to go and recreate your career in his image? That's wrong.

Why must you desperately cleave to the last seconds of your 15 minutes by forcing yourself on the American public in the most obtrusive and random ways? Dude, Sugar Ray's second album was titled 14:59. It's like, back then you had a clue, that your popularity is fleeting, you're going to enjoy it while it lasts, which I appreciated. But now, it's like you don't get your own joke. You enjoyed the spotlight once. Stop stalking it now. It's considering a restraining order.

Just quit it. For at least a half a decade. No hosting gigs, no attempts at being Ryan Seacrest, no guest appearances. Just leave my TV for awhile. Not forever, just until you find something meaningful to do, or at least something that won't make me utter "Just. Give. It. Up." You seem like a pretty decent, centered dude, and I still like your band's first album, which makes the abomination of you showing up in random and totally undeserving places that much more bad and wrong.

Thanks;

The Bloody Munchkin

P.S. Ease up on the hair gel, just a little bit. You're headed into Hellraiser territory. Just thought you'd like to know.

Salongate '07

So, I'm not sure if it's blatantly obvious (although I'm kind of convinced that it is) that I'm a bit neurotic and that my neuroses have a tendency to manifest themselves in odd way, like say, by anthromorphizing all the socks in the sock drawer, or having long, rambling rants about, oh, I don't know, just about ANYTHING!!! And I realize that the things I tend to get worked up about have absolutely no baring on anything ever. And my Salongate '07 is probably no exception. And yet, I find myself irked by the situation just the same. Here's the thing... I always go to Sabrina. Always. I've been going to her going on three years now and I'm fiercely loyal. Like fiercely. I now live a good hour + drive away from the salon and yet I will still go to her. I mean, it's only a 12 minute drive from my work over the bridge to the salon. Going home sucks, but yet I still go to her because in the 6+ years I've lived in the bay area. Sabrina and one other stylist (who used to work at the same salon, but moved away) are the only ones to truly get what I'm going for. Since Sabrina, I've had my hair cut by only one other girl there and that's because Sabrina was sick that day and I couldn't reschedule. I heart Sabrina. I like that we watch the same trashy t.v., I like that she rides a motorcycle. I like that she's tattooed and punky and sassy. And I like that after our time together, I come out looking fab. I tip well. Everything is good. It's a nice routine. I don't like it when my routine gets thrown off. End of Story.

So I get a call from the receptionist the day before yesterday, regarding my 4:30 appointment yesterday, but instead of Sabrina, she rattles off another name (who, for the sake of this essay shall remain nameless, because I feel bad about poo-pooing her in the previous essay, but who I'll call P). I get the voice mail all "That's weird. Maybe she said P by mistake but meant Sabrina." But then I get myself worked up into a tizzy about it all "OMG what if Sabrina left the Salon and totally DID NOT CALL ME to tell me she defected so the salon stuck me with whoever might be a suitable replacement. That totally better not happen." or "Maybe she went on vacation and didn't bother to tell me to reschedule for when she got back." So it became this big puzzler in my brain all day. Why I'd let myself be preoccupied with this, I have no idea, but is it really that surprising? Two words: Sock drawer. So I get there and right in front of me is my girl Bri. That's odd. Why did they say P if Sabrina is here? So then I have to talk to the receptionist, who in the 3 + years I've been going to that salon has only showed me one facet of her personality which I will here to for call her and the personality trait both "Put upon" with whom I have the following conversation:

Me: I have a 4:30
Put Upon: Yes with P.
Me: Wait. With who? Sabrina right? I always see Sabrina.
Put Upon: Says here it's P.
Me: But. Sabrina. You know me. I come in. I see Sabrina. I leave. How can I be seeing P? Sabrina. She's right there!
Put Upon: She's all booked up. I can reschedule you or you can see P.
Me: (A look of befuddlement on my face) But... But... Sabrina.
Put Upon: (A terse smile on her face) Reschedule or Smock. (Shoves Smock at me.)
Me: (Take smock, walk to changing room in shame and sadness).

