Sunday, December 12, 2004

My public service announcement for today:
If you can help it, never take a job where you have to interact with parents of young children. While a lot of the parents I deal with are actually very nice and easy to work with--the parents that suck REALLY suck. They suck out loud. They suck on toast. They suck so hard they blow. I'm being redundant, but I don't really know a more eloquent way of putting it. Mostly because I'm pissed.

This bitch just comes in this morning (yes, I have to work on Sundays, which sucks in itself), ranting about how she didn't receive a flyer about the third grade program in the mail (don't ask--it's too boring to go into). I know for a fact that I mailed one out to this ho-bag, because I recognize her name and she gets all the mailings that go to third grade parents, but to try to correct the situation I gave her an extra copy of the flyer. That still didn't satisfy her, she kept harping on it, saying "I'd really like to get receive these things, you know, because it affects me." I just nodded and smiled, then she goes "Who's in charge of mailing these out, anyway." I said, very calmly, "I am, actually. And I know that I sent one out to you--I'm sorry that you didn't receive it." So she just sort of huffed and stomped away with her unibrow and her bitchface, because she's dumb. Then the executive director of the Temple, who's here with me on Sunday and who is awesome (can she be my boss? Please?) grabbed a copy of Bitch Woman's address and followed her down the hall. Exec. Director caught up with her and confirmed that we indeed had Bitchwad's correct address, we did send her a flyer, it's not our fault that she's too lazy to read her damn mail, and she needs to shut it. (I love Exec. Director).

I'm sure I haven't heard the last of Unibrowed Bitch though. Next time her mail mysteriously disappears, I'm sure she'll be marching her ugly ass straight to me to whine about it, at which time I will stick my foot so far up her ass she won't even enjoy it. Can I just say how sick I am of people like her, because they infest my workplace like cockroaches. They fuck up, forget something, get their wires crossed (or they're just plain stupid), but God forbid they take responsibility for anything. With Unibrow and her ilk, it's always someone else's fault, someone else screwed them over, their dog ate their mail, etc. etc. etc. It's like dealing with infants--infants who can walk and talk blame and everything's about MEMEMEMEMEME. Fuck 'em. I'm sick of it.

Wednesday, December 08, 2004

Oh, for crying out loud.

I have a few questions. First of all, Mandy Moore and Britney have been in the public consciousness for what, five years tops? And now it's time for them to start vomiting up Best of/Greatest Hits albums? What's next, a Lifetime Achievement award for Beyonce? (And at the risk of sounding like an old fogey who just doesn't "get it," I'd like to point out what a stupid name Beyonce is. Clearly, her parents were high). Also, Kelly Clarkson is still around? Ditto Clay Aiken (who?)? As for Jessica Simpson, (or J.Simp, as they call her over at Fametracker) she totally looks like a porn star on the cover of that Christmas album. I caught her Christmas "variety" special last week out of morbid curiousity. It was pretty damned hilarious, especially when she sang--that chick opens her mouth so wide she looks like a python trying to swallow a rabbit. (I wonder if her jaw comes unhinged, too? Icky thought.)

The good news is that Duran Duran, U2, Rod Stewart, Gwen Stefani and Elliott Smith (even though he's dead) all have new albums out, and Barenaked Ladies and Chris Isaak have just released holiday compilations, so there's at least a few options for oldsters like me this season. Not that I've bought any yet, but that's what gift certificates are for.

Monday, December 06, 2004

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Okay, here's the lowdown on why I missed posting on Saturday (1st anniversary of the blog), because I know people are all broken up about it.

My plan was to sneak in to work late Saturday afternoon when no one was here ('cause they gave me a key. SUCK-ERS!) but I drive into the parking lot and see not only the maintenance guy's truck--(no biggie, he doesn't give a turd)--but also the car belonging to one of the Big Cheese types here at the Temple. So I wimped out and didn't come in--and by that point the library (my other internet/computer source) was a half hour from closing time so I decided to scrap the whole plan. Just another glaring reminder that I NEED a laptop, dammit! I'm going to bite the bullet and do something drastic like sell my eggs or something to get the money for one. It's not a luxury anymore--it's become a necessity.

So next post I'll add the fun new feature to the blog (whatever that may be) and give a report on my (semi-eventful) weekend.

Friday, December 03, 2004

I just realized that tomorrow marks the first anniversary of this blog! I feel like marking the occasion in some way. Maybe by going out and getting drunk tonight? Just kidding. I'll probably do that anyway. Seriously though, I think I'll celebrate by adding a new feature to my blog. Something fun. Tune in tomorrow to see what it is.

SO cool.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Here's something funny for you. The Melissa Gilbert thing is good (an irrelevant side ex Rick works at a restaurant in New Orleans, and he waited on Ms. Gilbert over the summer. He said she was incredibly nice. Told you it was irrelevant). My favorites snarks are the ones they do on Paris Hilton, Christina Aguilera, Mel Gibson and Britney (under "Recent"). Priceless.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Okay okay! My bad. I know now that Angelina Jolie plays Colin Farrell's mother in Alexander, not his love interest (which makes it even creepier and even funnier, really). The buzz on Alexander is bad, bad, bad. Apparently a very crappy and unintentionally hilarious flick. If that's the case, I might just have to see it. I won't shell out ten bucks, though--I'll wait for it to come to the dollar movies.

Alfie was enjoyable, for the most part. It was predictable and all, (what with his womanizing character getting a big emotional smack-down in the second half). But the acting was pretty good and I liked the ending--it wasn't your typical neat n' tidy happily ever after thing.

And Jude Law? HOT.

Sunday, November 14, 2004

I'm going to see Alfie today, in spite of the bad reviews it's received. Bad reviews matter not when Jude Law is starring. I like looking at him. He's very pretty. Almost too pretty for my taste, but then there's that accent. I'm a sucker for a British accent. A British guy could tell me to fuck off and I'd probably still fall in love. I think it's Duran Duran's fault--they brainwashed me at an impressionable age.

After months of waiting, there are finally some movies out that I'm interested in seeing. There's also, of course, the usual crap I will never see, like Alexander. I don't like Colin Farrell. He doesn't do a damn thing for me and I'm tired of being told how "hot" he is. Ditto Angelina Jolie, who's apparently also in it. She's a bad actress. I don't know what the hell she's even doing in this film, but I'm guessing it's to fill the obligatory object of desire/love interest role, which is odd in and of itself because--and I think this has been fairly well documented--didn't Alexander the Great prefer young boys? I'm guessing that little facet of his personality has been conveniently glossed over for the big screen, hence the presence of A.J. and whatever she does besides (as the previews suggest) act with her lips, wear jewels on her head and say, "Alex-AHN-dahr, you are a great mahhhn." Please. I'll take Jude Law in a bad comedy any day over that mess. In fact, I'll take Jude Law AND Hugh Grant, with a side of fries to go. Thanks.

Thursday, November 11, 2004

Hey y'all. I'd offer my opinion on the election results, but Serena (from N is for Neville...) did it way better than I could have, and what's more, I agree with her wholeheartedly. So I asked her if I could quote her on my blog, she gave her blessing, and here it is. (Forgive the digression. Next post will be business as usual. Promise.)

From Serena's blog:

My Worldview

The popular vote went to Bush. I greatly dislike him, so clearly this disturbs me. So much so that I cried last night. Sat on my couch and cried. Stupid Ohio. I'm trying to reconcile the fact that I have a basic faith in humanity with the fact that humanity just really pissed me off.
I’ve come to the conclusion that the majority of Americans and I do not share the same worldview.

In undergrad I learned about worldviews. These are basic core beliefs that color your outlook on the world. The way you interpret the chaos of the world around you is dependant upon your worldview. Every individual has one, and most times they are determined by the culture you are raised in. For example: a typical, Western world view is that it is every individual’s imperative to fight on the side of good against evil. Now, an Eastern worldview would instead believe that it is every individual’s imperative to maintain harmony and balance, with the concepts of good and evil not given any weight whatsoever.

In my opinion, George Bush's worldview is that the world is divided into two absolute categories: good and evil. For him, there is little to nothing in between. This basic belief motivates his behavior. Invading a country is clearly justified if its leader is evil. Taking away certain civil liberties with the Patriot Act is justified if you believe it will help to catch people who are evil. Banning gay marriage is justified if any marriage between anyone besides a man and a woman is evil. Because evil is bad. Absolutely. And therefore, anything you do to eradicate evil is good: the ends justify the means. A thousand dead American soldiers are unfortunate, but they are justified because their deaths contributed to the removal of an evil man from government.

This is the way I make sense of how Bush operates, and why he does the things he does. The world is good and bad. He is good. Saddam/terrorists are bad.
In my opinion, the world does not operate this way. In my opinion, absolute good and evil do not exist. The world is gray. It is scary and uncertain and full of many complicated layers which swirl around in a stew of ambiguity and make you want to pull the covers over your head. The amount of discomfort ambiguity creates is the reason why George Bush’s worldview resonates with so many people: it is easy. It makes you feel that you are safe. It makes you feel that you have identified the problem (the people who don’t like us are evil) and that solutions are on the way (get rid of them). It tells you who is good and who is bad and that you, clearly, are on the good side. Way to go.

