Does VH-1 still do "Behind the Music?"
There were two "Behind the Musics" that I always managed to catch: The Mamas and the Papas, and Heart.
I was fixated. The show awakened an obssesion I didn't realize I had: a yearning to know all the dirty laundry of any band. Cass Elliot's unrequited love for Denny Doherty, his hooking up with Michelle Philips, and the emotional fallout. Good stuff. At the time of the episode, Doherty was touring with a tribute show to Cass Elliot, and if that's not a whole lot of haunted, I don't know what is.
I'm not sure about seeing Heart tonight. Some of their songs are all right and some make me want to play imaginary Russian roulette. It could be good, or it could be never-ending.
I wish someone would tell me why Nancy Wilson and Cameron Crowe called it quits. They were married for over twenty years- doesn't that put them in the safe zone? Wikipedia says she filed and cited "Irreconcilable Differences." That could mean anything. (But still isn't as much of a puzzler as Renee and Kenny's reason).
I liked the thought of them being married. He loves music, she makes music, and isn't that enough? Apparently not.
Metallica's Behind the Music was also good viewing. I'd say it's better than their most recent doc.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Riding down the highway, going to a show
What's on tap for tonight?
Pour some sugar on me, emmereffers!
My two sisters, a good sister-in-law, and I are going to see Def Leppard. Heart is the opener, and I'm excited.
We're leaving early to get our tailgate on. Not full-tilt boogie tailgating, which requires a grill and canopy and I don't know- a chaise lounge?- but a low maintenance picnic with grinders and plenty of beers.
Reasons I love tailgating:
1. It puts me in the concert mood.
2. No getting fleeced by the venue vendors- nine bucks for a Bud Lite, indeed.
3. There comes a moment, a second or three of such pure sweetness, when I remember that as good as it is to be drinking and hanging out, the main show, the crowning reason for it all, still awaits.
I have an hour before Ella gets here, and I plan on spending it watching the new SHERLOCK HOLMES. I caught the pilot and am very pleased with what they did with the characters. I was also taken in by the twist at the end.
Pour some sugar on me, emmereffers!
My two sisters, a good sister-in-law, and I are going to see Def Leppard. Heart is the opener, and I'm excited.
We're leaving early to get our tailgate on. Not full-tilt boogie tailgating, which requires a grill and canopy and I don't know- a chaise lounge?- but a low maintenance picnic with grinders and plenty of beers.
Reasons I love tailgating:
1. It puts me in the concert mood.
2. No getting fleeced by the venue vendors- nine bucks for a Bud Lite, indeed.
3. There comes a moment, a second or three of such pure sweetness, when I remember that as good as it is to be drinking and hanging out, the main show, the crowning reason for it all, still awaits.
I have an hour before Ella gets here, and I plan on spending it watching the new SHERLOCK HOLMES. I caught the pilot and am very pleased with what they did with the characters. I was also taken in by the twist at the end.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- the end
Denise and Preston outside the diner, summing up the night. Kenny with whipped cream on his nose (heart). Denise admits that fate exists, and Preston drives off to the train station to his summer workshop with Kurt Vonnegut (I'm a little sad).
Nearly everybody's plot points are wrapped up at the diner. Yearbook Girl hooks up with Preston's cockblock friend. William thanks Mike for lying at the police station, and Mike starts to ridicule him. When William leaves, there's a freeze and a little "Where are They now?" caption that says he went to Harvard, was popular, and became a computer millionaire (what about when the bubble burst?) with a supermodel girlfriend. I think the first "Where are They now?" that I saw was at the end of ANIMAL HOUSE. Senator Blutarsky- funny.
Mike ended up losing his football scholarship (why was he afraid of being a loser?) and gets fired from his job at the car wash.
When did Denise change her clothes? The caption says she dumps Kenny five minutes later. Then ten minutes later, they find a bathroom and get back together. Denise reaches her finger into Kenny's whipped cream and sucks it off. Kenny has an immediate reaction, and I love that reaction. Because it's Seth Green and he does good turned on.
At the train station: A voice from behind Preston says, "Excuse me, I think you dropped this." We can tell the Love Hewitt is a new woman because her hair is pulled into a kind of school-marm do on top with the back down. She thanks him with all the sincerity her paltry acting skills can muster. They shake hands because he has to go. She walks away, pausing to turn back, he turns back, then drops his bags and runs after her. There's a later train he can take and he wants to embrace his fate- even if it's with the Love Hewitt. I am not watching their kiss for tongue. I don't want to know.
Their caption says he took a train seven hours later and they're still together. That's why movies are better than real life.
AAHHH! I forgot the X-Philes get beamed up onto a spacecraft. Everyone gets their happy ending, except when they're deserving of a comeuppance. Actually, Mike's the only one who gets an unhappy ever after. Even Klepto-kid got a gumball machine.
Whatever happened to Smashmouth?
Nearly everybody's plot points are wrapped up at the diner. Yearbook Girl hooks up with Preston's cockblock friend. William thanks Mike for lying at the police station, and Mike starts to ridicule him. When William leaves, there's a freeze and a little "Where are They now?" caption that says he went to Harvard, was popular, and became a computer millionaire (what about when the bubble burst?) with a supermodel girlfriend. I think the first "Where are They now?" that I saw was at the end of ANIMAL HOUSE. Senator Blutarsky- funny.
Mike ended up losing his football scholarship (why was he afraid of being a loser?) and gets fired from his job at the car wash.
