Superbad Four Word Movie Review

As good As Advertised.

One more word: Seriously.

A few more: I mean it. Hilarious.

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

My latest TV obsessions

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


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


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

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


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


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


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

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

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

The Valerie Bertinelli Conundrum

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

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

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

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

Movies that Suck: Headspace

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bloody Munchkin Plays Catch-up

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

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

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

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

The Silver Spoons Drinking Game Discussion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ocean's Thirteen: Movie Review

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tweens

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Movie Review: Children of Men

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

The Plight of the Onions

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

American Inventor: Season 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ninja Warrior

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adventures in iPod-Land

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

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

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

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

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

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

What I did last week

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

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

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

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

What I'm currently wasting time on...

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

Book Review: Kushiel's Scion

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

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

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

More proof of my spiral into insanity

As if anybody needed any. Heh.

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

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

Bloody Munchkin: I just wonder what all the socks in the sock drawer think about this turn of events.

Fighting Nun, eyeing me fiercely, can't even manage and suitably sized eyeroll: I...

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

Fighting Nun, shaking head, leaves room.

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

Dear Baron Davis's Hamstring;

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

Peace Out;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Don Nelson's Nose;

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

With deep respect and admiration;

The Bloody Munchkin

Dear Matt Barnes;

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

Stay Cool Dude;

The Munchkin

Dear Andris Biedrins;

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

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

Just sayin;

Bloody

Charles Barkley;

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

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

BM

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

Dear Mark Cuban;

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

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

BM

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

All's fair in love and Scrabble

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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