But for me, there is no good side. There is no bad side. It is all subjective. And when it is all subjective the world becomes hard to define. It becomes difficult and messy. But it also becomes a place where all people have opinions and motivations and reasons for doing what they do. It is not because they are “evil”. “Evil” is not a motivating factor for anyone’s behavior. It is far more complicated than that, and thus harder to diagnose. When it’s harder to diagnose, it’s harder to fix. Or, possibly impossible to fix. Instead of something to battle against, it becomes a part of the human condition. But this does not console people who are afraid. This does not convince people that they are safe. This is not an effective campaign platform. But, for me, it’s the truth.

No one can protect a country from terrorism. You can make terrorism less easy, but you can never make it impossible. You can never kill every single terrorist. What you can do is attempt to create a global environment that does not breed the kind of intense fundamentalism that fuels terrorism. However, announcing yourself as “good” and another whole group of people as “evil” fosters conflict. Reassures the voters, but fosters conflict. Perpetuates it. Stokes the fire. When you believe that you are good, and the people you are fighting against believe that they are good, war is the only option available.

This is why I dislike Bush. This is also why I think he won.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

Sunday, October 31, 2004

Before the party: my fancy bejeweled pumpkin (decorated by moi) eagerly awaits the guests' arrival. Posted by Hello

Little Red Riding Hood kicks back with Michelle. Posted by Hello

Cesar Chavez (Elizabeth), Johnny Ramone (Jason) and Shelby discuss current events. Posted by Hello

Hangin' in the kichen: Anna, Mario and Alex. Posted by Hello

Michelle, Me, Mario. (Check out my monkey!) Posted by Hello

Anna enjoying some chips and salsa. Posted by Hello

Jason does a little comedy with the monkey. Posted by Hello

I'm pretty hammered by this point. I'm also making the peace sign. I know not why. Posted by Hello

Feeling absolutely no pain at this point. Posted by Hello

Johnny Ramone + Little Red Riding Hood Posted by Hello

Stockings. It's all about the stockings.  Posted by Hello

The morning after: Riley gets a little lovin' from the monkey (HOT MONKEY LOVE!) Posted by Hello

Thursday, October 21, 2004

Okay, I know I'm a little early, but I'm having a Halloween party tomorrow night!! Woo hoo! I wanted to have my party this weekend, so I wouldn't be competing with other parties that will be going on next weekend. I've gotten quite a few RSVPs, so I think I'll have a good turnout. I was out shopping for party supplies and other Halloween festoonery til 11 PM last night, then stayed up til 2 cleaning and sprucing up my apartment. Tonight, I decorate!
I've decided to be Pippi Longstocking. I've got my costume all together (except for the monkey. Must buy a monkey! Not a real one, of course....) My friend Jason is coming as Johnny Ramone, and Linda is dressing up as Little Red Riding Hood. I hope everyone else comes in costume, and that none of those "This IS my costume" T-shirts will be in attendence. I made it BYOB too, just to cut costs. Anna is bringing a dish and Jason is bringing a dessert, and I am providing the appetizers and other assorted munchies. That means Bagel Bites and chips and salsa all around! Actually I got these cute little miniature pizza pocket things--a little classier than Bagel Bites. And organic salsa, which makes all the difference.
I'll post the party pics this weekend.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

I'm still stuck at work, slaving away on the monthly bulletin while my eyes glaze over and my brain begins slowly leaking out of my ears. But enough with that, I need a break.

I saw that Marcus mentioned Xanadu in his last post over on Waye's World. It was a film that he and I rented for one of our bad movie nights back in the day; a film that--coincidentally--I recently re-watched. (Yes, psychotropic drugs were involved. Why do you ask?) Anyhoo, I realized that Xanadu makes a lot more sense when you're baked, something that most people who've seen the film have probably figured out long ago. I've also heard that if you watch Xanadu with a candle burning, you will see your entire future. (Almost Famous reference--email me if you don't get it.)

Maybe I should clarify my earlier point--Xanadu doesn't actually make more sense when you're high, it's that you notice things that you probably normally wouldn't. Like how much Sonny (played by Michael Beck, the film's "dashing" leading man) looks like a less-cute Andy Gibb, and how he totally rollerskates like a girl. Actually, that's an insult to kick-ass roller derby chicks everywhere. Scratch that. I meant to say that Sonny rollerskates like a guy trying hard to look like he doesn't rollerskate like a girl. And he skates into a brick wall, too. (But that's a big plot point...I shouldn't give too much away). Needless to say, he sucks. But his suckiness is just one of the many things that makes Xanadu so awesomely bad.

You have, as Marcus alluded to in his post, Gene Kelly on rollerskates. I know, but bear with me here. Gene Kelly totally steals this film. He acts, dances and--yes--rollerskates circles around Michael Beck and Miss Olivia, literally and figuratively. Although Beck's character is supposedly the "dreamy" (gag!) hero, Gene Kelly is the one with the charm and the sex appeal (and dude was pushing 70 at the time!).

And Olivia? So pretty, but so, so vapid. I liked her clothes, though. And she at least seemed pretty comfortable in the glittery disco montage scene at the end (if only because she was in her natural habitat). She's also a lot easier to watch than Michael Beck, but that's not saying a whole hell of a lot.

The plot? Nobody cares about the plot. Xanadu is much more than the sum of its plot. When you have Gene Kelly on rollerskates, you don't need no stinkin' plot. But the director was nice enough to throw in some Don Bluth animation, Tron-like special effects, a little Greek mythology, dance sequences, montages featuring a bad swing orchestra and a Spinal Tap-like "rock" band and Olivia Newton John singing "Magic," which has got to be one of of the greatest bad songs of all time.

I'm actually stopping with my review here, because I'm going to try and sucker Marcus into contributing a few of his thoughts on Xanadu, so I'll update this later to include them. He and I are a little like Ebert and Roeper, except that we're not gross and old.

Dude, I gotta get home. Screw the bulletin, I'm outty.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

Last night after work I came home, smoked a little herb and watched Chopper Chicks In Zombietown, a movie that looked like a good idea when it was sitting on the shelf at the library, but turned out to be so bad that I lost interest after about 20 minutes. I also fell asleep. But I did manage to stay awake long enough to catch Billy Bob Thornton's first big scene in the film. Yes, that's Billy Bob (Slingblade/"I fucked Angelina Jolie") Thornton. He plays some doofus who rekindles a romance with one of Chopper Chicks. The girl in question was a redhead with some seriously bad eighties hair (think Reba McIntyre before she chopped it all off) and even worse acting "skills." Billy Bob was no prize himself--he delivered all his lines in this dull monotone (even when he was begging his redheaded Reba chick to come back to him, which was pretty damn funny). And there was this broken down school bus with blind orphans on board (komedy!), and I swear to God, one of the kids was played by Hal Sparks. It was hard to tell though, because he never took his shades off in the scene that I stayed awake for (all the blind kids wore these "cool" eighties sunglasses), and they all smoked, because they were like, rebel orphans. Since I fell asleep about an hour and a half before the closing credits, though--I never got to find out if it was really Hal Sparks. And Martha Quinn, the original MTV veejay (and the best one, in my opinion) was in the movie too, but I didn't see her beyond the first scene in which she appeared outside a house hanging up laundry on a clothesline. (She may have been in later scenes, but again--I was unconscious pretty soon after that).

I rented the film thinking it would be one of those good bad movies--stupid or cheesy enough to be entertaining--but it was just dull and annoying. I did, however, rent Army of Darkness for the fourth time, because Bruce Campbell rocks! (My ex Josh turned me onto the charms of the Evil Dead series). Now that is an AWESOME movie to watch when you're baked!

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

I am becoming a juice fiend, and I think more people need to buy my favorite brands so they might come down in price a little. My first favorite, (and the one I buy the most) is Naked. I love the Green Machine (apples, pears, green tea, spinach, broccoli, and about a dozen other types of juices. It has all this stuff in it, but all you really taste is the fruit juice). It's so incredibly healthy. My other favorite Naked juice is the Just O.J., which is ONLY orange juice--no water, no added sugar, no nuthin' but orange juice. After drinking it, I swear you'll never go back to that Tropicana bullshit ever again. Naked juice rocks, but it only comes in little single serve bottles, which go for at least $2.60 or more (almost the same price as a Corona! Damn!) But once you've had it, you pay the money. Believe me. This stuff has magical powers.

My other favorite juice is Pom. It rocks, but I can't buy it very often because it's $3.99 a bottle. Yes, $3.99. The price sucks, but the juice is awesome, and the bottles are so damn cute! I've kept a few and used them for vases. Now they're making them all plastic, though, which affects the cuteness factor but may cut the price a bit. I'm actually too much of a wuss for the straight pomegranate juice (tastes like very bitter cranberry juice to me), but the blueberry/pomegranate blend rocks, and both juices together are extremely good for you.

