Dude, Where's My Car?

Yesterday morning I overslept and was running late to work--finally setting foot outside my apartment at around 7:40 am (which means no hope of getting there by 8:00 since the job is way out in the 'burbs). So I make it to the street and it's cold, pouring rain, and barely light outside (ugh). As I'm shivering on the sidewalk, holding my dry cleaning over my head (forgot my umbrella, natch), I look up and down the street and realize that I have no idea where I parked my car the night before. And it's not like I'd been drinking, I was stone cold sober when I drove home from my writer's group Tuesday night. I just don't remember actually parking the car.

A few words of explanation: my neighboorhood is fairly trendy and there are quite a few coffee shops, bars, restaurants, and other establishments in the immediate area that are open late into the evening. So basically, trying to find a parking space anywhere within a four-block radius of my building after 7pm is damn near impossible. Therefore, I never get to park in the same place twice, and I'm used to vulturing for parking spaces and hiking the few blocks back to my apartment if I come home at night. I guess I've grown so used to this that I didn't even happen to notice where I'd parked when I got home the night before.

So, I took a guess and headed down the next block to see if I could find my car. I walked about half a block, squinted down the next street, and saw...

Nada.

I stood forlornly in the middle of the street and contemplated my situation. My hose and high heels were completely soaked from the rain, 8:00 was nigh and there was no car in sight. That's when I made an executive decision.

I wouldn't make it to work that day.

Turning on my heel, I quickly splashed through the puddles back to my building. I unlocked my door, threw down my stuff, and peeled off my wet clothes. Settling down between the sheets, I placed a call to the temp agency, and in my best sick voice rolled out the old "food poisoning" standby. I hung up the phone, pulled the covers over my head, and was asleep again within minutes.

It was a good day.

I'm at work right now, and 5:00 can't come fast enough. In an effort to speed up the time and combat my rapidly encroaching boredom, I thought a list would be apropo....

Things I'd Rather Be Doing (in no particular order)...

• Riding my bike down Summit Ave.
• Finishing the earrings I started last week
• Making a purse with colored duct tape
• Sitting in the sun
• Eating Pad Thai noodles from that place on Selby
• Watching Sesame Street with my nephew
• Working on my book
• Drafting query letters
• Writing the article that's due on the 30th
• Shopping at Dabble
• Reading Another Bullshit Night In Suck City, (which is now overdue because I haven't had time to finish reading it, due to the thirty-seven hours I've spent this week in an office)
• Reading The Monk Downstairs, another book I haven't had the time to finish

Jeez, it's still only 4:30? The clock hates me.

Wow, five posts this whole summer. But I have a good reason.

While it may seem like I've been slacking ridiculously, my lack of posts was actually due to my lack of a job and limited internet access. The trade off, though, is that I got to spend a glorious summer working on my writing. For three and a half months. Nothing but writing and doing my own projects. No psychotic bosses. No copier jams. No weekly bullshit staff meetings. This summer was the most awesome awesome that ever awesomed.

And now, I'm back.

Yes, I've been forced by my dwindling funds to take a temp job, so here I now sit in a cubicle in an office building decorated primarily in shades of brown, light brown, tan, beige and puke green. I pry my ass out of bed in the morning, despite the screams of protest emanating from every fiber of my being, and drive seventeen miles out to the burbs for a job in a very brown sales office. But, it's only temporary--as I must keep reminding myself.

This too shall pass.
Every cloud has a silver lining.
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
A stitch in time saves nine.
My heart will go on.

Okay, now. So I'm still the same starving artist/writer as before (and oh yeah, while I'm at it-- BUY MY STUFF!) I'm just spending my weekdays breathing recycled office air, attempting to simultaneously look busy and stay awake.

But, as I said, it's only temporary.

Today feels like a list day. Whaddya think? I just watched the tape of the American Film Institute's 100 Best Movie Quotes, so here are mine...

Favorite movie quotes (in no particular order):

• "He doesn't need pussy. He needs dick. Big, hard, dick!"
• "I'm not blowing you man, and that's final."
• "Now missy, we're just worried about any young man who comes a courtin'. Is he a Christian?" (these are all from Threesome, one of the coolest movies ever. If you haven't seen it, do so now. Otherwise, your life has no meaning).

More favorite movie quotes

• "Dignity. Always dignity." -- Singin' in the Rain
• "David--that's nice, that's a Biblical name. What does he call you, Bathsheba?" --Annie Hall
• "Everybody's too stupid!" -- Ghost World
• "Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. Do I look like Mother Teresa?" --Heathers
• "I don't think he's gonna apologize." --Thelma and Louise
• "Bite the big one, junior." --Ferris Bueller's Day Off
• "Don't be so mature." --Manhattan
• "That's a big chicken." --Sleeper
• "He's an asshole. Anyone with a haircut like that, you know he's an asshole." --Weird Science
• "If he's The Ugly Guy, why are you wearing the sexy top?" --Walking and Talking

Of course, now that I'm trying to remember all my favorites quotes, my mind's gone blank. Feel free to post your own favorites in the comments. I won't make fun of them. Promise.

The stars at night are big and bright...

Lindsay Lohan is in the Twin Cities filming the Prairie Home Companion movie (she's been seen out shopping at vintage stores in Minneapolis). And last week I saw something random in the People and Places section of the Pioneer Press (or the Star Tribune, or the other one--there's like 50 daily publications here and I can't keep them straight). The short blurb mentioned that John C. Reilly, Maya Rudolph and some dude were spotted during July 4th weekend eating on the patio of La Grolla--an Italian restaurant that's within crawling distance from my apartment (literally). Now, Maya Rudolph I couldn't give a crap about (although she did interview Amy Sedaris for BUST magazine, which was cool), but I'd have died to meet John C. Reilly. Not that he's hot or anything, he's rather odd-looking. Most people probably remember him as Renee Zellweger's husband in Chicago, but the most awesome-est John C. Reilly movie is, of course, Boogie Nights, one of my favorite films in the whole history of the whole history. Dude, he was Reed Rothchild, a.k.a Chest Rockwell!!! I can't believe he was at La Grolla.