When did Denise change her clothes? The caption says she dumps Kenny five minutes later. Then ten minutes later, they find a bathroom and get back together. Denise reaches her finger into Kenny's whipped cream and sucks it off. Kenny has an immediate reaction, and I love that reaction. Because it's Seth Green and he does good turned on.
At the train station: A voice from behind Preston says, "Excuse me, I think you dropped this." We can tell the Love Hewitt is a new woman because her hair is pulled into a kind of school-marm do on top with the back down. She thanks him with all the sincerity her paltry acting skills can muster. They shake hands because he has to go. She walks away, pausing to turn back, he turns back, then drops his bags and runs after her. There's a later train he can take and he wants to embrace his fate- even if it's with the Love Hewitt. I am not watching their kiss for tongue. I don't want to know.
Their caption says he took a train seven hours later and they're still together. That's why movies are better than real life.
AAHHH! I forgot the X-Philes get beamed up onto a spacecraft. Everyone gets their happy ending, except when they're deserving of a comeuppance. Actually, Mike's the only one who gets an unhappy ever after. Even Klepto-kid got a gumball machine.
Whatever happened to Smashmouth?
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- part four
The band breaks up in a tiff, and this subplot sets the stage for William's epic rendition of "Paradise City." William says he knows the song and takes the stage. I can't believe Guns and Roses let them have the song; then again, it's not the whole song- it's the chorus and bridge and one verse. He falls down because a girl flashes him, then springs up, microphone jumping into his hand, to finish one more chorus. All geeks should have a crowning moment of awesome. Where's my crowning moment? I want my Guns and Roses moment of epic.
Cut to the bathroom: Kenny has to pee. Notice that he doesn't wash his hands after. The sink is right there. Why didn't the director have him wash his hands? Denise admits she told a girl Kenny was a dendrophiliac. Synchronicity: one of my sister's friends was talking about how she calls her neighbor "Treefucker" because she's seen him in the trees in his gerry-rigged tree climbing gear, sitting in the crook of stout branches.
Mike talks to the kid from STAND BY ME, all creepy and growed up. Jerry O'Connell wears a frat shirt that spells "DIK" (hee).
Amanda's still looking for Preston, talking to two stoners (Jason Segal performing cunnilingus on a slice of watermelon). Thelma gets some props from one of the stoners: "She was a hip, hip lady." Back inside, Mike tries to get back with Amanda in front of everybody. Wrong move. Love Hewitt gives her typical self-righteous hurt face and speech. This is why I dislike her. That freaking cadence- who could like that? How is that a viable choice?
Oh Mike, you're so much better when you're a bleach-blond, vampire-doctor in Forks. His rejection is sealed when someone from the crowd yells, "Fag!"
A slew of obnoxious guys hit on Amanda, which completely screws it up for Preston. He follows her and blurts out that he loves her. Amanda reams him out, kicking her self-righteous hurt up to a painful eleven.
William approaches Mike to lure him to the pool house trap, but all of a sudden Mike is sympathetic. Nice use of "I'll Make Love to You."
Back to the bathroom: They're singing "The Right Stuff," very cute. Kenny cracks on Denise's shoes: "Do they serve an orthopedic function?" If Kenny's goggles were brass, he would've been Steampunk and ahead of his time. He kisses her while they're laughing, and even though they're taken aback, they go back for more.
You know, Yearbook Girl doesn't actually get many people to sign her yearbook. Amanda realizes her mistake and that Preston wrote the letter. Mike and William continue to bond in the piano room. Mike apologizes for one of his many thuggish actions against William (which is made funnier because the incident is later revealed to have happened at graduation).
The police show up, and the band- newly reunited- doesn't get to play a single song. Everyone runs helter-skelter out of the house. Mike runs to the pool house with William following. They are ambushed by the X-Philes (so credited on IMDB), who put them in a suggestive pose.
Klepto-kid steals a police car.
Back to the bathroom: Kenny and Denise in the awkward aftermath of sex. Party hostess interrupts their after-dim and throws them out. Denise leaves first and Kenny follows her in his van. Hey, Oz had a van, too. He apologizes (which is unfair because she started saying the shitty things first). Cute, she apologizes. They kiss in the street. I'm all for a wet-tar, late-at-night, in-the-street kiss.
William wakes up in jail and puts the blame on Mike, after much prompting from the police officer. I got nothing.
Amanda remakes her life. You can totally tell she's serious about getting to know Preston and getting to know the real her because she's changed her hair from down to a side braid. She's also throwing out old photographs of Mike and her.
ETA: Amber Benson also shows up as a stoner chick, which puts the icing of the BUFFY alum cake.
Cut to the bathroom: Kenny has to pee. Notice that he doesn't wash his hands after. The sink is right there. Why didn't the director have him wash his hands? Denise admits she told a girl Kenny was a dendrophiliac. Synchronicity: one of my sister's friends was talking about how she calls her neighbor "Treefucker" because she's seen him in the trees in his gerry-rigged tree climbing gear, sitting in the crook of stout branches.
Mike talks to the kid from STAND BY ME, all creepy and growed up. Jerry O'Connell wears a frat shirt that spells "DIK" (hee).
Amanda's still looking for Preston, talking to two stoners (Jason Segal performing cunnilingus on a slice of watermelon). Thelma gets some props from one of the stoners: "She was a hip, hip lady." Back inside, Mike tries to get back with Amanda in front of everybody. Wrong move. Love Hewitt gives her typical self-righteous hurt face and speech. This is why I dislike her. That freaking cadence- who could like that? How is that a viable choice?