Seriously, try both brands. Splurge. And tell your friends, because I want lots of people to drink my favorite juices and I want to be able to afford them on a regular basis!

Together, we can make a difference.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Today is the first day that I haven't been totally bombarded at work, and it feels weird. I'm not complaining though, believe me. I think days like this will be few and far between. I haven't been doing a whole hell of a lot--started on a few projects and putzed around, pretending to look busy. And now the day is almost over, so that's good. I think I need a day like this at least once a week, if not more.

Yesterday I had a dream about a book I had as a kid, Teaser and the Firecat, and I've been sort of obsessed with tracking down a copy of it ever since. It was written by Cat Stevens (yes, that Cat Stevens) and he did like, a whole album based on it too. (I think the album came first actually, but I only had the book). The book was awesome--it's about this guy who hangs out with this orange cat called Firecat, and they're out one night and they find that the moon has fallen out of the sky, (I think it lands in a stream or something?), and then they get this flock of owls to take the moon back up to the sky. The illustrations are simple but funky (especially the owls. They rock!) Anyway, I feel compelled to find the book since I had this dream about it. I think my old copy is probably long gone (my mom got rid of a lot of my childhood stuff in garage sales over the years...including my Go-Go's records, dammit! I want them back!) so I checked on amazon and of course it's out of print--the used copies are going for like $80 and up, which sucks. I'm going to start scouring the used and rare bookstores to see what I can find. Like I said, I'm suddenly obsessed because of this dream.

Sunday, September 26, 2004

God, we make such an adorable couple. I can't stand it. You can tell he likes me. Seriously. Posted by Hello

Okay everyone...remember when I nearly went insane trying to post those pictures in the aftermath of the fabulous Finn Brothers concert back in July? Well, thanks to the scanner here at my new job and being at work during non-work hours, (I got a key and an alarm code. Heh.) I was FINALLY able to post one of my pictures from the show. Above, Neil and I are standing by the tour bus after the concert. We're so damn cute together. My boob is touching his arm and we're both smiling. It's called destiny, people. We are meant to be.

I'll post the rest of my photos the next time I'm alone at work with free access to expensive equipment.

Friday, September 24, 2004

Holy shit, people!!! Britney Spears got married??? Where have I been????? Why didn't I hear about this sooner????

Oh, wait, I just remembered. I don't give a flying turd.

And by the way, doesn't this new buttmunch she's with look like one of those toolios you'd see working at the pretzel stand in the mall? You know what I mean--one of those nineteen-year-old dweebs with the crooked trucker hat, creative facial hair, stoned eyes, and big silver chain connecting his wallet to his saggy pants--half-assedly wrapping up your pretzel, sloshing most of your Diet Coke onto your tray, and handing over your change with a slight nod and a grunt. (Did I go far enough with that analogy? I don't know.)

Monday, September 13, 2004

Has anyone else seen that one TV commercial for Viagara? I bring it up because it bugs the shit out of me. In it, a middle-aged balding dude is out with his trophy wife/girlfriend--she's kind of dragging him around while she shops for shoes and clothes. So they're on the sidewalk and they pass by this lingerie store. He pauses, gets this creepy smirk on his face and as he's leering at the window display, cartoon horns come out from behind his head that turn out to be the points of the "V" in Viagara. Then he grabs his chick by the hand and pulls her into the store. Okay, here's what bugs me. It's not the implication that the middle-aged guy wants to have sex. It's not even the way he leers at the bra and panties in the window. It's the way the pointy horns pop out of his head when he sees them. Is that supposed to symbolize him popping a boner? I think it is. Ew.

To be fair, I may be over-analyzing it a little. But still.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

This is genius (thanks for this, Jason!)

Friday, September 10, 2004

Last night, I checked out Martin Scorsese's 1988 film The Last Temptation of Christ from the public library. I'd never seen it; I was a freshman in high school when it came out, (a freshman in a Catholic high school), and seeing a Biblical movie-- any Biblical movie outside of Religion class is not an idea that would have appealed to me at the time. Plus, being fifteen years old, I think most of it would have been lost on me. But now, being so much wiser and infinitely more mature....

I was surprised by how much I liked it. I'm not much of a Scorsese fan, but I thought it was well made and the directing and acting weren't too heavy-handed, (as is the case with most Biblical films. Speaking of, remember when Richard Gere played King David? Dude, that was funny). Here are some of my thoughts:
  • Willem Dafoe, you may remember, played Jesus. Dafoe's other notable performances (in my mind, anyway), include a greaseball bad guy in the Diane Lane "rock n' roll fable" Streets of Fire, and of course, the excellent Auto Focus ("Bob Crane's a loser!") He did a good job as Christ, I thought, but being Dafoe, he was most believable in the "wigging-out" scenes, like the whole going-postal-on-the- merchants-in-the-temple part. Yeah, he nailed that one. (Oops! Bad pun.)
  • Mary Magdalene was played by Barbara Hershey, who I will forever remember as the woman from Beaches. Not that I loved that movie or anything, but you gotta remember--I'm a chick. In the late eighties, I think it was required by the government for all females over the age of twelve to see Beaches a few dozen times. Seriously. Look it up. Anyway, Hershey was sporting this massive Cher wig throughout TLToC--a glaring reminder that this puppy was definitely made in the eighties.
  • Okay, Scorsese? I realize that this was probably the fault of the costume designer or whoever, but women with flawless manicures and shaved pits? Not happening in the Jesus times, dude.
  • Harvey Keitel (the cop from Thelma and Louise) played Judas, and another guy I recognized from a gangster movie (probably Goodfellas) played Peter. Keitel was his usual aces, but again--Scorsese? (and this one is most definitely your fault)....I'm not a theologian or anything, but I'm like, 99.9% sure that Jesus's desciples did not have Brooklyn accents. Seriously, I mean--ever hear of a dialect coach?
  • Harry Dean Stanton (Molly Ringwald's dad in Pretty In Pink), played Saul (Jewish zealot who converted to Christianity and was later known as the apostle Paul). Jeez, I understand this now, but looking back, it's no wonder I had such a hard time in religion class.
  • Dude, if you're a sheep you don't want to be anywhere near Isreal during Passover. If I wasn't already a vegetarian, this one particular scene would have done me in. Holy shit. (Literally!)
  • David Bowie was in this! I totally forgot about that! He played Pontius Pilate, and--I'm not just saying this cause he's David Bowie--he kicked ass! He's a damn fine actor. And to be completely shallow for a sec--he looked really good. I think he looked his best in the eighties. In the seventies during his Ziggy Stardust period I always thought he looked too gaunt (not to mention the orange mullet. Ick). But in the eighties he had updated his look; he started wearing the suits with the skinny ties and that blond pompadour (I guess I'm mostly remembering him from his Serious Moonlight tour, circa '83). Even if you're not a Bowie fan, you gotta admit. He looked hot.
  • During the dream sequence/hallucination part towards the end of the film, when Jesus sees the apostle Paul witnessing to a group of people about his conversion, how he "saw the light" and all that, Jesus basically calls him out and says, "I never appeared to you, why are you saying this?" etc. and Paul (Molly Ringwald's dad) argues with him that "the people" need hope and something to believe in, and that basically the message is what's important, not the truth, etc. Although I might be reading too much into this (and I'm sure I'm not the first person to come up with this theory), I saw this scene as Scorsese's sly indictment of TV evangelists and their ilk (remember, this was the eighties--you had Oral Roberts on TV begging for money, the PTL scandal with Jim and Tammy, shysters with the fake healings, cashing in on people's beliefs, etc.) If you ever see the movie, pay attention to that scene. It's pretty cool.
  • Oh, and the synthesizer music over the closing credits? Yeah. It was definitely the eighties.

Sunday, September 05, 2004

I just realized that I could mess with text color, so today it's red.

It's Sunday on a holiday weekend, and I'm sitting here at my desk at work. I biked in today to try to get a jump start for next week (classes at the Temple start on Wednesday--this week, all hell officially breaks loose). I've gotten a little bit done, I don't know how much of a difference it will make in my week, or if it was at all worth it to come in today, but I'll find out on Tuesday.

Stuff that I've been up to that doesn't involve my job:
  • Movies...I saw Stepford Wives at the dollar theatre last week. My verdict: Eh.
  • Books...I've just started You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers. It's holding my interest so far, even though his writing style is a bit unconventional, to say the least. And I suspect he's batshit crazy, but that's part of his charm. I managed to get through his other book last year, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and I was glad I did. Hopefully this one will grow on me. I'm also listening to The Da Vinci Code (the audiobook version, obviously) in my car. It's good so far, but I hope it gets better. Everyone I know who's read it has built it up to be the best book ever, so I'm a bit skeptical to begin with.
  • Projects...I haven't done as much writing as I should be, but I've managed to steal away to the coffee shop across the street at least two or three times per week and do some brainstorming in my notebooks. I really, REALLY need to buy a laptop. My computer access has diminished considerably, since I'm unable to use the lab at the law school (Emily's login and password, which I've been using for months, are no longer valid). This has really cramped my style, since the law library has great hours (open 'til midnight during the week) and is only a few blocks from my apartment. I've been forced to use the computers at the public library, which are old and suck ass, plus it closes at 9pm during the week, 5pm on weekends. So I am leaving the little donation thingie up, just in case anyone wants to contribute to my laptop fund. I hope to save up enough to buy a decent used one within the next few months (or at least by the end of this year).
  • I will also be selling my jewelry and other wares at the Fall Festival in St. Paul, which is sometime later this month. I'll have to check my calendar to see when exactly it is...I still have a lot to make before it happens.