If I'd have happened by, I totally would have embarassed myself by staring like an idiot. I also would have tried to come up with some Boogie Nights quotes, thus embarassing myself further, but I'm not sure I'd have been able to stop myself. Like, "People say I look like Han Solo," or "That's not an MP, that's a YP--your problem!" Or "You're not the king of Dirk!"

Such a cool movie.

I spent 4th of July weekend with friends in La Crosse, which was awesome. Tons of food, booze, and jet skis! The perfect midwestern summer holiday.

The house I stayed in had cable, which meant that I got to catch up on the current season of The Surreal Life on VH-1. This time it's Mini-Me from Austin Powers, some male model from the Old Navy commercials, some chick who won America's Next Top Model (and if she really is America's Next Top Model, what is she doing on The Surreal Life, anyhoo?), some scary drag queen-looking wrestler chick named China Doll, Jane Wiedlin from the Go-Go's (yeah!), Da Brat (a hip-hop star that I've never heard of, natch), and the guy who played Peter Brady--who was and still is frickin' HOT (He is! Shut up!)

Here's this season in a nutshell: Mini-Me and the Male Model (great band name, by the way) have become tight; China Doll is a scary-ass drunk; and Top Model Chick is in love with Peter Brady (who wouldn't be?). That's pretty much it, as far as I can see. Da Brat doesn't do much of anything except threaten people with bodily harm if they piss her off, and Jane Wiedlin sits around making wry observations and sipping martinis. If I were there, (and this is the one season where I'd totally love to be), I'd be hanging with Jane, drinking martinis and pumping her for dirt on Belinda Carlisle and battling the Top Model Chick for the affections of Peter Brady. I could totally handle the humiliation of being on the show just for those opportunities. I guess I'd have to do something first like become a drunk wrestler or star on a failed TV series, but truthfully I'd rather just skip all that and go straight to the Surreal Life. That show rocks!

You say it's your birthday....

Today is the birthday of Brian, a guy I dated for about six or seven months in 2001, before I dumped him for being an ass. He ended up moving to Birmingham, AL to work on Blackhawk helicoptors or some such shit. The last time I saw him was Halloween 2002 when he was in Indy visiting friends. We went to see Johnny Socko at the Patio and then, um, some things might have happened after that, but I don't remember because I was really quite drunk at the time and I was seeing someone else by then, and if anything did happen it probably wasn't all that great anyway (sorry Brian).

The point of my post is this: I have a freakish talent for remembering birthdays. I somehow am able to recall birthdays of people that I haven't seen in years, and will probably never see again. For instance, my friend Heather from third grade--August 2. My first boyfriend--June 30. My second grade teacher (we celebrated her birthday in class)--November 15. See? I can't figure out why the hell useless shit like this lodges itself in my brain, taking up space that could be used for more important matters like where I put my damn car keys, or Einstein's Theory of Relativity, or any amount of knowledge that could have helped me out at some point. Imagine what an insane genius I'd be if I was able to use all that excess memory for something other than storing birthdates of people I don't know anymore! It's a scary thought.

Here are some more examples:

Simon Le Bon--October 27

Nick Rhodes--June 8

Andy Taylor--February 16

John Taylor--June 20

Roger Taylor--April 28

Maybe I should look into Scientology. Aren't they all about harnessing the power of your mind or whatever? Seriously, I don't know--that's why I'm asking. Perhaps Tom Cruise would be willing to come over and school me. However, I have a sneaking feeling that as soon as he started in with that "Take vitamins instead of Paxil!" bullshit I'd have to beat him senseless. I can't fucking believe he was going off about how Brooke Shields should have taken vitamins to cure her post-partum depression (she recently wrote a book about it, apparently). Anti-depressants? Nah--just pop a couple Centrum, that'll do ya. Christ, he really needs a good shoe in the ass. And I'm totally kidding about looking into Scientology. I have enough misgivings about "real" religions--no way in hell am I buying into some spaceship-worshipping alien shit.

Where was I? Oh yeah--happy birthday, Brian. I hope you totally don't know about my blog--I wouldn't want you to read the shit I wrote about you.

Deep Throat Revealed!

Dude, don't they know that Deep Throat was Kirsten Dunst and that Dawson's Creek chick? (Great flick by the way). "Oh my God! French fries, french fries..."

Okay, this pisses me off severely.

First of all, thanks CBS, Mark Burnett, et. al. for crapping all over the memory of Michael Hutchence. Second, while I understand that the other members of the group want to move on and continue making music as INXS and the whole show-must-go-on thing--(it's not their fault that the guy killed himself, after all)--they're really ripping off their fans by turning this into an American Idol-type thing. I mean, WTF? Like there are not plenty of talented and worthy Australian vocalists who would have given their left nut to join INXS without selling their souls to "compete" in some degrading publicity-stunt to line the pockets of some network execs. And what about the vocalists that the band was courting? What happened to the guy from Midnight Oil? I mean, he's an Aussie, he's a songwriter, he has stage presence, and he can sing (sort of). Okay, he doesn't have the awesome Michael Hutchence hair, but really, who does?

According to this '80s nostalgia test, this is me:

Johnny #5 You scored 100 nostalgia points!

You cling and clang, but get things done. Things may not always work out, and hey, you don't always fit in. But when you're just so cute and charming, everyone still loves ya! Perhaps you may surprise us all with an act of heroism when we least suspect it.

Source: The '80s movie quiz for children of the '80s

Today, since I don't have time to write anything original (pesky job duties getting in the way), I'll just paste something in that was recently emailed to me. My friend Jason sent me these--I don't know if these were works that were actually published or just culled from the internet. At any rate, they are all fabulously bad. My favorite is the gay daredevil who "eats" danger for breakfast. Yeah!