Oh Mike, you're so much better when you're a bleach-blond, vampire-doctor in Forks. His rejection is sealed when someone from the crowd yells, "Fag!"
A slew of obnoxious guys hit on Amanda, which completely screws it up for Preston. He follows her and blurts out that he loves her. Amanda reams him out, kicking her self-righteous hurt up to a painful eleven.
William approaches Mike to lure him to the pool house trap, but all of a sudden Mike is sympathetic. Nice use of "I'll Make Love to You."
Back to the bathroom: They're singing "The Right Stuff," very cute. Kenny cracks on Denise's shoes: "Do they serve an orthopedic function?" If Kenny's goggles were brass, he would've been Steampunk and ahead of his time. He kisses her while they're laughing, and even though they're taken aback, they go back for more.
You know, Yearbook Girl doesn't actually get many people to sign her yearbook. Amanda realizes her mistake and that Preston wrote the letter. Mike and William continue to bond in the piano room. Mike apologizes for one of his many thuggish actions against William (which is made funnier because the incident is later revealed to have happened at graduation).
The police show up, and the band- newly reunited- doesn't get to play a single song. Everyone runs helter-skelter out of the house. Mike runs to the pool house with William following. They are ambushed by the X-Philes (so credited on IMDB), who put them in a suggestive pose.
Klepto-kid steals a police car.
Back to the bathroom: Kenny and Denise in the awkward aftermath of sex. Party hostess interrupts their after-dim and throws them out. Denise leaves first and Kenny follows her in his van. Hey, Oz had a van, too. He apologizes (which is unfair because she started saying the shitty things first). Cute, she apologizes. They kiss in the street. I'm all for a wet-tar, late-at-night, in-the-street kiss.
William wakes up in jail and puts the blame on Mike, after much prompting from the police officer. I got nothing.
Amanda remakes her life. You can totally tell she's serious about getting to know Preston and getting to know the real her because she's changed her hair from down to a side braid. She's also throwing out old photographs of Mike and her.
ETA: Amber Benson also shows up as a stoner chick, which puts the icing of the BUFFY alum cake.
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- part three
Eww- Amanda's cousin puts the moves on her. It's all very GAME OF THRONES. Preston sees and draws a mistaken conclusion, even though Amanda is not having any incest-by-marriage.
So many subplots. I haven't even talked about William's friends who are on top of the pool house waiting for William to lure Mike into their trap.
Preston threw out his letter. The letter travels by various means to get in the Chex mix in front of Amanda: on someone's shoe, stuck to a beer keg, thrown- I love that sequence. It's fate.
Back to the bathroom: Denise and Kenny start out hostile. They were friends when they were little, but things changed in middle school. Denise's recount of his rejection hits him hard. Another reason to love Seth Green.
Cut to Preston: He hears the radio announcer say that callers can talk to Barry Manilow and hastens to a pay phone.
Cut to Amanda: the letter is in the Chex mix (probably smelling of salt and Worcestershire), begging to be read. Okay, what the hell would it be like to receive a letter like that? Tangent: I wrote a killer love letter to this guy- I'm talking a work of art (guy and letter). We broke up later, and because I worked with his girlfriend- the one after the one after me- I found out he gave her my letter, passing it off as his own.
I didn't tell her the truth.
Jenna Elfman appears in the fog as a stripper dressed as an angel. According to the commentary, there was confusion over whether she was a real angel or not. I have to say, her portrayal could be taken either way. She hangs up just as Preston gets through because she needs a cab. Here's why people think she's a real angel: after Preston says that he's a loser, she looks up to the sky and says, "Like I couldn't feel any worse."
Amanda looks for Preston and talks to a crunchy hippy girl (who is the second alum from POPULAR).
JennaAngelStripper talks about her crush on Scott Baio, which has an unfortunate implication nowadays (google "Chachbag"). She says, "There is fate, but it only takes you so far. After that, it's up to you to make it happen." I like that sentiment.
Preston heads back to the party, hope renewed.
So many subplots. I haven't even talked about William's friends who are on top of the pool house waiting for William to lure Mike into their trap.
Preston threw out his letter. The letter travels by various means to get in the Chex mix in front of Amanda: on someone's shoe, stuck to a beer keg, thrown- I love that sequence. It's fate.
Back to the bathroom: Denise and Kenny start out hostile. They were friends when they were little, but things changed in middle school. Denise's recount of his rejection hits him hard. Another reason to love Seth Green.
Cut to Preston: He hears the radio announcer say that callers can talk to Barry Manilow and hastens to a pay phone.
Cut to Amanda: the letter is in the Chex mix (probably smelling of salt and Worcestershire), begging to be read. Okay, what the hell would it be like to receive a letter like that? Tangent: I wrote a killer love letter to this guy- I'm talking a work of art (guy and letter). We broke up later, and because I worked with his girlfriend- the one after the one after me- I found out he gave her my letter, passing it off as his own.
I didn't tell her the truth.
Jenna Elfman appears in the fog as a stripper dressed as an angel. According to the commentary, there was confusion over whether she was a real angel or not. I have to say, her portrayal could be taken either way. She hangs up just as Preston gets through because she needs a cab. Here's why people think she's a real angel: after Preston says that he's a loser, she looks up to the sky and says, "Like I couldn't feel any worse."
Amanda looks for Preston and talks to a crunchy hippy girl (who is the second alum from POPULAR).