Okay, time to get out of here before someone wanders in the building and asks me to do something for them.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

This day has sucked dog balls. My job is mind-numbing and I am officially burnt out after a month and six days. I wonder if that's a record for this position? I'd be interested to see that data on that. It's not like it's really hard, I'm not splitting the atom or anything, but holy shit--it's just piles and piles and piles of more shit and deadlines and I still don't know what I'm doing and people are asking me questions about shit I'm supposed to know and fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!!!! I'm in need of some good old-fashioned controlled substances right now. Maybe this is a good time to start cultivating a full-blown heroin addiction, or at least begin drinking heavily.

At the end of the day today at around 5:15 I was still there trying to get stuff done so I could go home, and then this scary woman walked in. Damn, she freaked me right the fuck out. She was a midget--well, not officially, but midget-sized anyway--with tiny, fat hands. She was wearing too much jewelry and odd clothing and--worst of all--she was cross-eyed! Well, just in one eye. The other one was fine, I think (although I can't be sure--I couldn't stop staring at the one that was crossed). It was some evil, evil shit. Anyway, she comes in to make a donation, and the woman in charge of the donation-taking was gone since it was after 5:00 and all, so I told her if she wanted to leave the donation slip and the money I'd put it in the donation-taker's mailbox. This midget peers at me with her one good eye and starts quizzing me, like "Are you sure she'll get the money? Are you able to take it? Should I give it to someone else? Maybe you should put it in an envelope for her," and of course all the while I'm thinking "Jesus! Get away from me you troll!" Not only had I had a day from hell, but then I had to deal with this? I managed to assure her that I'd take the donation and put it safely in an envelope and place it in the donatee's mailbox, but she was still hesitant, like as soon as she left I was going to crumple up the donation slip, toss it over my shoulder, look at the $10 bill, slap my thigh and gleefully shout, "Ooooh buddy! Mama's gettin' fucked up tonight!" She finally entrusted me with the money (after watching me slip it in the appropriate mailbox) and waddled out of there, much to my relief.

Can you believe they let someone like me work for a religious organization? I mean, I can't even muster up any compassion for a cross-eyed midget with bad fashion sense. I am a shallow, empty shell of a human being. Maybe I should go into politics.

Tuesday, August 24, 2004

So I'm officially 31, and it's a nice feeling so far. Hopefully my 31st year will be better than the mind-fuck that my 30th turned out to be.

On my birthday last Thursday I finally got to go to Ecopolitan, a vegan restaurant in uptown Minneapolis that I have been salivating over for months (ever since I saw the Yellow Pages ad), but had never actually visited. My friend Anna went with me. She's pretty adventurous cuisine-wise, I suppose, but she is definitely not a vegan, vegetarian, or anything in between. She does enjoy her meat and potatoes, that one. But since it was my birthday, she agreed to go with me after some blackmailing and a little bribery, and she even paid. She had quite a different experience of the food there than I did (she hated it), but, as I pointed out to her, all she had was a salad--and a cabbage salad at that (who eats cabbage salad? That really is rabbit food). I, on the other hand, enjoyed a raw pizza (they don't cook anything over 105 degrees there because, it's like, healthier or something). The pizza consisted of a buckwheat crust (awesome), spread with spicy red avocado sauce, sprouts, finely sliced green peppers, and pine nuts (yes, pine nuts! They rock!) All this and a side of grapes, too. Anna tried some of my pizza and she liked it (again, I told her to order more than a damn cabbage salad), but she declined. I'm glad it was my birthday, because it was the only way I could have gotten her to go there with me. I don't think she'll be a repeat customer, but I will definitely be back--give me some carrot juice and raw pizza! Woo hoo! I'll be so healthy I'll be shitting whole cucumbers.

Since I finally got paid (no more donations please, but I'll leave the Honor System icon up a bit longer in case you really really want to), I was able to buy a new bike as a birthday present to myself. It's a very cute little hot pink mountain bike that kicks all kinds of ass, even though it's a bit girly. I think I'll name it Christine, after the murderous car in the Stephen King book. I like the idea of having a deadly hot pink bike.

Monday, August 16, 2004

So I'm working for a Jewish organization now (which is funny, because I look pretty damn goy-ish, according to most Jewish people I know), but they hired me anyway. They don't mind a Gentile or two hanging around, I guess. I work in the Education Department, and even though I like the place and my co-workers so far, the job itself is giving me migraines. I've been there three weeks now, and although I feel like I'm getting the hang of certain aspects of my job, there is so much shit to do and still so much to learn before the girl training me (my predecessor) leaves next week. And what sucks is, although I have full-time hours (+ full-time pay and benefits, thank God), she is only there part-time because she has a kid and stuff. In a way, it's good that she's not there all the time, because it forces me to try to figure out shit for myself instead of asking her, but on the other hand it's a giant pain in the ass for me because I'm fucking up a lot, since there is no one there to ask (a Catch-22, as they say in Boogie Nights. "That's not an M.P. That's a Y.P....your problem!" Sorry, I love that movie). So, aside from the boss (a nice woman, BTW) looking at me like I'm mildly retarded from time to time, I think I'm doing all right. At least, I don't think I'm in danger of getting canned anytime soon.

I rented a movie last night out of sheer boredom (oh yeah--when I left my old job they gave me a TV and a VCR as a going-away present! Yay!) I wasn't in the mood for anything heavy, since it was Sunday night and all, so I rented the latest Adam Sandler epic, 50 First Dates (out of the newly released comedies that I hadn't seen, it was either that or Lizzie Maguire Takes Manhattan or whatever, so Adam Sandler won). Anyhoo, it was actually pretty good....while the first half hour featured a lot of unfunny slapstick, it got better after that. The ending was sweet without being too cloying, and both Sandler and Drew Barrymore kept the shameless mugging down to a minimum, for a change. I didn't used to be so wary of Adam Sandler comedies. I loved The Wedding Singer, (more for the eighties references than anything else), and Happy Gilmore was pretty damn funny. But The Waterboy made me lose a little faith in Sandler's comic ability, and Mr. Deeds made me lose a little faith in humanity (good God, I hated that one). But after seeing this latest one, I haven't totally written him off. I'd still like to see Punch Drunk Love, although most people I know who've seen it have told me not to waste my time.

Okay, I just caught a glimpse of the date on the computer. I turn 31 in three days.

Holy shit.

Saturday, August 07, 2004

See the obnoxious box to the right? Yeah, that one.

Here's the deal:
I just got a new job (more on that later). I started on July 26th. It's a good job, good pay, non-profit organization (more on that later, too). But here's what royally sucks--I get paid once a month. Once. On the 20th. This is really going to fuck me over for the next few weeks, because not only do I have the usual paycheck gap you get when you switch jobs, I also have to wait extra time to get paid. How does this suck? Let me count the ways. Well, I guess I just did. It sucks twice, because of, um, what I said above. So I got this birthday is coming up (August 19--Leo, for those who care). So I thought that any of my friends, family, etc. who are regular visitors to this site could help me out (if they wanted to) by clicking the icon on the right to donate. It's really not as shameless as it sounds. Look at it this way...say you were going to buy me a birthday card or something. Take the $2.00 you would have spent on the card and give to my fund instead. That way, I can buy some beans and rice at the store. This will help hold me over until I get paid. And only give if you want to...and only if you were going to buy me something anyway. At the same time, don't deprive yourself. For instance, say you were shopping for a birthday card for me, but decided to buy one of those monster bags of Peanut M&Ms for like, $1.60 instead. I'd still love you. And also, I'd never know. So give if you want. Or buy M&Ms.

Oh, and if you don't know me from Adam, but you like reading this blog? You can still click 'n give to my August Food Fund--I won't stop you. In fact, that would totally rock.

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Okay, I'm still trying to find a way to post my pics here. I tried photobucket on the advice of Serena (thanks, BTW) but my pics didn't turn out too well when I posted them there (probably has something to do with my own picture posting ignorance). Looks like I might actually have to shell out some money to get decent image hosting. Since I spent two hours trying to get these linked, I'm leaving the captions that I typed up, so my work isn't in vain. Captions without pictures. I know, it's dumb, but I need something to show for it. I'll come back to this post and edit the photos in when I figure out how. I must log off now, before my brain explodes and I put my platform heel through this computer monitor.

Before the show.
I spotted the tour buses and got so excited I had to take a picture. I am a dork.