He heard a bang, well not really a bang but more of a crash with metallic overtones of platinum-encrusted steel alloys, hammering against unyielding iron and iridium plates; or maybe it was the clash of huge nickel-zinc rods hitting molybdenum fused sheets of tantalum, then he felt a stab of pain and heard another bang, and wished, instead of using his extensive metallurgy skills to try and analyze the sound, he would have run like hell when he first saw the gun pointed at him.

The day was packing heat and cracking wise as the scorching sun torched the hot dry Santa Anas like fry on rice, crispy with a snap, crackle and pop, and poured into the surreal bowl of the Los Angeles Basin as the red winds rattled every dwelling from Bay City bungalow to Bel Air chateau like a china shop in a bullring, the whole stinking, teeming tinderbox as combustible as a drill sergeant at clown college, as unsettling as corn on the cob rationing at an Iowa Society picnic.

As Reynoldo lit the votive candle at the grotto for San Jose de los Platanos and prayed for the healthy delivery of his first child, he heard a disembodied voice say, "Your daughter will be 17 inches long," to which Reynoldo replied, "do you know the weight, too, San Jose?

She was so delicate that her voice was a mere whisper and her hair drooped in thinly clumped strands around her pale face with skin as milky as a china plate painted the starkest white glaze and fired in a kiln over 940 degrees Fahrenheit.

The first time a boy stuck his tongue in her mouth, Jenny surrendered completely to the invigorating intermingling of their spit -- not the Polidential spit of old age, nor the salivary excretions of middle-age, with its tart hints of gingivitis even among those who floss daily, but the invigorating drool of youth--spittle that dazzled the uninitiated with its exquisite hints of promise, innocence, and bygone braces.

After putting down her hometown newspaper from a small community in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan (which makes one wonder why it is the Upper Peninsula of Michigan since no part of their land touches the lower portion of the state and in actuality they are connected to Wisconsin which makes you think they should be the Upper Peninsula of Wisconsin but that is to be discussed another day), Linda needed to find a sympathy card to send to the family of someone she saw in the obituaries.

Maynard Fimble was told that "you can't compare apples and oranges," but, he thought, they are both eatable, grow on trees, are about the same size, are good for you, have a peel, come in many varieties, and are approximately round in shape, thus, to his horror and guilt, he realized that he was comparing them and wondered what punishment awaited him and on whose order.

Keith's popularity as the first openly gay daredevil was rising quickly; in fact, it was said he ate danger for breakfast, followed by a light brunch of lemon scones, quiche, and the occasional Mimosa, and then he was back to eating danger.

It was a dark and stormy night, not so dark that one couldn't see a hungry Wallaby in a patch of wild gooseberries at fifty paces, nor stormy enough that a severe weather watch had been issued by the National Weather Services Department, but a dark and stormy night nevertheless.

Their eyes met across the crowded room and Morag smiled the smile of a single, endearingly clumsy thirtysomething female with an unfulfilling career, a gay best friend, a weakness for chocolate, and a talent for accessorizing who had found Mr. Right but needed to break-up and have fantastic make-up sex with him a couple of times before finally realizing he was the one.

Jane Fonda, why hast thou forsaken us?

So much for her status as a feminist icon. Not to be ironically sexist about the whole thing, but she was married to Ted Turner, so this can't be about needing the money. Even more depressing than the fact that she's starring in a generic Jennifer Lopez komedy (is there any other kind?) is the revelation that Meet the Fockers was the highest grossing comedy of all time. That can't be right, can it? Holy Christ, it's the End Times.

More L Word Observations...

Jenny: I'm starting to like her. She's definitely neurotic (bordering on batshit crazy), and that's made her more likeable IMHO. I also like how she's grown a spine since last season and she's not acting like a complete doormat. I LOVED how she mindfucked Shane and Carmen on the cruise. That totally rocked. And last night she was pretty cool too, although I'm sensing some weird vibes between her and Camera Boy. She better not do him. (While I'm at it, what's the deal with him stripping naked and yet not showing his pee wee? If you're gonna get him naked, show some dick. Not that I'm dying to see what he has to offer; it's just the principal of the thing). And in the beginning of last night's ep when she was cutting up pictures and muttering in Hebrew, I actually knew what she was saying, which was a little scary (I've been at this job too long) but I was able to impress everyone with my knowlege. I love it when I have the opportunity to appear smart. Doesn't happen too often, y'all.

Shane: Her hair still looks like she stuck her head in a lawnmower. Grow that shit out, girl. Also, I'm not liking this whole "softer side of Shane" theme that they're exploring this season. She was more fun when she didn't give a rat's ass. And of all the people for her to "fall" for, why Carmen? Yeah, she's pretty, but she has no discernible personality and she's incredibly lame. I've also noticed that she seems to be the only deejay in Los Angeles, because wherever the group turns up (nightclub, bachlorette party, art gallery opening, whatever) Carmen is the deejay. That's just lazy writing.

Helena: Jesus, make her go away.

Alice: She gets more awesome with every episode. Definitely the best actress of the bunch.

Dana: She's okay--not as cool as Alice. I'm having an easier time buying them as a couple, though.

Bette: They haven't given her much to do lately. She needs to get over her daddy issues.

Kit: I don't understand what she is doing on the show. Her character serves no purpose. None. Her storylines go absolutely nowhere, and she's boring as hell.

Carmen: She sucks (see above).

Tina: She's cool. Also a character who has developed more this season.

I can't believe the season is almost over already! There have been a lot of cast changes, but not a lot has happened (compared to Season 1). The sucky part is, after May 15 I have to wait til next Feb. for new episodes, which blows.

See end of article for my thoughts....