As I'm waiting all dejected in their little waiting area, Sabrina spots me all "What're you doing here? You're not on my list." And I explain the situation, apologizing profusely and pouting "I wanted to see Yooouuuuu." to which she cheerily explains that it probably wasn't my fault. They've been having 'issues' she said. 'With the help' she said."And the Scheduling" she said. But I'm still bumming. So I have to deal with P, and her giving me the whole "You should really think about using our way overpriced blah with our other overpriced ble-da-blah because it'll do blah-de-blah-blah to your hair" schpeel which Sabrina has long since tempered, because I ain't buying the blah no matter what the blah-de-blah-blah it'll purportedly do to my hair, because do you have any idea what Fighting Nun will do to ME if I bring blah home, especially when he finds out how much I paid for it??? Yeah, not pretty. And then of course Pulp-Fiction-gate comes up and I don't have much to say after that. So then the haircut finishes, and P does a great job. The hair looks pretty fab, but as far as the whole experience goes, something felt missing. I can't explain it, it just felt... empty somehow. So then I have to deal with Put Upon again while getting rung out and I have to wait until P leaves the register to explain that I want to schedule another appointment with.... shifty eyes to make sure P isn't in hearing range, in low voice ... Sabrina. And now I've got all these weird pangs of anxiety all "Its going to be weird the next time I go in, because if P spots me and realizes I'm seeing Sabrina instead of her, she's going to be all 'Why aren't you seeing me? It's about Pulp Fiction isn't it?' and I'll have to be all 'Don't take this personally but....' and she'll be all mopey and it'll be all awkward.' and it feels all weird now. Thanks oh so much neuroses for kicking in right now. I ever so much appreciate it.

To top it all off, I tried explaining the dilemma to Fighting Nun, all "Awk. Ward. Hello." to which he responded "Just go see Sabrina." followed with an eye roll, which I think he needs to talk to an optometrist about because they happen so frequently as of late that they might get stuck in the back of his head. Anyhoo. So yeah, not a big deal? Of course it isn't. Am I making way more of it than I should be? Hello!! Have you met me?!? Of course I am. But still this whole thing is a bit weird. I mean seriously. Jesus.

Religion, Politics, and Tarantino: Redux

So you remember that handy-dandy guide I made regarding discussing all things Tarantino? I thought of another rule yesterday which I feel bares mentioning:

13. Try to not get too indignant when someone states they've only seen Pulp Fiction once, like a bajillion years ago, and they don't remember too much of it.Your reaction to that statement shouldn't be "You haven't seen that movie a thousand times?!?!?! You don't have it memorized and can recite it in its entirety on command?!?!?! What!?!?! We so totally can not be friends. I heretofore totally deny you're exsistence." A much as you'd like to react thusly, you should keep such thoughts to yourself. It's not your fault there are some poor pitiable people who don't get the genius of Zed being dead. You shouldn't stick your nose up at them. Instead, you should pity them from a distance and wonder what this world is coming to.

I guess I should explain this one a little bit. Yesterday I got my hair cut. It's usually not a big ordeal. I love my hair stylist. Sabrina is excellent and if you're ever in Redwood Shores and you need a sassy cut, I recommend her highly. I go in every 8 weeks with natty ends and frizzy hair, I gab with her for an hour, I come out looking smoking. It rocks. But somehow yesterday turned into a 'situation'. A hair stylist dilema let's say. Not a full blown fiasco, but an event nonetheless. I'll get to that later. Long story short, I didn't get to see Sabrina. I got handed over to another stylist instead. I wasn't exactly happy with it, especially because I could see Sabrina, punky hair, tattoos and all, not ten feet from me, coloring somebody else's hair and she wasn't going to cut my HAIR. Grrr. But I tried to make the best of it. It went o.k. for the most part. Then we started talking about movies and the genius of Black Snake Moan. "Hello Justin Timberlake." (Her sentiments, not mine). Then I made the mistake of trying to explain the whole Jules/Lazerus theory Fighting Nun had and she gave me a blank stare. She'd only seen Pulp Fiction once, like forever and a day ago, and she really doesn't remember it that well! What!?!?! Really!?!?! I mean, it's Pulp Fiction!?!? Pulp. Fiction. Pulp "What does Marcellus Wallace look like?" Fiction!!! How did you only see it once?!?!?! Jesus.

And, o.k., it's not like I couldn't understand only seeing it once, like ten years ago. The first time I tried to watch Pulp Fiction, I didn't understand it. I was an impressionable college freshman at the time and there were just certain things I wasn't ready for, the needle to the heart sequence being one of them. That first time I was like "There's a lot of things I'll do for Eric Stoltz, but sitting through this scene? Not one of them." and I was out. Like walked out of the theater out. It didn't help that Christopher Walken's famous Watch Monologue was the next scene. Couldn't handle it. Couldn't. And about 2 months later, I watched the ending all "I'm not going to dig it... but fine, second chance here we go." And then... "It's the wallet that says Badass ...." And then I was like "Oh, I get it now, heh." My issues with needle to the heart aside, the movie effing rocks!!!