During the show.
This pisses me off---I got some great shots during the encore. You can't see shit though, because my disposable camera sux. But Neil told me he liked it (see earlier post). Maybe he was just saying that to get in my pants. Hopefully.

I love this man.
Neil Finn, chatting with fans by the tour bus (this is before our fateful encounter).

Me and Neil.
Wow, check out the chemistry between us. He's smiling. I'm smiling. My boob is totally touching his arm. We're in looooooooove.

Tim Finn signing autographs.
He's cute.

Me and Tim.
We look good together too, but my heart belongs to Neil.

So that was my night. Sigh.

BTW--the Finn Brothers new album Everyone Is Here will be out August 24, so be sure to buy it or at least check it out online.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Dammit, I can't buy a break. I haven't been able to figure out how to upload my concert photos here, because I'm dumb and this Picasa program is stoopid. If anyone has any tips for me about posting pics to blogger, please enlighten me. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to figure things out on my own, which could be dangerous.

I'm going home to finish off my pint of Haagen-Dazs and take a long nap. I started a new job today (more on that later), and I forgot how taxing it is to work in a position where I actually have to do something. (Usually I just drink coffee and surf the 'net all day, like a normal person).



Thursday, July 22, 2004

I'm so excited I could poop! I saw the Finn Brothers last night (Neil and Tim Finn, both formerly of Split Enz  and my beloved Crowded House). I've been a hardcore Crowded House fan(atic) since 1987, when most kids my age were listening to Debbie Gibson (not that I'm a music snob or anything. Well, maybe a little). I never got to see the Crowdies live while they were together, but being a devout fan for--shit, more than half my life now (I'm thirty, for those keeping score), and seeing them perform for the first time last night just made the show that much more amazing. 

Some of the highlights of the concert:
  • Before the third song of the evening (I need to get a set list for the show, dammit!) Neil announced that he was "going to take the loooong way round to the piano," and did this awesome, Harold-at-the-end-of-Harold and Maude-type saunter/stroll around to the other side of the stage. (You had to be there.) 
  • A rendition of Split Enz's Dirty Creatures that kicked serious ass. I've never been particularly fond of that song, (the video--one of the first ones I ever saw on MTV-- freaked me right the fuck out when I was eight years old), but it was awesome hearing it live. The version on the LP doesn't do it justice at all. It almost made up for them not doing Message To My Girl, which is my favorite Split Enz song by far.
  • Although the only Crowded House songs they played were from Woodface, they did all my favorites from that album: It's Only Natural (why was that song never a hit in the U.S.?), There Goes God, (I always loved the story behind that one!), Weather With You and How Will You Go--a dark song that's actually about alcoholism, but Tim dedicated it to "anyone who's struggling to find their place or going through a difficult patch right now--we're there with you." (Awwww! I wanted to hug him for that.)
  • At one point, during one of the songs from their new album, Neil and Tim were harmonizing and it was so perfect (those gorgeous trademark Finn vocal harmonies! Anyone familiar with Split Enz or Crowded House knows what I mean) that I just closed my eyes and listened. It was almost a religious experience!

And the best part...after the show I staked out the tour bus for about an hour, along with about a dozen other hardcore fans and groupies, and when they finally came out I got autographs and several pictures of (and with) Neil and Tim! Of course, when I met Neil I tried to think of something original and profound to say, but all I got out was "That was an amazing show!" I was just glad that I didn't make a complete dork out of myself, and kept from lapsing into wide-eyed, trembling, awestruck groupie mode (I was only shaking a little bit). Neil complimented my camera, for some reason (it was a disposable one. Maybe he's near-sighted?) but it was cool anyhow.

So I'll post the photos this weekend after I get them back from the developer...since I don't have one of those new-fangled digital thingamabobs, I have to scan them in the old-fashioned way.

Stay tuned!


Thursday, July 15, 2004

Marcus sent me the link to this website, and it completely hooked me--I spent two hours last night reading through the whole page. Very, very interesting, in-depth celebrity gossip, reportedly more accurate than most sites. Of course, I was most interested in who is gay, bisexual and "closeted." The site is called The A List, and it's extremely addictive, so proceed at your own risk.

Some of the items that gave me pause: (my comments in italics...)

Alger, Horatio. Pederast. (This is an established historical fact, not mere gossip.) I had to look up the definition of "pederast". It means, as I suspected, something very unpleasant).

Baio, Scott. Closeted bisexual. Rumors of his having forced himself on women. Former regular at the Playboy Mansion. Former unrestrained relationship with Erin Moran; also linked with Pamela Anderson, Nicole Eggert, Heather Locklear, and Denise Richards. Jodie Foster claims to have made out heavily with him, as well. Jodie? Did she mistake him for a really masculine chick? Maybe it was the feathered hair.

Bass, Lance. Self-described "power bottom." For those not hip to gay lingo, "bottom" is code for, um, "catcher." Also, my own little bit of gossip--my chiropractor friend worked on Lance Bass when the N'Sync tour came through Indy. Okay, I didn't say it was particularly interesting gossip...

Bernard, Crystal. "Hypocritical Christian who engages in lesbian affairs and then quickly retreats to religion and her boyfriend and pretends to be Miss Moral." Linked with Morgan Fairchild. In the book You'll Never Make Love In This Town Again, which I'll sheepishly admit to owning, a girl who worked for Heidi Fleiss said that Crystal was always hitting on her and trying to get her to engage in 3-ways with her and her current boyfriend.

Brandy. Diva-in-training. "Controlled by her ignorant, crazy stagemother Sonia. Problem with diet pills. O.D. on at least one occasion. Difficult to work with is an understatement. Hygenically challenged--girl, wash your cooch! Multiple hidden tattoos. Secret Husband couldn't take any more of this little bitch and left her ass after a year. You also have to "hire" her brother Ray J and father to work on a project with her...everyone hates her." Linked with Tyrese. None of this comes as a great shock to me.

Brown, Bobby. All-around asshole. Married to and merkin for Whitney Houston. Linked with Madonna. Wife-beater and generally abusive towards women. Slut, alcoholic and drug addict. Most likely riddled with every sexually-transmitted disease so far discovered. Unpleasant personality. Some of the worst humanity has to offer. Again, I think by now this is all common knowledge.

Dre, Dr. Bisexual. Hmmm, he always did seem awful friendly with Snoop Dog...

Guttenberg, Steve. "Very personable, very nice to his fans." "Major pothead. Is stoned out of his mind almost all of the time." I used to have a major crush on him when I was a kid, and while my feelings for him didn't follow me into adulthood--he'd probably be cool to hang out and smoke with. ("Dude! What the hell was up with Can't Stop the Music?")

Harry, Debbie. "She is the nicest, most down to earth person in the business." Yay!!! Debbie rox!

Hatch, Orrin. Deeply closeted gay male with a penchant for leather & rent-boys. I'm more surprised that he can find men who will have sex with him...

Hoffs, Susanna (of the Bangles). "Quite enthusiastic about girls." Bisexual. "Enthusiastic," is she? Y'know, I always preferred the Go-Go's to the Bangles, but now that you mention it...

Igelsias, Enrique. Gay, or perhaps Bisexual. Grabby and gropey. Linked with Christina Aguilera, Whitney Houston, Anna Kournikova, and Justin Timberlake (woof!).

Lil Kim. Might not be the biggest diva on Earth, but she tries harder. Closeted Lesbian. Running tightly drawn neck and tightly drawn neck with Cher for most plastic surgery. Sold herself before she made it big: "She had to give Diddy a turn a few times in order for some career help." Linked with Christina Aguilera, Pamela Anderson, P. Diddy, and Queen Latifah. I'd stay the hell away from anyone who swapped fluids with P. Diddy.

Lohan, Lindsay. "A sweet girl whose current and recent success have her trying to grow up a little too fast." Okay, I'll admit--I'm a fan. Mean Girls was great.

Nabors, Jim. Gay as an Ungaro Spring Frock. Reportedly had long-time relationship with Rock Hudson. "Pyyyyle!!"

Perry, Anne. A murderer while a teenager. See the movie Heavenly Creatures. Very disturbing.

Priestly, Jason. "Rumored to have gotten a major part bent over a producer's desk." Drug user. Drunk. Gay. Bad tipper. Vain. Dude, Brandon Walsh??? He's a huge Barenaked Ladies fan, which is okay in my book.

Richards, Denise. The light's on in the attic, and it's a hell of a view, but nobody's home. Breast implants. Clean freak/germphobic. Former Heidi Fleiss worker. Linked with Scott Baio, Patrick Muldoon, Charlie Sheen, and John Stamos. Dude, how the hell did Scott Baio get so much tail?

Rogers, Kenny. Openly admits to enjoying using 1-900 numbers & being talked dirty to. (Points for honesty, anyhow.) Did he sing to the phone sex girls, too?

Scott, Seann William. Gay, and quite the little minx in high school. Linked with the Rock and Justin Timberlake. He was Stifler in the American Pie series.