I stumbled across this "gem" today on msn. I can't believe this kind of horseshit is still being offered up as "sensible advice" for unmarried people. While some of it is just everyday common sense stuff that I'll readily agree with--yes, changing your sheets regularly is good, and it's nice for everyone if we keep the amount of time spent in the shower to under 45 minutes (water conservation, anyone?) some of these other "relationship-defying quirks" (ugh) that this Bob Strauss asshat has helpfully tagged for us single folk like "aimless whistling" (!) don't even make sense. I think the adjective he was grasping for here was "incessant", but what do I know? Anyway, read this if you think you have the stomach for it, and I'll be back later when I have more time to organize a worthy response. In the meantime, feel free to post your comments. I'm hoping that I'm not the only one who finds this article inane and offensive.

7 habits you need to break
By Bob Strauss

If you've been living alone for the past few years, odds are you've developed some habits that just might (to phrase it politely) strike the new guy or gal in your life as somewhat strange. Changing deeply entrenched behavior takes time and effort, so even if you're convinced the polar ice caps will melt before you meet someone, fall in love, get married and move in together, you might want to start the process by identifying these relationship-defying quirks:

45-minute showers: There's nothing like steaming up the entire bathroom on a chilly spring morning-except, that is, when there's someone outside waiting to do his or her business. If you're a guy, you can kiss these ablutionary marathons goodbye — and if you're a gal, well, you'll have to cut them back to half an hour, tops.
Spoiled pets: Strict disciplinarian that you are, you're perfectly fine with Bonkers the dog snarfing your Wheaties in the morning, and it's just so cute when Cleavis the cat curls up in the kitchen sink for a nap. Even if he's a pet lover, your boyfriend will be horrified. Show the beasts who's boss — if nothing else, it'll be good practice for your love life.
"Casual Sunday" Dragging yourself out of bed at 2 PM, trudging around the house all afternoon in your bathrobe, brushing your teeth over the six o'clock news and only taking a shower after dinner — unless your new beau is as laid-back (read: as big a slob) as you are, all that will soon be as extinct as the dust bunnies under your bed.
All TV, all the time: When you've been alone for a while, the TV can seem almost like a live-in companion — you may not even notice its intrusive blare 24 hours a day. Your real live-in companion, however, is likely to take heed. Be sure to turn the tube off occasionally, lest he put an axe through it first.
Pretzels in bed: As long as no one's watching, that queen-size mattress might as well be an enormous dinner table (guys are especially partial to this habit — it has something to do with getting yelled at by mom). Keep it to the kitchen, thank you, and while we're on the subject, try to clean your sheets once every few months, too. Aimless whistling: This is an especially insidious habit, because most itinerant whistlers aren't even aware what they're doing — until, that is, they notice the people around them desperately trying to claw open windows and jump out. On the other hand, if your new squeeze is an incorrigible hummer, the two of you just might be made for each other.
Lack of silverware: This one's especially for the men — After a certain age, a guy resigns himself to the fact that he doesn't need full dining-room service for four — one or two plates, an enormous bowl, and a knife and spork will do just fine (as well as make washing dishes a less onerous task). If you suspect a romance is in your future, invest in table settings for at least two. And if you think it'll be a really serious romance, go crazy and buy three or four.

Gee, good thing there are people out there like Bob Strauss to explain to me why I can't "catch a man." I especially like how he makes sure to put everything in the socially acceptable order, "before you meet someone, fall in love, get married and move in together," like that's the way it's always done. Maybe I'm just being needlessly nitpicky (no!), but how old is this Bob Strauss anyway? Has he been "out there" in the trenches since the Depression? Because I take umbrage with a 75-year-old freelance writer dispensing dating advice to us young whippersnappers. Seems sort of like a nun who wants to teach you how to give better handjobs. Even if this dude is some kind of "expert," I'd question the validity of anyone who claims to be an expert on dating and relationships, no matter what their credentials are. Trust me, when it comes to relationships--nobody has a fucking clue. Not women, not men, not even Dr. Phil and Oprah. That goes for both gay and hetero pairings, conventional marriages, one-night stands, cybersex partners, cellmates, anonymous encounters through a hole in the wall--everything. Whether or not you end up finding "the right one" for any of the aforementioned scenarios is a matter of dumb, random luck and how much you're willing to raise or lower your standards. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Also, his use of the word "hummer." Nothing really to add to that, just thought I'd point it out.

R.I.P.

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Why did it take me over a week to get this news? I blame the Pope and Terry Schiavo.

I'm going home to drink now.

Daylight Savings Time Is Stoopid

I'm from Indiana, which is one of two or three states (I think Arizona and Hawaii are the others) that don't observe Daylight Savings Time. We never have to change the clocks in Indiana. While everyone else is falling back or springing forward, Indiana doesn't have to do shit. I never appreciated this when I lived in Indiana. I always thought, as many others seem to, that it was another symptom of our great state being out of touch with the rest of the country.

Now that I live in Minnesota, however, I'm finding that I couldn't have been more wrong about the whole Daylight Savings thing. It's a big pile of horseshit, and it really sucks this time of year when we have to lose an hour and get up earlier and everything is fucked (I'm not a morning person, obviously) and half the clocks at work have the new "correct" time and the other clocks in the building never get reset, which somhow seems to make my workday even longer. And I don't understand the people that are in support of Daylight Savings, who say "but you get a whole extra hour of daylight in the evenings!" which is dumb too, because by the summer time the days are longer anyway, so who gives a crap? See? Stoopid.

And also--contrary to popular belief about Daylight Savings Time benefitting the farmers or the field workers or the cows (or whatever crap people have been fed over the years)--the "real" reason Daylight Savings Time is observed is because of golfers. At least, that's what Anna says, and she read this in the Wall Street Journal, which she swears by. I do have some doubts about this theory, but I kind of want the golfing thing to be true because it would support my new stance on Daylight Savings Time, which is that it's a great big load of horseshit. And if golfing--a bullshit sport if there ever was one (except for mini golf. Mini golf rules!)--is behind this whole worthless time change thing than I propose that every non-golfer in every state (Indiana, Arizona and Hawaii notwithstanding) make up our own damn rules and set the clocks for whatever time we damn well feel like.