JennaAngelStripper talks about her crush on Scott Baio, which has an unfortunate implication nowadays (google "Chachbag"). She says, "There is fate, but it only takes you so far. After that, it's up to you to make it happen." I like that sentiment.
Preston heads back to the party, hope renewed.
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- the party, part two
Mike's friends can't break up with their girlfriends and Mike's pissed. I just read a statistic that groups of friends who have divorces become more likely to divorce.
Denise sits on the couch, insulted by the girl next to her who took a bet on whether she went to their school. I feel Denise's pain. I wasn't memorable in high school. Ask anyone who was in school with me, and if they remember (that's a honking big if), they'll say I was quiet and bookish.
Kind of makes me sound like a serial killer.
Loveburger- that's the name of the band!
Why would anyone throw a party at their house? You're only asking for trouble.
Girl who's crying and willing to have sex (another BUFFY alum) is hit on by Kenny. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom to prepare. He doesn't hear that the door is broken. Best use of "It's Tricky" in a movie or television show.
The bathroom scene- with Kenny practicing from the Kama Sutra-is a great piece of physical comedy and one of the many reasons I still love Seth Green.
Boy who licks Denise's head after she's hit with a brownie? Yup, BUFFY character.
Denise goes upstairs to wash off and she and Kenny are locked in the bathroom after she catches him in an embarrassing position. I love that set up. Could it work in a book?
Amanda pours her heart out to her cousin- that's a lot of exposition for a scene. Poor misunderstood popular girl- I wonder if they had this trope in ancient Greece?
Preston breaks the fourth wall to talk about Amanda. See, this is what is incredible about unrequited love. It shows the insides of the adorer. When you look at your ideals, you're looking at yourself. ETA: Oh wait, he's not breaking the fourth wall. It only looks that way; the camera pulls back, and he's really talking to the foreign-exchange student who says, "Will you touch my penis?"
Denise sits on the couch, insulted by the girl next to her who took a bet on whether she went to their school. I feel Denise's pain. I wasn't memorable in high school. Ask anyone who was in school with me, and if they remember (that's a honking big if), they'll say I was quiet and bookish.
Kind of makes me sound like a serial killer.
Loveburger- that's the name of the band!
Why would anyone throw a party at their house? You're only asking for trouble.
Girl who's crying and willing to have sex (another BUFFY alum) is hit on by Kenny. He excuses himself to go to the bathroom to prepare. He doesn't hear that the door is broken. Best use of "It's Tricky" in a movie or television show.
The bathroom scene- with Kenny practicing from the Kama Sutra-is a great piece of physical comedy and one of the many reasons I still love Seth Green.
Boy who licks Denise's head after she's hit with a brownie? Yup, BUFFY character.
Denise goes upstairs to wash off and she and Kenny are locked in the bathroom after she catches him in an embarrassing position. I love that set up. Could it work in a book?
Amanda pours her heart out to her cousin- that's a lot of exposition for a scene. Poor misunderstood popular girl- I wonder if they had this trope in ancient Greece?
Preston breaks the fourth wall to talk about Amanda. See, this is what is incredible about unrequited love. It shows the insides of the adorer. When you look at your ideals, you're looking at yourself. ETA: Oh wait, he's not breaking the fourth wall. It only looks that way; the camera pulls back, and he's really talking to the foreign-exchange student who says, "Will you touch my penis?"
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- The party
Preston and Denise's friendship is well written. They're purely platonic, and you get the feeling they've been friends for years and will always be friends. Denise doesn't have a crush on him (skillfully used for Watts in SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL, less so for Ducky in PRETTY IN PINK), and Preston doesn't have a crush on her. The writers didn't cop out by making her gay. Just a nice friendship.
Preston wants to give Amanda a letter he wrote years ago, and as they're in the car, Preston hears "Mandy," by Barry Manilow. Yes, magical thinking figures heavily into unrequited crushes.
I don't think there's a girl who wants everyone in school to sign her yearbook (played with nausea-inducing perkiness by Melissa Joan Harte).
Ah, the band appears: their dissension adds another subplot on top of a hundred. I don't remember their name- something burger?
Mike and his friends enter, and their girlfriends scream. All the couples are height coordinated- that's very weird.
Jennifer Love Hewitt. I think she's fine for this role- perfection is supposed to be bland- but I don't like her as a performer. I wasn't even fond of her in PARTY OF FIVE. I can't say what it is about her that flies up my nose, but there it is.
I forgot that Preston and Denise had gone out. In eighth grade. I don't know what going out at that age entails. Texting? Facebook status? Holding hands?
Amanda's friends comfort her by saying she's pretty than Gwyneth and Mike is no Brad Pitt, not even Brad from TWELVE MONKIES (hee, he was disturbing in that movie. Terry Gilliam is so overrated).
"The beer has gone bad!" Hugely funny!
Kenny is talking to the girl-werewolf he'll later kill. Yay, for BUFFY cross-over!
Clea Duvall (another BUFFY alum) spurns Kenny. Aw, I feel bad for him.
Preston sees Amanda and sits down next to her. His friend does a total cock-block on him by relating an embarrassing story. Why do friends do this? Why do they pull that move right when the stakes are incredibly high?
Do I do that?
Preston wants to give Amanda a letter he wrote years ago, and as they're in the car, Preston hears "Mandy," by Barry Manilow. Yes, magical thinking figures heavily into unrequited crushes.