Thicke, Alan. Pothead. I'd be a pothead too if I were forced to work with Kirk Cameron. Oh, wait--I already am.

Zellweger, Renee. Cokehead, and none too bright. (But nice nonetheless). Anorexic/bulimic. Supposedly worked as a stripper in Austin (Texas) for a time. Linked with Jim Carrey, George Clooney, and Jack White (of the White Stripes). Guess her dance background helped her land the lead in Chicago.

Zombie, Rob. A very nice man. I still ain't forgiving him for House of 1,000 Corpses...

Note: on The A List site, they use F.O.D. (Friend of Dorothy) as a code for gay male. (probably to avoid lawsuits? I don't know). I've "translated" it to gay for the above postings, just to make things less confusing.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

I went out to Nye's Polonaise Bar in Minneapolis last night. It's a Polish/German 50's style polka lounge. The crowd was an odd mix of old Polish people and young ironic hipster types. And they had a real polka band--two old men and one fat old woman with very few teeth, sitting on a stool rocking the accordian. It was awesome! The best part--Loni Anderson was partying there! She is (apparently) a Twin Cities native, a fact that was the subject of a huge debate among the group of friends I was there with. I just assumed Ms. Anderson was from the south somewhere (probably Texas)--I guess it's that heavy makeup, cosmetic surgery, bleached hair, massive fingernails thing. (No offense to southerners--I actually like the south, but y'know--it's the stereotype). My friend Anna, however, kept insisting that she was a Minnesotan. I looked Loni's info up on imdb and, holy shit--Anna was right. Who knew?

The woman looks exactly the same as she did on WKRP, by the way (I'm sure her plastic surgeon had a hand in that). I have to say though, I hope I look that good when I'm pushing 60. She was with a large posse consisting of several young women (daughters? nieces?) a few young men, a short black gay guy with bleached hair and what appeared to be a transvestite (or an extrememely masculine woman) in a black wig. Loni even hit the floor a few times with some of the cute younger guys in her entourage to do some polka dancing. It was pretty surreal. I got a good look at the action, because the section of the club where the band was playing was small, and a few times I actually brushed elbows with her. Some of the older bar patrons kept trying to cut in and dance with her--there were some terse words exchanged. (That was sort of creepy--these drunk middle-aged men about to come to blows because they just had to dance with Loni! fucking! Anderson!) It was quite a sight.

So now I have another celebrity to add to my list of sightings. Oddly enough, none of the encounters I've had with famous people have been in California or New York or any place you'd expect to see the rich n' famous. In no particular order, here's my list:

Troy Aikman and Michael Ervin: In 1998 I nearly ran into them while I was walking out of of Chammps (ugh) restaurant in Indianapolis (they were in town for the Indy 500). I only got a good look at Troy--he was extremely tall.

Craig T. Nelson (the dad from Poltergeist! Also, Coach): Summer of 1992--saw him in New Orleans. He was shooting a made for TV movie. I didn't get close to him, but got a few good pictures that I still have somewhere.

Liz Phair: August 2003...Okay, this one wasn't really a "chance" encounter--Marcus and I loitered outside the Vogue after her concert in Indy and had her sign our ticket stubs. I told her I liked her necklace.

Graham Greene: (my favorite!) May of 2001. I saw him in the "smoker's lounge" of the Denver airport, which was really just a bar. I sat next to him at the bar (the only available seat), completely unaware of who he was until I got a good look at his face. He was the coolest guy ever--we chatted for about 20 minutes about cats and beads, then he said he had to catch his flight and gave me his pack of cigarettes (he didn't want his wife to know he had been smoking). Before he left he signed a cocktail napkin for my mom.

The entire cast of Mystery Science Theatre in Minneapolis, at their convention in 1996. Okay, I'm the only dork impressed with that.

Robin Leach at an art opening in Las Vegas, 2003 (got close, but never talked to him).

And now Loni Anderson! Woo hoo! Random celeb sightings rock.

Friday, July 09, 2004

I had a good July 4th weekend---Michael from Indy came up to visit me. I'm grateful that he came to see me and that he drove all that way, but he kinda pissed me off (as per usual). Same old, same old. Still, always good to see someone from home.

Saw two movies The Terminal, which I liked. It was the typical Spielberg feel-good mushy stuff, but it was well done and Tom Hanks was in good form. Could have done without Catherine Zeta-Jones, though. She was a waste of space.

I saw Spiderman 2, which rocked. (Best part: Hal Sparks's elevator cameo. Love him!) I also have a huge thing for Tobey Maguire, and I don't care who knows it. I can't look at him without wanting to violate him in ten different ways. Cute, cute and cute.

Michael and I discovered a cute little diner on Grand Ave. that I hadn't even thought to go in before (it just looks like a tiny little snack shop from the outside). It's called The Uptowner, and it rocks. It's my new favorite place. I had the best breakfast burrito of my life there. Eggs, salsa, green peppers and hashbrowns rolled into a giant tortilla and covered with cheese. Mmmmmmm, cheeeeeeese......

Tuesday, June 29, 2004

I'm a little tired and pissed off today, because this morning at oh, about 2:45 or so I was roused from a sound sleep by a group of drunken fucknuts outside my window. I live on what is technically the first floor of my building, but my apartment is actually about 10 feet up from the street level because of the basement that is sort of above ground, if that makes any sense. I don't know--I'm still half asleep.

Anyhoo, when I first awoke I was a bit confused, thinking my alarm had gone off or something and it was time to get up (why else would I be awake?) I glanced at the clock and realized it was a quarter til 3:00, and that's when I heard the drunken voices outside shouting and laughing, and the sound of some dude just repeating over and over "No way, man. No fuckin' way." (Real brainiacs, this crowd). I was like, okay, who are these dickweeds and why are they parked outside my window at this hour? I stumbled out of bed to peek outside saw this group of lamers having a pow-wow on the front stoop--one of them strumming tunelessly on a fucking guitar! Cursing to myself, I started slamming all my windows shut, then flipped on the lights and began searching through the packet of papers from my apartment office. I thought surely there was a number to call for noise complaints or drunken asshole removal or something. I didn't find a damn thing in all the papers, so I called the main office number hoping there'd be info on the recorded message about who to call in situations like these. Sadly, there wasn't a damn thing--just a number for "emergency maintenence." I tossed the papers to the floor in disgust, and realized I could still hear the little fuckers with the windows closed and the fan going. I thought about calling the police, but I didn't know any number besides-- of course--911. At that point I said "fuck it," stuffed my ears with cotton balls, pulled the covers over my head and somehow managed to get back to sleep after about a half hour or so. As I was lying there, I was wishing I had a 7-foot tall African American boyfriend named Icepick I could send out there to kick the shit out of them. Or a hand grenade I could just lightly toss out the window and shut them up permanently. I'm completely unashamed of my murderous thoughts--lying there listening to these primates cackle and strum an out-of-tune guitar at 3:30a.m. would be enough to send Gandhi over the edge.

No fuckin' way, man.

Wednesday, June 23, 2004

Hey, Pat Robertson is giving you the finger! Go kick his ass!

Bossman just walked past me humming--I swear to God--a song from The Wizard Of Oz. Man, is he a dick.

So, life is going well. I'm exercising every day, I'm keeping up with my writing, I had an article published by 3am magazine, and I made some money at my bead sale over the weeked. I can't complain, but I will...

...cause Emily sucks! She sucks so hard she blows! Like a hurricane she blows! She took the TV. Bitch took the damn TV. This was about a month ago, so I guess I'm a little behind on my bitching. But unlike her, I can live without a TV. Because I, you know, read and stuff when I'm home instead of being zombified by America's Next Top Model or whatever the hell she watches. The original plan was for her to take the large TV, which I had, and let me borrow her small TV with the attached VCR until I get my own or move, whichever comes first. But, like a total douche, she reneged on the deal. When I asked her why, she said "It's my stuff--I don't have to justify my actions to you." Sadly, it's about what I've come to expect from her. She's emotionally retarded. You know what though? I don't care. She can keep the TV and shove it sideways, 'cause she sucks!

And, oh yeah--did I mention that she sucks?

Monday, June 14, 2004

I just want to go on record saying that I don't give a crap about Reagan kicking the bucket. And it has nothing to do with my political leanings, really. I just don't care. Dude was 93. That's seven years away from being 100. He lived long enough--let it go! What I'm really pissed off about, though, is that since the mail wasn't delivered on Friday, (National Day of Mourning and all), I didn't get my paycheck this weekend, which blew. I guess one could argue that it's not really the fault of whatever dildo decided to close the post office that day, or even the fault of Reagan for dying so inconveniently. It's my own damn fault for not getting Direct Deposit like a sane person, in which case the late delivery of my paycheck would have been a moot point. But it's so much easier to blame other people--especially dead ones. A good life strategy, I think.