That would mean I wouldn't be at work til around 11 every morning, which would be awesome.

Sign this petition and while you're at it, tell the Canadian government how much they suck!

Photos from the Duran Duran show at the Xcel Energy Center in St. Paul -- 3/22/05. The only other time I'd seen D2 live was in 1987 (July 7th at Market Square Arena). So officially I'd been waiting eighteen years to see them again. Babies have been born, grown up, hit puberty and graduated high school during that time, (not that I've been keeping track or anything). 

Me before the concert (the only time my butt touched the chair). 

Early on in the show--Simon looking dapper in a suit (great lighting effects--didn't translate well to my cheap film). 

Simon belts out The Reflex (always a crowd pleaser). I ran up to the front of the stage to take this. 

Another Reflex photo. 

Simon singing Girls On Film (the second time I ran up to the front of the stage)--check out the security guard giving me the stink-eye. Later, I kicked his geriatric ass! YEAH! Who else wants a piece? 

During "Careless Memories" (that song SMOKES!) they had this cool Japanese anime sequence of the band where they portrayed action hero versions of themselves, defending the audience from Godzilla and some evil ninja dudes. Awesome! 

Simon and John singing (Onscreen: said ninja dudes)  

End of anime sequence. 

This Is So Gay

My random thoughts on Season 2 of The L Word so far....

Shane: I HATE her new hair. She used to be cute. I hope it grows out soon.

Bette: She rocks. I like how she's kind of guy-ish in her actions (for some sick reason I don't understand).

Alice: I like her hair more this season. The thing between her and Dana is not believable at all, though. Those two have no chemistry together (besides the friendship). However, I'm all in favor of anything that gets Dana away from her bitch girlfriend (it's so perfect that her name is Tonya. I don't think anyone who lived through the '90s can disassociate that name from that white trash knee-whackin' psychotic figure skater). Anyway, I hope they get rid of that troll soon. She's evil! She let Dana's cat die! (Kill her!!!! Please!!!!)

Jenny: looks better than she did last season, but she still needs to eat a damn sandwich already.

Tina: looks better now that she's pregnant, and she's becoming less boring.

Kit: severely bores me.

Carmen: cute but dull.

Helena: haven't fully formed an opinion on her. So far, she kind of bugs because her British accent sounds fake, (even though that actress is actually British).

Marina: glad she and Francesca are gone. They both suck. Good riddance.

Also....I'm pissed that they brought in that stupid creepy guy with the video camera (can't be bothered to look up his name). If they needed a penis on the show so badly, they should have kept Tim around. If Jenny does the nasty with Camera Boy, the small smidgen of respect I have for her will go right out the window. And Camera Boy's friend is a dweeb and a half. Seriously, I know they're trying to portray Camera Boy as edgy and mysterious, but how cool can he be if he hangs out with that dorkwad?

And the new theme song. Who decided it needed a theme song? It's not a damn sitcom, for Christ sake. It makes the show seem cheesy and generic, which it's not. I loved the old opening with the cool techno music. What happened?

All that aside, I'm still The L Word's bitch. It's still an awesome show and I'm so glad that for once something I like has become a hit (usually that never happens).

Recently I went shopping at Best Buy for my nephew's birthday present (he just turned 3). I was looking for The Muppet Movie on DVD, but they didn't have it. I got him The Muppets Take Manhattan instead--it's inferior to the original, if I remember my muppet movies correctly--but still a good one. It may be a few years before he's able develop a full appreciation for the muppets, but I figure this will give him a good start.

While I was browsing the DVD offerings at Best Buy, I was shocked to see how many bad TV shows are being lovingly recycled into multi-disc DVD sets. I mean, Punky fucking Brewster? Who's the Boss? Saved By the Bell? Married With Children? Holy shit. I can't believe that there was a demand big enough for any of these to warrant a DVD boxed set. What's next, Small Wonder: The Lost Episodes (with Director's Commentary)?

And still, MTV has yet to release The State.
There is no justice in this world.

First day of spring! Okay, not technically (especially in Minnesota, where you don't begin to see any green until about the end of April), but dammit, it's March and that's close enough for me. And anyway, along about St. Patrick's Day I get that thing where I refuse to wear my winter coat anymore. I'll half-ass it with just a scarf, mittens, cap and a light jacket if I have to, but no heavy-ass wool coat. In a way, I suppose I'm a little like that one lame guy that you inevitably see decked out in shorts and a T-shirt the moment the temperature rises above 40, and everyone's like, "look at that dumbass in the shorts." I feel sort of a kinship with that guy. Well, once a year, anyway.

I had my friend Linda over on Sunday night to watch the Oscars. Was anyone else majorly disappointed in Chris Rock? I mean, I thought his material was good overall, but except for the very beginning of the show and that bit where he interviewed people at the movie theatre, dude was MIA for most of it. Scarlett Johanson's hair got more airtime than he did. I'm thinking that the Powers That Be were afraid to give him too much rein, so they made sure to limit his time. I think most of the people who tuned in wanted to see Rock snark on celebrities and all the Hollywood bullshit. I mean, I'm a movie geek and would have watched the Oscars no matter who was hosting, but I still have a sense of humor about it and would have loved to see someone skewer sacred Oscar cows like Nicole Kidman and Jack Nicholson and Warren-always in the front row-Beatty and his boring, overacting wife. But I don't think the show (as well as the institution) has much of a sense of humor, so there you go. My favorite moment was actually the shot of Tim Robbins in the audience cracking up over the the joke Chris Rock made about him and his politics (see? He has a sense of humor!). Least favorite moment: the lame routine he did with Adam Sandler. I think it was supposed to seem spontaneous and ad-libbed but was so stiff and just painfully unfunny, much like Sandler himself. (I'm sorry, he's not funny. I liked Punch Drunk Love and I have a soft spot for The Wedding Singer, but I'm never forgiving him for Mr. Deeds OR The Waterboy. Those are four hours of my life that I will never get back and I am still unreasonably bitter about). Also, WTF was up with having Beyonce (fuck her--I'm not doing the stupid pretentious accent mark over the e) sing every damn song? Her agent must be fucking the Academy president. Or blackmailing him, or maybe both. As for the awards, I knew it didn't have a chance, but I really wanted Sideways to win Best Picture. I love love LOVE that movie. I was glad to see they at least gave it the mercy-fuck Best Adapted Screenplay award. But they couldn't even nominate Paul Giamatti for Best Actor, which was a travesty. He was robbed!