I don't think there's a girl who wants everyone in school to sign her yearbook (played with nausea-inducing perkiness by Melissa Joan Harte).
Ah, the band appears: their dissension adds another subplot on top of a hundred. I don't remember their name- something burger?
Mike and his friends enter, and their girlfriends scream. All the couples are height coordinated- that's very weird.
Jennifer Love Hewitt. I think she's fine for this role- perfection is supposed to be bland- but I don't like her as a performer. I wasn't even fond of her in PARTY OF FIVE. I can't say what it is about her that flies up my nose, but there it is.
I forgot that Preston and Denise had gone out. In eighth grade. I don't know what going out at that age entails. Texting? Facebook status? Holding hands?
Amanda's friends comfort her by saying she's pretty than Gwyneth and Mike is no Brad Pitt, not even Brad from TWELVE MONKIES (hee, he was disturbing in that movie. Terry Gilliam is so overrated).
"The beer has gone bad!" Hugely funny!
Kenny is talking to the girl-werewolf he'll later kill. Yay, for BUFFY cross-over!
Clea Duvall (another BUFFY alum) spurns Kenny. Aw, I feel bad for him.
Preston sees Amanda and sits down next to her. His friend does a total cock-block on him by relating an embarrassing story. Why do friends do this? Why do they pull that move right when the stakes are incredibly high?
Do I do that?
CAN'T HARDLY WAIT- first post
I love this movie- it's one of my top five teen movies. Seth Green, Ethan Embry, Lauren Ambrose...and every single actor who was within spitting distance of 20 years old in the 90s.
Credit scene: Graduation. Conversation about a party, no faces until Preston Meyers (our hero) learns that the love of his life broke up with her boyfriend. Amanda Beckett is one of those perfect high school girls who people always expect peak in high school. That's not necessarily true. Usually their lives just keep getting better and better.
Ah, love unrequited. The time that I've spent on loving from afar can be measured in years. But at least I don't have to worry about catching herpes from a crush. Preston recounts the first time he saw Amanda to his BFF Denise, who listens with patience and irritation. Man, I think that I thought I was her when I was in high school. Cynical, worldly wise, and self-possessed. Plus she has red hair. Tangent: As I've said before, if my parents had let me dye my hair red in high school, I probably wouldn't've got into half the shit I did.
Kismet: Amanda reaches into her bag and pulls out a strawberry pop-tart. Preston is eating a strawberry pop-tart; it's fate. Yay! The teacher is one of the Pink Ladies from GREASE! She asks for someone to show Amanda around, and Mike Dexter (who will later become a vampire and a doctor and move to the state of Washington) thwarts our hero.
I love Preston's friendship with Denise. They have such a great friend chemistry.
Oh my, I forgot that this movie is epic for BUFFY crossovers. The first was the guy asking if Denise wanted to save her tassel and the second is one of Mike's friend. I swear he was on BUFFY. There's also that guy from ZOMBIE PLANET and UNCORKED. They make a bro pledge to break up with their girlfriends, following Mike's example of breaking up with Amanda. It's nice to see male-bonding, but they are such douches.
William Lighter- Charlie somebody- makes a nice riff on President Bill Pullman's speech in ID4 (he became president after Meg Ryan ditched him for Tom Hanks). He vows vengeance on Mike Dexter. Apparently Charlie somebody quit acting after this movie and became an MIT-graduating, mother-effing physicist. With a penchant for really right-wing politics.
Kenny Fisher (SETH GREEN in da house) wants to have sex tonight. I love him, love him, love him. Complete crush and the commentary of this movie is worth listening to if only to wallow in the joy of Seth Green. He's a wannabe gangsta- can I tell you how much I hate the real life version of this stereotype? I can't believe showing your undies is still a fashion statement. It's been at least a decade.
I didn't notice Klepto-boy was in this scene. He's the nondescript guy who shows up and steals things. That's all he does.
Those are the major characters. I'm gonna post.
Credit scene: Graduation. Conversation about a party, no faces until Preston Meyers (our hero) learns that the love of his life broke up with her boyfriend. Amanda Beckett is one of those perfect high school girls who people always expect peak in high school. That's not necessarily true. Usually their lives just keep getting better and better.
Ah, love unrequited. The time that I've spent on loving from afar can be measured in years. But at least I don't have to worry about catching herpes from a crush. Preston recounts the first time he saw Amanda to his BFF Denise, who listens with patience and irritation. Man, I think that I thought I was her when I was in high school. Cynical, worldly wise, and self-possessed. Plus she has red hair. Tangent: As I've said before, if my parents had let me dye my hair red in high school, I probably wouldn't've got into half the shit I did.
Kismet: Amanda reaches into her bag and pulls out a strawberry pop-tart. Preston is eating a strawberry pop-tart; it's fate. Yay! The teacher is one of the Pink Ladies from GREASE! She asks for someone to show Amanda around, and Mike Dexter (who will later become a vampire and a doctor and move to the state of Washington) thwarts our hero.
I love Preston's friendship with Denise. They have such a great friend chemistry.
Oh my, I forgot that this movie is epic for BUFFY crossovers. The first was the guy asking if Denise wanted to save her tassel and the second is one of Mike's friend. I swear he was on BUFFY. There's also that guy from ZOMBIE PLANET and UNCORKED. They make a bro pledge to break up with their girlfriends, following Mike's example of breaking up with Amanda. It's nice to see male-bonding, but they are such douches.