Speaking of dead people (or "dead" people), I learned something new today. Remember the novel Go Ask Alice? It was the real life "diary" of some chick from the sixties who smoked a joint, fell in with the wrong crowd, then quickly became a junkie (heroin, 'ludes, and probably some LSD, since it was, y'know, the sixties) ran away, sold herself to dirty hippie dudes for drugs and/or cash, lived on the street, and died of an overdose of some sort. Anyhoo, throughout her fall from grace she apparently kept this diary detailing every minute detail (even, according to the sidenotes, scribbling down entries on paper bags, scraps of paper, etc.) I read this book when I was about eleven or so. I remember the tagline on the front cover: "You can't ask Alice anything anymore..." (Ooooh, eerie!) Well, it turns out that the book was/is totally fake! It was penned by a ghostwriter and intended as a cautionary tale for any impressionable young kids who may have been contemplating smoking a joint or staying out past curfew. The book's bogus-ness (hey, I just invented a word!) has probably been common knowledge for quite some time, but I'm just now finding out about it. And all this time I thought it was real. I feel so used.

Thursday, June 10, 2004

I'm having a little too much fun with this site...

It totally reminds me of that scene in the '80s classic Better Off Dead when John Cusack's father sits him down for a heart-to-heart and he's trying to use an outdated book of slang to relate to him. "Lane, you are really--" (glances at book)--"bringing me over, man." Apparently this site is for youth ministers, teachers, parents, etc. who want to be clued in on the meanings of teen lingo. I'm sure it's a useful tool for the intended audience, but for the rest of us smart-asses, it's just good snarky fun. Here is the "disclaimer":

This dictionary isn't so you can try to talk like someone you're not. But it is a good reference for those who are seeking to understand a piece of youth culture today. These words are used differently by various teens around the world. Some of these words may have different meaning for teens in one area than another. But overall, this list contains words actively used by mainstream teens today. You will not find many "old school" or outdated terms such as "bad" or "radical."

You mean those crazy kids today don't say "bad" or "radical" anymore? Then again, neither did I. Guess I just wasn't "cool" back in my day.

More highlights from the definitions (see my comments in italics):

1. ask. "Let me ax you somtin!"

1. n. Someone who flaunts money. "Check out that baller over there . . . let's jack his car!"
(yes, this is, in fact, the first thing I think when I see a "baller").

for sheezy
1. (derived from "for sure") A statement of agreement. "Are you sure you want to go to ice cream?" "For sheezy!"
(I'm totally going to use this next time someone in the office asks me to lunch).

1. alright. A little above mediocre. "Do you like that youth pastor?" Yea, he's M&M."
Or, in the case of rapper Eminem, it can also mean--how you say?--"sucks."

1. A very foul term for someone’s mother that is very attractive. The word is an acronym for a “Mother that I’d Like to Fu**”
See also: American Pie

1. Wide wheels, sometimes with white walls.
There's a Madonna joke in there somewhere. If not, there should be.

Okay, I'm done now.

Tuesday, June 01, 2004

Holy shit, no posts for two weeks? What the hell is wrong with me? I have no excuses, other than that I've been a bit preoccupied with my jewelry and other assorted artsy shit lately (I'm in another craft sale this week). My latest creation (and addiction) are duct tape purses. I've made two and I'm working on another. Seriously. Duct tape comes in different colors now (red, black, white, etc.) and you can make really cool shit out of it (the finished product comes out looking like vinyl). One duct tape manufacturer holds a contest for the best prom dress made out of duct tape, which, in red or black (maybe even white?) would totally rock. You'd definitely have to line that sucker with some kind of fabric, though, because unless you have nipples of steel, the chafage (is that a word?) would kill you. I'd totally wear a duct tape prom dress. Too bad I'm not in high school. I should start trolling, like, shopping malls and Taco Bells for cute high school boys so that next year I can be someone's 31-year-old prom date and wear a bad-ass duct tape prom dress. Come to think of it though, it'd probably be pretty hard to find a high school kid cool enough to appreciate a duct tape prom dress. He'd have to be as perverted as I am, and that's saying something.

Can I just talk about my cats for a sec? They rock. I woke up yesterday morning to find Riley (fluffy Maine Coon) and Shelby (little gray and white kitty) all curled up together; Riley was lying behind Shelby, totally spooning her. It was so cute I nearly pissed myself with delight. I love my cats. In fact, I am dangerously obsessed with them. I'll probably be committed for it one day (but at least I'll have a lot of time to make my duct tape purses!) Seriously, though. I make up nicknames for my cats, I sing to them, and I hold lengthy one-sided conversations with them. Skeptical? Here are some nicknames I've come up with for Riley (just a few): Mr. Cat, H.R. Fluff n' Puff, Big Guy, Big Boy, Rile Cat, Big Rile, Rile Dawg, Fluff Daddy, Mr. Big Fluff, and holy shit I need serious professional help. I've also walked around my apartment singing (to the tune of Christina Auguilera's What a Skank Wants): "What a cat wants, what a cat needs, whatever keeps you purring sets me free..." I don't know what's scarier--the fact that I sing bad pop songs to my cats, or the fact that I'm freely admitting it, right here in front of God and everyone. I would blame the copious amounts of marijuana I've been inhaling over the past year, but I've always been like this about my cats. They just have that effect on me.

Okay, here are some obscure movies that you need to check out:

New Waterford Girl Good movie, although it's a bit slow. It's really funny and well-acted, if you can get past the leisurely pacing. Andrew McCarthy is in it, playing a high school English teacher. Since the story is set in the 70's, however, his character sports some unfortunate-bordering-on-pork-choppy sideburns, but he's still cute.

Blue Car Another coming-of-age, losing your virginity/innocence, blahblahblah movie, but a good one. It's much "heavier" than New Waterford Girl, though, and a bit on the depressing side. If you rent the DVD, be sure to watch the director's commentary.

Lost and Delirious Sigh. Love this one. It's about lesbians, it's set in a boarding school, and the three lead actresses are extremely cute...especially Piper Perabo. She does such an amazing job in this movie, it's hard to believe she was the same chick skankin' it up in a big ol' turd of a flick like Coyote Ugly. Oh, and my buddy Graham Greene is in it! If you know me and I've never bored you with the story about the time I met him at the Denver airport a few years back, email me and I'll give you the full scoop.

That is all!

Tuesday, May 18, 2004

The word for the day...decoupage! I've spent most of the day glued (ha) to craftster looking for ideas for new stuff to make. I am literally salivating over the decoupage tables (my favorite is the second one pictured), as well as the vinyl record clocks, the microbead mosaics, the recycled Dr. Suess journals, the comic book art--it's all too much for me. I'm hyperventilating. I'm selling at a craft fair this weekend and in addition to my jewelry I am going to try my hand at making some funky little bubble magnets and a few coaster sets and see who bites.

I've been buying so many supplies for this weekend (while still managing to keep my costs down, thankfully) that I'm now firmly ensconced in Shopping Mode. I took some stuff to the consignment store today and while I was there I had to physically restrain myself from buying the coolest little powder blue bowling ball bag/purse I've ever laid eyes on. The cost? Five dollars. The amount of money in my pocket? Five dollars. Channeling the will power to overcome my handbag addiction? Priceless.

Monday, May 17, 2004

Okay, here's my useless website for the day--(this won't be a regular feature or anything, so don't get excited)...and the winner is: It's both hilarious and utterly nonsensical, which is what I appreciate most in a useless website. It reminds me of the Bold Type column that ran in the '80s music mag Star Hits (which became Smash Hits, after they combined with their British counterpart. Smash Hits, incidentally, was the magazine started by Neil Tennant of The Pet Shop Boys, back in the days before he had a music career. Jeez, I'm babbling...) Anyhoo, the Bold Type column was funny. Bold Type was the pseudonym of the columnist who gave "advice" to readers (or snarky editors posing as readers) who wrote in with truly pointless questions. One that I remember was a letter (supposedly) sent in by a reader who wanted B.T. to address the eerie resemblance between Peter Cetera (former lead singer of Chicago and mid-80's lite rock mainstay) and Herman Munster from, y'know, The Munsters. In response, B.T. ran pictures of Herman and Peter, with the captions under the photos identifying Peter as Herman and Herman as Peter. I laughed my thirteen-year-old ass off at that one.

Maybe you had to be there.

Thursday, May 06, 2004

Dude, I need to do better than these once-a-week posts. I'll work on that. Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. (That was dumb, but I just felt that a Ferris Bueller quote was appropo. I'll try to throw in those John Hughes references whenever possible).

Willie Nelson's younger brother is in the office today. He probably isn't his brother, I'm kidding of course, but some wiry dude with craggly features, strawberry blond hair and a big long braid is here and he won't leave me alone. He needs to talk to someone in the training class. It involves a fax that he sent and some equipment that he needs to get back from the instructor. He keeps asking me exactly when the training class will be out and if the guy got the fax and what he's doing about the fax and a bunch of other stuff that I will never care about. It is sort of refreshing to hear a southern accent, though. I never thought I'd say that, but I'm getting a bit tired of "the Minnesota O" or whatever they call the strange Scandanavian brogue everyone seems to be afflicted with in this fair state.