More Academy Award reflections tomorrow--I'm not even halfway done yet!

Finally, an Indy Star review that I agree with...(thanks for this Marcus!)
http://www.indystar.com/articles/9/224333-8929-062.html

Saw the Finn Brothers last week at the Vogue in Indy with Marcus and Aggie (I posted about it before--got cranky because the post didn't turn out right, and deleted it). So here's my update again....

Fabulous concert. It was shorter than the one I saw here in Minneapolis, but it was a more pared down, intimate show and since it was the Vogue, we were able to get close to the stage (within spitting distance--or perhaps panty-slinging distance). It was only a three man show (as in Crowded House days)...Neil, and Tim plus a bass player, who I think was also named Tim. They did a lot of the same stuff off their current album (including my favorite, Edible Flowers, which sounds phenomenal live). They did a fair number of Crowded House stuff as well (most notably Don't Dream It's Over, which they avoided the first time I saw them). They also did a good bit of material from Woodface, including Weather With You--a song that I was never crazy about but one that Marcus finally talked me into liking (you had to be there).

Afterwards Marcus, Aggie and I did the groupie thing of course and had them sign autographs by the tour bus. They didn't hang out as long as they did over the summer in MN, but it probably had more to do with the ass-clenching February cold than anything else.

Neil and me take two: Same picture from before, but if you look closely, it's now autographed (I had him sign the pic of us from Minneapolis at the Indy show).  

Somebody please help.

I need to be restrained from kicking the shit out of yet another stupid parent. Progress reports were mailed out this week, and this mother just came to me with a gripe about her son's religious service attendance, which is marked on the progress report. There is a minimum service attendance that varies with each grade, and every time a student attends a service, he or she is supposed to record it in the book that is provided on the lecturn right outside the sanctuary, so that when progress reports are mailed out, we can look through the book and tally up each student's attendance to make sure they are coming to services.

Not exactly rocket science, is it?

Apparently, it is for this mother who just visited me. Either that, or she's too fucking lazy to make her kid record his service attendance.

She began by saying that there is a problem with her son's progress report, because when the family comes to services they don't mark it down in the book.

"We don't do the book," she told me.

I gave her a blank look.

"We just never mark it down. It's too much trouble."

I gave her a "you've got to be kidding me with this shit" look.

I finally said, "Well, if you don't mark the attendance down in the book, we have no way of knowing if he's coming to services or not. I really don't know what else to tell you."

"Should I talk to (education department head) about this?" she asked.

"Well, yeah--you can, but she'd probably just tell you the same thing."

"Okay, I'll send her an email." she said brightly, and walked away.

If another parent fucking asks me this, I'm going to laugh at them. Yes I will. Loudly and inappropriately, just to convey how much of a stupid, lazy, worthless waste of space I think they are.

And the Rabbi's wife is a bitch. She's been a bitch to me since I first started here, and I've never figured out why. I'm beginning to think she's the type of woman who sees other women as a threat. Don't ask me why, it's just the vibe I get from her. Maybe she thinks I want her husband. Of course, what girl wouldn't lust after a hunka hunka burnin' love like her husband? All hot and horny 5'3" and 108 pounds of him (barf). Christ, give me a break. She can shove it sideways.

Speaking of shoving it, I was talking to Michael on the phone the other day, and he taught me some Hebrew. He lived on a kibbutz in Israel when he was in his early twenties, and since people came from all over to work on the kibbutz, everyone had to learn Hebrew so they'd have one language in common and would be able to communicate with one another. The phrase he taught me? I have no idea how to write it in Hebrew, so here it is phoenetically:

Leck la tease da dain be vock a shaw.

Has a nice ring, doesn't it? It means "Go fuck yourself please." It's a phrase that would come in handy for me, obviously, but also for anyone who'd like the satisfaction of telling someone off without the possibility of getting your ass kicked. (Unless the person in question understands Hebrew, which is unlikely unless you work at a Temple or live in New York). I'm guessing that I could actually use that phrase without getting my ass kicked, considering that I'm taller and fitter than over half the congregants here. But I'd probably get shit canned pretty quickly, so I couldn't really use it unless I had a back up plan or had just won the lottery.

But you know I would.

Dammit cock shit asshole fuck.