William Lighter- Charlie somebody- makes a nice riff on President Bill Pullman's speech in ID4 (he became president after Meg Ryan ditched him for Tom Hanks). He vows vengeance on Mike Dexter. Apparently Charlie somebody quit acting after this movie and became an MIT-graduating, mother-effing physicist. With a penchant for really right-wing politics.
Kenny Fisher (SETH GREEN in da house) wants to have sex tonight. I love him, love him, love him. Complete crush and the commentary of this movie is worth listening to if only to wallow in the joy of Seth Green. He's a wannabe gangsta- can I tell you how much I hate the real life version of this stereotype? I can't believe showing your undies is still a fashion statement. It's been at least a decade.
I didn't notice Klepto-boy was in this scene. He's the nondescript guy who shows up and steals things. That's all he does.
Those are the major characters. I'm gonna post.
How to solve a baby dilemma
I was going to open with an abortion joke, but I don't know any. Besides, that would be in ill taste.
You can fill in your own abortion joke. It's okay, I'll wait. I have all night and no school tomorrow.
When last we left our intrepid and uncouth heroine, she was in a dither about going to her brother's for two weeks in August to watch his kid. Much anxiety was had.
Then my subconscious served me an option on a silver platter. There are times when I love my subconscious. Those silver-platter ideas have been some of the best and are a welcome change from the usual shit it gives me.
The idea was to have the baby come up here. My mother, who's taking the first shift of baby-watching, can bring him up, and the whole family will be able to see him (most of us for the first time) and love him and call him George.
I was nervous about my brother's reaction (he likes change as much as I do), but he was entirely amendable to the idea. He said he had the same thought (it's like we're related or something).
So my nephew's coming up, my anxiety's coming down, and everything is ponies and rainbows. I know a great tattoo parlor that could do some really rad dragon ink on the tyke.
You can fill in your own abortion joke. It's okay, I'll wait. I have all night and no school tomorrow.
When last we left our intrepid and uncouth heroine, she was in a dither about going to her brother's for two weeks in August to watch his kid. Much anxiety was had.
Then my subconscious served me an option on a silver platter. There are times when I love my subconscious. Those silver-platter ideas have been some of the best and are a welcome change from the usual shit it gives me.
The idea was to have the baby come up here. My mother, who's taking the first shift of baby-watching, can bring him up, and the whole family will be able to see him (most of us for the first time) and love him and call him George.
I was nervous about my brother's reaction (he likes change as much as I do), but he was entirely amendable to the idea. He said he had the same thought (it's like we're related or something).
So my nephew's coming up, my anxiety's coming down, and everything is ponies and rainbows. I know a great tattoo parlor that could do some really rad dragon ink on the tyke.
Drinking, mindsweeper, and recaps
One drink I'm missing (because of my pledge to my bones) is my Sprite and Jameson. I kind of solved that dilemma by cutting open the juice boxes I have on hand for my nephews. Fruit punch juice box and Jameson? As disgusting as it sounds. Newman's Own lemonade juice box and Jameson? Very tasty.
I feel guilty for taking the beverages out of the mouths of babes, but guilt's a waste of emotion. When my sister brought El Destructo over yesterday, he took the last lemonade juice box (spurning the fruit punch, of course) and promptly spilled it all over himself. I don't even know how he did that.
I've also made it my mission to make excellent chai ice tea. This quest is like scaling Mount Doom. After following the directions on the box and devoting fifteen minutes for the making and a good hour for the cooling, I ended up with weakass, piss-tasting chai.
No, it didn't actually taste like piss. It just made me feel like I was drinking piss. The evil fairy in my head whispered, See, that's what happens. You spend all this time and it's all for nothing.
To that evil fairy, I say No. As the heavens are my witness, I'm going to have a decent glass of chai ice tea without resorting to coffee shops.
My last obssesion was to get twenty-five percent on Mindsweeper, and before the virus ate my computer, I managed thirty percent. A bit of irony is that it took me a shitload of games to get to thirty percent (if you're thinking a thousand, add some more to that), but now (because of the virus and a reload) I'm at sixty-four percent with thirty games.
You might scoff at my ineptitude, but keep in that I'm not a logical or spatially aware person. Sixty-four percent is pretty impressive to me.
I'm also revving up to recap CAN'T HARDLY WAIT. I kind of want to start recapping TRUE BLOOD, so I need the practice. Recapping is a tricky mistress, and it's my mission to own that bitch.
I feel guilty for taking the beverages out of the mouths of babes, but guilt's a waste of emotion. When my sister brought El Destructo over yesterday, he took the last lemonade juice box (spurning the fruit punch, of course) and promptly spilled it all over himself. I don't even know how he did that.
I've also made it my mission to make excellent chai ice tea. This quest is like scaling Mount Doom. After following the directions on the box and devoting fifteen minutes for the making and a good hour for the cooling, I ended up with weakass, piss-tasting chai.
No, it didn't actually taste like piss. It just made me feel like I was drinking piss. The evil fairy in my head whispered, See, that's what happens. You spend all this time and it's all for nothing.
To that evil fairy, I say No. As the heavens are my witness, I'm going to have a decent glass of chai ice tea without resorting to coffee shops.
My last obssesion was to get twenty-five percent on Mindsweeper, and before the virus ate my computer, I managed thirty percent. A bit of irony is that it took me a shitload of games to get to thirty percent (if you're thinking a thousand, add some more to that), but now (because of the virus and a reload) I'm at sixty-four percent with thirty games.