But not everybody sees it my way. Just like not everybody *cough Fighting Nun cough* understands the awesomeness of The Sandlot, which I realized last night that even after not seeing it in like five years I still have memorized. "I take that back boy. You're not in trouble. You're dead where you stand." James Earl Jones killed it. 'Nuff said. Back to the point. I should probably let this one slide. And I think I did a good job of tempering the indignation at her statement, but sadly I didn't have much else to say after that. "So Black Snake Moan, yeah (trail off to silence)...." It's Pulp Fiction!!! I'm not sure where it stands in the pantheon of pivotal cultural moments, but its pretty high up there!! It's significant!!! Watch it again so we might have something else to talk about. Oh, and learn who Stephen Dorff is!!! Yes, I realize that's partly my fault. When asked what he's been in I could only recall like two movies. Where I could usually rattle off like a ton of movies, I was all "Uh.. He was in Blade and stuff." Blade was the best I could come up with. I couldn't think of Backbeat, Cecil B. Demented, nothing. Blade and Alone in the Dark were it. Oh, and I think I mentioned Feardotcom. (Snerk.) Come on brain!!! You're better than that. At least mention the Aerosmith video where Alicia Silverstone bungies from her belly button ring!!! What's wrong with you. Stoopid brain.

So yeah, I guess the rule goes like this: For all the poor bastards who haven't seen Pulp Fiction a bajillion times, rent it and give it at least two good run throughs to try and soak in some of its genius. For the rest of us who bask in Pulp Fiction's genius, let's try and not be too hard on the rest of them.

Movie Review: Black Snake Moan

Yeah, what he said. Look, maybe it's not an eleven per say, but it was pretty damn good. I loved it on a lot of different levels, maybe not on the same levels as Fighting Nun, what with the Hot Christina Ricci sex scenes being the main draw for him, but I still loved it nonetheless.
First of all, it's visually interesting. Say what you want to say about the movie, but Ricci chain writhing on a couch was really cool to look at, for reasons I can't explain. (Consequently Chain Writhing? My new all-girl goth-metal band name). The whole film I thought was visually beautiful and kind of stunning. Also beautiful and stunning? The soundtrack. I mean, I don't know about the actual soundtrack in actual stores, but if it has the song for which the movie was named, I want it. I want eeet bad. The music was hot and perfect. Loved it. Soundtrack in my grubby little hands now!!! Go-Go Gadget Soundtrack. Really.

It's not that I don't get what critics hate about this movie. I do. At some points it is easy to see that Jackson and Ricci are playing charicitures and not full characters. And just as suddenly, the movie changes course and it shows me something else I wasn't expecting. And yeah, Justin Timberlake was an odd choice as love interest. There were certain moments where I could tell the director went "O.k., give me anxious and nervous" and Timberlake answered back with an expression that said "constipated" or the director went "O.k., give me angry as hell" and Timberlake came back with full fledged bitch face. But yet I give him a pass because the movie just worked some how, either in spite of him or because of him I'm not so sure.

And it's not that I don't get the demoralization argument either. It's hard to let some of Rae's actions slide in the film. I get that, but for a film to truly demoralize women, it would have to demoralize all of them and S. Epatha Merkerson played Angela with such texture and grace even with such a small role like that that I don't see the demoralization at all.

Two interesting side notes that I feel is worth mentioning. First; am I the only one who thinks that "Rae" would be the easiest Goodwill attained Halloween costume ever? A trip to the salvation army for a bad confederate flag shirt and some cut-offs, followed by a trip to the hardware store for some chain, make sure you've got the white panties on underneath. Done. Easiest costume ever!!! It doesn't even require a bra!!!

Secondly, Shortly before we went to see the movie, Fighting Nun came up with this theory that Samuel L. Jackson's character is actually what happened to Jules when he went on the path of the straight and narrow. I laughed it off all, "Ha Ha, Jules plays the blues and ties white women up to his radiator Ha Ha." But after seeing the movie, I can't help but make those comparison. There's that moment where he's looking down at the bible reading and then he looks up at Ricci and I thought to myself "I'm trying Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the Shepherd." and then later in the movie, Fighting Nun leaned over all "It's the blues guitar that says "Bad ass MotherF****er" and I had trouble containing my giggles. We haven't had that much fun with tangential movie related humor since that time we saw LoTR: RoTK in theaters. You know that scene when Sam is on the Mountain and looks at Frodo and is all "I can't carry the burden for you, but I can carry you," That is the exact scene where Fighting Nun leaned over and whispered "Rudy, Rudy, Rudy." I realize that's a really pivotal scene, but I get the giggles every time. Every Damn Time because Fighting Nun made that joke.

So yeah. Black Snake Moan. I loved it. And I'd see it again. In theatres. Which I might do anyway because Driver's License wants to go see it, and Fighting Nun has absolutely no qualms about slapping down the 10 bucks per ticket to see it again. I told you his Ricci obsession was far reaching.

Fighting Nun's Informal Movie Review: Blake Snake Moan

Bloody Munchkin: On a scale of 1 to 10, what would you give the movie?
Fighting Nun: 11, because Hot!

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.