I'm not a happy unit today. I had to take my car in because it's been doing a weird shaking/rattling/vibrating thing for the last few weeks. The guy at Saturn took about 2 hours to figure it out while I sat in the waiting room drinking bad coffee and reading Entertainment Weekly. Then he brings me out to the service area and tells me (in an upbeat tone) that my struts are fucked and that's what's causing the problem, and that "amazingly" the struts aren't covered by the service plan that I purchased when I bought the car. He rambled on and on and on and I cut him off and just said, "So how much?" and he shuffled his papers and hemmed and hawed (I fucking hate when mechanics do that. Cut the crap and tell me how much money you'll be extorting). He tells me that it will be "just under $300" (wow! It's a fucking bargain!) so I think a moment, and then say, "Well, I don't have the money to write a check, and I don't want to use my credit card, so what are my options?" Okay, I know that sounds like a lame ass thing to say, but it's Saturn, and I've been a customer forever and I always pay and I always get my oil changed on time (part of my service agreement) and all that crap. And they're not your ordinary car company, or so they claim, so I'm thinking that just this one time they can throw me a bone and let me pay half now and half next month or SOMETHING because I really thought that this shaking vibrating bullshit was to do with my alignment which IS covered by my service agreement. So the mechanic does that "let me ask my manager bullshit" and goes around the corner into the office area and returns after a moment and I know damn well he didn't talk to his "manager", all he did was like scratch his balls or pick his nose for 30 seconds and then come back. He then informs me that "we don't do that anymore," so I tell him, "Let me think about it" (like that'll make any difference), go back to the waiting area, take a look at my checkbook, get depressed, return to the garage and tell him that I'll pay half by credit card and half by check, and he's cool with that (like he has a choice) and I spend the rest of the day fantasizing about finding the salesman who talked me into buying the expensive service agreement and kicking him square in the nuts.

And on top of all that, I'm premenstrual.

Last night I had a dream about Liev Schreiber. It was a very odd dream; I was at some retreat or commune or something, and there were like three couples (people I was friends with in the dream, but who don't exist in my real life). Along with me and the couples (I guess I was on my own) there was an older hippie black woman who was very quiet and who didn't like me for some reason. She kept following me around and doing weird shit, although I can't remember exactly what she was doing. I think at one point we all went swimming or hot-tubbing or something. So Liev was half of one of the couples, and he kept flirting with me. It was very subtle, chaste flirting, but I could tell he wanted me. Oh yes he did. I really wanted to make a move, but I felt guilty and conflicted because I was friends with his girlfriend, (whoever she was). I don't think she suspected anything, but I never did get much time alone with Liev because everyone else was always around. I can't really remember what else happened, except that it ended sort of ambiguously and Liev and I never got it on, dammit.

This is Liev. He is one of my favorite actors and he starred in one of my all-time favorite movies Walking and Talking. He is an amazing actor who's been in so many movies but remains (sadly) unappreciated and relatively unknown by the masses. If you've never seen it, rent RKO 281, the movie about the making of Citizen Kane. He plays Orson Welles, and he kicks major ass! Such a great performance. I lurve him.

I get to see I Heart Huckabees tonight for a dollar (playing at the cheapie theatre). Yay!

So, everyone broken up over the Brad/Jen split? No? Me neither. But I have (of course) been spending time over at fametracker, and I found something hilarious that I might as well share. (A bit of background info before you click, the rumor is that Brad had phone sex with Angelina Jolie). Why the hell do I know this? Oh yeah, fametracker.

I have a new obsession, (thanks to Mike, who gifted me with the enitre first season on DVD). It's called The L Word, and I'm ridiculously addicted. A few years ago I got hooked on Queer As Folk, but I found myself losing interest midway through the third season because I got sick of watching Brian being a slut and Michael being a geek (even though I still love Hal Sparks) and Melanie and Lindsay, the most boring lesbian couple ever and Michael's obnoxious mom with the stupid wig didn't help matters. So now I'm all about The L Word. It's more than just a guilty pleasure type of show--it's very well written and well acted and, as I mentioned, unbelievably addictive. I've already watched every DVD of the first season, and now I'm going back and watching the commentary (yes, I'm being that dorky about it). My favorite characters are (in order from most favorite to least favorite):

1. Alice and Shane (tie)
2. Dana
3. Bette (Jennifer Beals rules)
4. Jenny (she's growing on me)
5. Kit
6. Tina
7. Marina (I liked her better at the beginning)
8. Tim

I have a lot of anxiety now because the second season doesn't start until Feb. and I don't have cable and I have to find someone who does and get them hooked on the show so I can either a.) watch it with them or b.) sweet talk them so they'll tape it for me.

Also, I really hope that it's not one of those shows that starts out awesome in the first season and then starts sucking. I'm trying to restrain myself from reading the second season spoilers, but I do know that Marina gets killed off or something and Tim isn't coming back. Beyond that, I don't want to know a damn thing! Ignorance is bliss.

So rent or buy the first season of The L Word, and if you like it email me and we can gossip. Because I'd so much rather do that than actual work, which I should be doing now.

I'm baa-aaack. Hope everyone had a Merry Holiday Season, as I did, and that you didn't miss me too much while I was busy slacking on my posts. I get kinda bummed when the holidays are over, because there is absolutely NOTHING else to look forward to until springtime, (which begins in March in Indiana, but here in Minnesota it could be April or May until we see any kind of greenery).

I've decided to make some lists, because I don't feel like thinking too much today and lists are something I can do without much thought or effort. So here goes nothing....

My lists for 2004--a retrospective.

Best shopping discovery (stores): Cliche, located in Uptown (the Minneapolis equivalent of the Mass Ave. area in downtown Indianapolis, for my fellow Hoosiers). Cliche is AWESOME. It has cool T-shirts ("babydoll/girl-fitted" T-shirts in wearable sizes, which I love), as well as incredibly hip dresses, skirts, pants, shorts, coats, etc. etc. etc. I found the store on my own one day in September, I wandered in because of the Summer Clearance sign in the window and fell in love. I scored an awesome dark olive green courderoy mini-skirt that I am still wearing even in the ass-clenching cold because it looks cool with the every color of tights that I have (I'm on a tights kick--they're hip, they keep your legs warm, and they last much longer than pantyhose). This dark olive green courderoy mini-skirt also manages to go with every T-shirt, sweater, top, etc. that I own, and it only cost me $8. I also found a cute black babydoll T-shirt with a Sanrio-like character on the front for $6, and a jaw-droppingly awesome red satin Asian dress (with the high Oriental collar, short sleeves, etc.) that was exactly my size and on clearance for $18! When I was out Christmas shopping last month with my friend Linda we took a detour to Cliche and she found a vintage floral dress for under $30 and I found a fitted pink fuzzy retro argyle sweater for $15. THIS STORE RULES.