You might scoff at my ineptitude, but keep in that I'm not a logical or spatially aware person. Sixty-four percent is pretty impressive to me.
I'm also revving up to recap CAN'T HARDLY WAIT. I kind of want to start recapping TRUE BLOOD, so I need the practice. Recapping is a tricky mistress, and it's my mission to own that bitch.
There will come a day when I'm all grown up
I've decided to give my poor bones a break by giving up soda. Or at least not drinking as much of it as I usually do.
I'm picturing my skeleton looking like driftwood- the hole-y kind.
But my quest of a soda-free life begs the question: What do grown ups drink?
I don't like drinking water as the sole beverage at meals. I don't think I could handle milk. Although beer and wine and Jameson are fine, my liver is begging me not to do it wrong for the good of my bones.
My sister Emma gave me one option: It turns out she partakes of the mighty seltzer.
I don't like seltzer- it tastes like dead soda. However, I'm told it's a taste that can be acquired and there are all sorts of nifty flavors out there. I expect I'll have to pick me up a case and get to acquiring the taste for it.
I'm picturing my skeleton looking like driftwood- the hole-y kind.
But my quest of a soda-free life begs the question: What do grown ups drink?
I don't like drinking water as the sole beverage at meals. I don't think I could handle milk. Although beer and wine and Jameson are fine, my liver is begging me not to do it wrong for the good of my bones.
My sister Emma gave me one option: It turns out she partakes of the mighty seltzer.
I don't like seltzer- it tastes like dead soda. However, I'm told it's a taste that can be acquired and there are all sorts of nifty flavors out there. I expect I'll have to pick me up a case and get to acquiring the taste for it.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Ask what your healthcare professional can do for you
What do I look for in a dentist or doctor? The same quality I look for in a hairdresser: Please, don't make me feel like shit.
My last haircut was over a year ago (might be closer to two) because the hairdresser sneered at my color choice and told me I wasn't using the right product. I've been cutting and coloring my own hair ever since even though I still have twenty bucks on the salon giftcard someone gave me. She accidentally cut off a huge chunk of hair, but hair grows back and curls hide a lot of flaws. Her words are what I hear every time I think about getting my hair done.
I love my dentist. In fact, I've recommended him highly because he has a great sense of humor and doesn't make me feel like shit. I also love his dental assistant: she cracks me up and sings along to the radio. And- most important- doesn't make me feel like shit.
I know I live in a world where I'm the only person who doesn't floss every day and can't manage to brush her teeth without fucking up her gums. I'm an idiot who deserves to have her teeth repossessed and given to someone who could take better care of them. I realize that and don't need reminders.
At my last appointment, a new dental assistant was there. I grew to hate her by the end of the session.
1. She's one of those late fortyish women who treat other women as if they're babes in the woods. When she asked me who was singing on the radio (okay, why would you ask someone a question while you have your fingers in her mouth?), and I said it was Frankie Valle, she gave a gasp and said, "How do you know that? You're just a baby." Really? I have 43 years to her 49 (yes, I found out her age, her weight, and shoe size because she wouldn't shut the fuck up). Do I look like I'm insecure about my age? Do I look like I need some condescension in my compliments?
2. She asked me if I had my tongue pierced, and when I told her yes, she said she'd make a good detective. Really? Because you'd somehow have to be Sherlock-fucking-Holmes to see the divot in my tongue and notice the corresponding divot on the other side and realize, "Aha! Methinks the tongue was pierced at one time!?"
3. She made me feel like shit. My hair was too long and was in her way. I had too much spit that she had to vacuum. And I didn't take care of my teeth.
I was clearly the lowest of the low, unfit for dental health, human consumption, and life as we know it.
I hope this was a one-time deal. I miss the regular dental assistant, and I promise to floss all the livelong day if I could just get her back.
My last haircut was over a year ago (might be closer to two) because the hairdresser sneered at my color choice and told me I wasn't using the right product. I've been cutting and coloring my own hair ever since even though I still have twenty bucks on the salon giftcard someone gave me. She accidentally cut off a huge chunk of hair, but hair grows back and curls hide a lot of flaws. Her words are what I hear every time I think about getting my hair done.
I love my dentist. In fact, I've recommended him highly because he has a great sense of humor and doesn't make me feel like shit. I also love his dental assistant: she cracks me up and sings along to the radio. And- most important- doesn't make me feel like shit.
I know I live in a world where I'm the only person who doesn't floss every day and can't manage to brush her teeth without fucking up her gums. I'm an idiot who deserves to have her teeth repossessed and given to someone who could take better care of them. I realize that and don't need reminders.
At my last appointment, a new dental assistant was there. I grew to hate her by the end of the session.
1. She's one of those late fortyish women who treat other women as if they're babes in the woods. When she asked me who was singing on the radio (okay, why would you ask someone a question while you have your fingers in her mouth?), and I said it was Frankie Valle, she gave a gasp and said, "How do you know that? You're just a baby." Really? I have 43 years to her 49 (yes, I found out her age, her weight, and shoe size because she wouldn't shut the fuck up). Do I look like I'm insecure about my age? Do I look like I need some condescension in my compliments?
2. She asked me if I had my tongue pierced, and when I told her yes, she said she'd make a good detective. Really? Because you'd somehow have to be Sherlock-fucking-Holmes to see the divot in my tongue and notice the corresponding divot on the other side and realize, "Aha! Methinks the tongue was pierced at one time!?"