I shouldn't talk about this, since I tend to be annoyingly superstitious and I don't want to jinx it, but here goes anyway: I got a call today from a bona fide arts organization that I sent a cold cover letter and resume to back in February. They have a position open that (I think) they want me to interview for. I had a short, bullshit phone interview today, (which I was totally unprepared for), but I did my best and when the lady said that she'd "definitely" be calling me back (presumably for a real interview?) I don't think she was jerking my chain. So anyway, yay! She did ask me if I plan to settle in the Twin Cities long-term (at this point, no) but of course I said yes. (Lying to a potential employer. Isn't that illegal?) I'm such a renegade.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

Okay, I read a little blurb on msn today naming some of Blender magazine's Top 50 Worst Songs of All Time. It sort of inspired me, but no way I'm going to come up with 50 (I don't want to put that much effort into this), so here goes my list:

My Top, Uh, I Dunno--14 Suckiest Songs

14. The Bangles -- Walk Like An Egyptian Hated! This! Song!

13. Puff Daddy/P. Diddy/Whatever -- Every Breath You Take (remake) Thanks for shitting all over a good song, dumbass. He recorded it as a tribute to his friend, the fat rapper who bought the farm--yeah, that was sad and all, but if Puffy was going to capitalize on the poor guy's death anyway, couldn't he have just written his own damn song? What a tool.

12. Eminem -- Lose Yourself The misogynistic homophobe trying to get all deep and inspirational on us. Fuck off, Eminem.

11. Crash Test Dummies -- Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmm I didn't smoke enough weed in the early 90's for this song to sound cool. But I tried. Really, I did.

10. Toni Basil -- Mickey Dammit, why is this piece of shit song considered a classic? It sucked then, it sucks now, it will continue to suck forevermore.

9. Benny Mardones -- Into the Night Otherwise known as The Child Molester Song, it begins "She's just sixteen years old, leave her alone they say." If you don't remember this one, consider yourself lucky.

8. Color Me Badd -- I Wanna Sex You Up My sister liked this song. I still make fun of her for it.

7. Jennifer Lopez -- Jenny From the Block She's an easy target, but that doesn't mean that I can't snark on her. I mean, come on..."Don't be fooled by the rocks that I got, I'm still, I'm still Jenny from the block"(!) If you want a good laugh, check out out her lyrics. Any of them.

6. Christina Aguilera -- Anything she fucking records I hate it when people say "But at least she can sing!" You know what? So can my dad. But he doesn't prance around with fugly hair extensions and his butt crack hanging out.

5. Jewel -- Intuition This was supposed to be a joke, right?

4. Guns n' Roses -- Sweet Child of Mine I know he's somewhat of a sacred cow in heavy metal circles, but I think it's high time that people face up to the fact that Axl Rose sucks. I mean, his voice is worse than that guy from the Scorpions. I'd rather be woken up by two cats doing the nasty outside my window at 4am than to hear W. Axl "sing" this one ever again. Which is why I don't listen to classic rock stations.

3. Kid Rock -- Bawitdaba Pardon?

2. New Kids on the Block/N'Sync/Backstreet Boys/Yadayadayada -- Hangin' Tough/Bye Bye Bye/The Shape of My Heart/Whateverwhatever First of all, NKOTB? Hilarious. Maybe I shouldn't even pick on them, because they went away and never came back. So thank you, Donny, Marky, Biff, etc. Second of all, N'Sync? I've read several music critics actually singing their praises, which proves that 1.) music critics are stoopid, 2.) the critics in question are twenty years old, and 3.) have got to be severely doped up on a cocktail of Ritalin, crack cocaine and Nyquil. Thirdly, that Backstreet Boys song? Sounds like something rejected by Richard Marx.

1. Hit Me One More Time -- Britney Spears Oh Britney, don't tempt me.

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Dude, WTF? Where have I been? What happened?

I was on a journey. A journey not of sight and sound, but of mind. Ironic, because my mind is definitely not sound. Ignore me, I'll be okay in a bit.

I just took this cool quiz and found out that I'm a 1970's geek! It's due to my hippie leanings and concern for the environment. Here is my official geek stamp:

I'm A 1970s Geek
You've decided for the world that it's time for a change. JOIN THE GEEK REVOLUTION!
find your geek decade at

Cool, huh?

Okay, I'll update tomorrow, and I promise to be less weird.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

Here are some prints from, which pretty much sum up my mood today (and they make me laugh)...








Okay, I'm done for a while.

Sunday, April 04, 2004

Angela and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Movie

Woah. I just (voluntarily) watched the worst movie ever made. And keep in mind that I've seen Modern Girls, Under the Cherry Moon, Lady Beware, From Justin To Kelly, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Mr. Deeds, and Coyote Ugly (those last two were accidental). But nothing compares to the horror that I witnessed today. It was hideous. Ghastly. Appalling. Deplorable. Shit, was it bad. I'm talking about Liquid Sky.

My friend Mike warned me about this movie. He described the plot. I thought it sounded hilarious, and decided that I had to see it. I looked all over, and finally found a copy at the St. Paul Library. I wish fate had been kinder, and kept it out of my reach. Here is a synopsis of this "film," which I've copied from another site since my brain hurts too much to attempt to describe its "plot." I've bolded the gist of it, in case you're too afraid to read the whole thing. Believe me, I'd understand.

Few movies are specifically tailored for appeal to those on controlled substances, here's one film though. Heralded as a great work in science fiction and so on... ...well, my ass. There is no damn way this thing sits alongside Alien, Bladerunner, or The Thing. What you have is a great number of lifeless and disturbed people having sex with Margaret then dying. Aliens come to Earth looking for heroin but find that the chemicals produced by human brains during orgasm are even better. So they park their flying saucer, it's about two feet wide, on top of Margaret's apartment and begin killing everyone who has sex with her. Then we have a barely understandable German scientist who is studying the aliens, at least he describes the plot to us. Throw in a crazy girlfriend and a few other weirdos to fill gaps. Margaret finally goes completely bonkers, it's difficult to find that special someone when everybody you sleep with dies, and gets vaporized. In addition, her face is always covered with smudged makeup, probably to disguise that the actress played Jimmy as well. My main problem with this movie wasn't that there are aliens. Nor that these aliens were after heroin or human brains. You just have all these dysfunctional relationships between the characters and nobody ever goes postal. Even talking to most of these people would be like getting beaten in the head with a sock full of quarters.

...Okay, that's putting it mildly. This movie hurts. Seriously. It caused me pain. And I think it's fair to say that I'm no amateur when it comes to bad movies. I've seen a lot. And this is the worst of the worst. Bottom of the shitheap.

Here are some random thoughts and lines of dialogue that I managed to scribble down while viewing this monstrosity. Enjoy.

(The following is a dialogue between Jimmy, played by Anne Carlisle, and Margaret, played by Anne Carlisle. No, that's not a typo. Same actress. Male and female roles. I shit you not).
Jimmy (taunting Margaret): One day the Chickenwoman had chicks and everybody stepped on 'em, because they were so ugly. Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Such a sweet boy, Jimmy.
Jimmy: Cluck, cluck.
Margaret: Don't make me hate you, Jimmy!

Here's more, because I feel the need to share my pain.

Margaret (after screwing Jimmy to death in front of a crowd of people): I killed him.
Random on-looker #1: Where's the body?
Random on-looker #2: Somebody go look on the roof!
Random on-looker #3: If we think clearly, this can all be explained.

Same scene--
Adrian: I'll bet you $300 I can fuck Margaret and not die!

I have to have a mild rant here about the chick who plays Adrian (Margaret's lesbian lover). I hate her. She wears an eye/sleep mask thingie on her forehead through most of the movie. I don't know why. But that's not why I hate her. She is easily the worst actor of the entire lot (and believe me, that's saying something). Every time she opened her mouth to speak I wanted to give up and switch off the movie (and that's also saying something). She sucks so hard she blows. Like a hurricane. Christ Almighty, she's bad. I really, really wanted to see her die. Thankfully, she does when she has sex with Margaret (in front of the same crowd of on-lookers). She mounts Margaret, fakes an orgasm, then turns into a wad of tinfoil and vanishes. It's the only high point of the movie.

And then there's the music. Yes, Mike warned me about the music. The music is wretched, but it pales in comparison to the acting. And the hair. And the clothes. And the makeup. And the sets. And the dancing. Yes, there is dancing. And it made my eyes bleed. I'll put it this way...ever seen the video for Blondie's "Dreaming"? Remember the extras dancing on the sidelines? Worse than that. Much, much worse.

The only part of Liquid Sky that made me laugh were the quotes from critics on the video box. Here are some of them:

"A triumph of originality!" --The Washington Post

"Smash of the year!" --Rolling Stone

"...perversely beautiful!" --New York Magazine

Okay, I can buy that quote from Rolling Stone, a publication that I used to respect before it began slapping Britney Spears on its cover every other week. But the other ones? Those critics (if they indeed wrote that), should be rounded up and shot.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, this movie sucks.