Also, I love Heavenly Soles--also located in Uptown. It has incredibly cool, funky shoes (most of them expensive, but you can usually find some good bargains). That's only half the store, though. The other half, for some reason, is filled with cool toys--the fun adult novelty kind (not that kind of adult stuff!) It's more like sock monkey keychains and smart-ass bumper stickers and candy cigarettes (kids--stay away!) and Bettie Paige coasters and cute purses. Whenever I go, I usually spend about two hours in there, and it's a relatively small store. Heavenly Soles also rules.

Third but not least is Dabble--not located in Uptown but in a smaller yet equally cool neighborhood--northeast Minneapolis, as close as you can get to St. Paul without being in St. Paul. Dabble is basically like Heavenly Soles without the shoes--just cool toys, purses and cards but it's much more girly than HS. It's an extremely tiny store but I can also easily kill about two hours in there, because it rules.

Best restaurant I discovered this year: Ecopolitan. Without a doubt. This is the one I went to on my birthday--the one in Uptown that's completely vegan and completely raw. The one that Anna hated and that I loved. I stand by my choice, and that's not just because I like the concept because I'm a big old hippie. Really, it's not.

Worst restaurant I discovered this year: Paisano's Pizzaria. I went to it because it's in my neighborhood and the pizza was recommended to me by someone at work as "the closest you can get to New York pizza in the Twin Cities." If that's true, then New York pizza sucks. The worst thing about this place is actually the service, which manages to be both non-existent and terrible at the same time, and they bring the food out to you on paper plates. Now, I'm not a snob by any stretch of the imagination, but I know paper plates, and the ones they use are the cheapest, flimsiest, shittiest ones--we're talking the Yorktown brand at the bottom of the shelf at the grocery store. On top of that, the pizza is way overpriced. Overpriced pizza on paper plates topped off by crappy service. That about sums up Paisano's.

Best coffee shop I discovered this year: Nina's, because it's right across from my apartment building, it's clean, it's classy, it's hip and while the coffee isn't the best in the city it has good mint tea and Garrison Keillor hangs out there. I haven't seen him there yet, but he mentions it twice in his latest book.

Best concert I saw in 2004: Holy shit, it has to be the Finn Brothers. The whole experience; the show itself, seeing Neil Finn in person, talking to Neil Finn, touching Neil Finn, getting an autograph from Neil Finn, taking a photo with Neil Finn, and not making a dork out of myself while in being in close proximity to Neil Finn. Tim Finn was cool, too--didn't mean to leave him out, but for me it's all about Neil.

Best book I read this year: The Anxiety of Everyday Objects by Auralie Sheehan. It disproves all the shit people (including me) say about "chick-lit," (which is something of a derogatory term in itself). A Girl Becomes A Comma Like That by Lisa Glatt is also quite worthy, and also qualifies as great chick-lit (which is not an oxymoron--and never was--as I was reminded this year).

Best album of 2004: I'm bestowing this honor on Duran Duran, by default. I've heard their new CD, (I own it, natch) but it's not their best, nor was I expecting it to be. Duran Duran will never sound the same as they did in 1984, (or even 1987, when they were still awesome even with just three of them). But the fact that all five original members are back together warms the cockles of my cold, jaded 31-year-old heart, and also, I've never gotten over my love for John Taylor. It's not a crush, it's not an obsession, it's not infatuation, people. Crushes, obsessions, infatuations, etc. don't last for twenty years. This is true love.

Best movie of 2004: Can't really choose a best one, because nothing stands out. I think the ones I liked the most (off the top of my head) were Fehrenheit 9/11 and Team America. I guess they're both in similar veins, although F9/11 was serious and Team America was a parody, although Michael Moore made an appearance in both. But there was puppet sex in Team America. Yes, puppet sex. See it.

There were other movies that I liked, but ya know, they didn't change my life or anything (and they definitely didn't feature puppet sex). I liked Alfie and Closer, because Jude Law was in both. I liked Spider Man 2. I liked um, crap, what else did I see? I know there's more, but I guess they weren't all that memorable. I have a feeling that if I would have actually gotten around to seeing Napolean Dynamite, Garden State, I Heart Huckabee's, Sideways and Ray, I'd be able probably name at least one of them as a favorite, but I didn't. Most of them are already out on DVD or will be soon, so I'll have to settle for that.

I can tell you, without a doubt, the WORST movie that I saw this year, however. It was The Stepford Wives, and it sucked. So unfunny, so lame, so badly acted, so badly written, and so boring on top of it all. Nicole Kidman, you fucking owe me for this one, along with Eyes Wide Shut from way back in 1999. Those two piece of shit movies comprise 5 1/2 hours of my life I'll never get back, and I'm holding you personally responsible, because I'm beginning to think that the fact that you starred in both is not just a coincidence. And furthermore, out of all the 5,000 movies you've made, the only good ones are To Die For and Moulin Rouge. The only good ones! And I want you to know that I didn't see Cold Mountain, even though Jude Law is in it. Hear that? And I still won't, even though Jude Law is in it. That's saying something, girlfriend.

So that's my list for 2004. Hope it was everything you thought it would be, whatever that was.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Here's something funny for you. The Melissa Gilbert thing is good (an irrelevant side note...my 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.

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.

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.

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.

Canada, anyone?

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

Little Red Riding Hood kicks back with Michelle. 

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

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

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

Anna enjoying some chips and salsa. 

Jason does a little comedy with the monkey. 

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

Feeling absolutely no pain at this point.

Johnny Ramone + Little Red Riding Hood 

Stockings. It's all about the stockings.  

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

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.