3. She made me feel like shit. My hair was too long and was in her way. I had too much spit that she had to vacuum. And I didn't take care of my teeth.
I was clearly the lowest of the low, unfit for dental health, human consumption, and life as we know it.
I hope this was a one-time deal. I miss the regular dental assistant, and I promise to floss all the livelong day if I could just get her back.
Adventures in healthcare
I made an appointment a couple weeks ago to have a wart removed from my forehead.
Tangent: When I told Tattoo Queen this story, she said that she never noticed a wart on my face before. That's one of the reasons I love her: True friends are always surprised by your warts- literal and figurative.
My appointment was the day after school ended, and in the grand tradition that I forget about, my body decided to celebrate by staging a coup against me. I woke up with a wretched headache, dizziness, and the imperative to watch anything I put in my stomach on rewind.
But I didn't want to cancel the appointment because sometimes I get a notion in my head and the morning's notion was that if I didn't go, I would have to pay the cancellation fee (why that $20 seemed huge is beyond me) and I would probably never get the wart removed.
Shaky and woozy, I went to the doctor's. She took one look at my wart and said, "That's not a wart. That might be a low-grade skin cancer."
WHHHAATTT?
I tell you, it's just like a wart to be an innocuous lump of flesh only to turn and be an effing nugget of cancer.
I'd like to think that I was cool with the news, but the way she talked to me made me wonder if I didn't have freaked-out written all over my face. She said she'd need to do a biopsy and started cautioning me on the injection ("This is going to sting. It might hurt"). I went into fear mode because that is my go-to reaction during any doctor visit, even the ones that don't feature turncoat warts.*
The needle didn't hurt,** and the area was numbed up fine. She did the biopsy and told me the results would be ready in three weeks.
I made two faux pas: 1. When the doctor asked me if that was my natural haircolor, I laughed and said it came from a box. She frowned because hair color can determine fairness of skin and skin was very serious business; 2. She asked me how long I had my wart and I told her two years, which was completely wrong because tracing our relationship back revealed that my wart had been a companion for at least seven years.
The nurse was very nice, God bless her. She did make me worry when she started telling me how to care for the wound (Again, maybe I thought I was composed, but my face screamed high anxiety), and I really started to wonder about how big a chunk the doctor took. I was fully expecting to see cranium when I removed my band-aid.*** The only reason I worked up the nerve to take it off was that I didn't want a crusty band-aid circle on my head along with the gaping wound.
The divot was tiny.
Three weeks and the test results will be in. The doctor said we could decide on a treatment (?) then; I really wouldn't care if she took a razor and scraped the little mother off. I want this shit over with.
*Betrayal would best describe my feelings. I had a certain fondness for that little piece of skin even though I wanted to get it removed.
**I'm a victim of needle amnesia. When faced with a shot, I succumb to anxiety and forget about my tattoos and piercings. This reaction is ridiculous, and I need to work on it.
***Why do the doctors give those telltale circular band-aids? If I had a regular rectangle band-aid, I could've pretended that I was in a bar fight. I wanted to ask if she had any cartoon band-aids, but decided not to risk it. Doctor's visits are very serious business.
Tangent: When I told Tattoo Queen this story, she said that she never noticed a wart on my face before. That's one of the reasons I love her: True friends are always surprised by your warts- literal and figurative.
My appointment was the day after school ended, and in the grand tradition that I forget about, my body decided to celebrate by staging a coup against me. I woke up with a wretched headache, dizziness, and the imperative to watch anything I put in my stomach on rewind.
But I didn't want to cancel the appointment because sometimes I get a notion in my head and the morning's notion was that if I didn't go, I would have to pay the cancellation fee (why that $20 seemed huge is beyond me) and I would probably never get the wart removed.
Shaky and woozy, I went to the doctor's. She took one look at my wart and said, "That's not a wart. That might be a low-grade skin cancer."
WHHHAATTT?
I tell you, it's just like a wart to be an innocuous lump of flesh only to turn and be an effing nugget of cancer.
I'd like to think that I was cool with the news, but the way she talked to me made me wonder if I didn't have freaked-out written all over my face. She said she'd need to do a biopsy and started cautioning me on the injection ("This is going to sting. It might hurt"). I went into fear mode because that is my go-to reaction during any doctor visit, even the ones that don't feature turncoat warts.*
The needle didn't hurt,** and the area was numbed up fine. She did the biopsy and told me the results would be ready in three weeks.
I made two faux pas: 1. When the doctor asked me if that was my natural haircolor, I laughed and said it came from a box. She frowned because hair color can determine fairness of skin and skin was very serious business; 2. She asked me how long I had my wart and I told her two years, which was completely wrong because tracing our relationship back revealed that my wart had been a companion for at least seven years.
The nurse was very nice, God bless her. She did make me worry when she started telling me how to care for the wound (Again, maybe I thought I was composed, but my face screamed high anxiety), and I really started to wonder about how big a chunk the doctor took. I was fully expecting to see cranium when I removed my band-aid.*** The only reason I worked up the nerve to take it off was that I didn't want a crusty band-aid circle on my head along with the gaping wound.
The divot was tiny.
Three weeks and the test results will be in. The doctor said we could decide on a treatment (?) then; I really wouldn't care if she took a razor and scraped the little mother off. I want this shit over with.
*Betrayal would best describe my feelings. I had a certain fondness for that little piece of skin even though I wanted to get it removed.
**I'm a victim of needle amnesia. When faced with a shot, I succumb to anxiety and forget about my tattoos and piercings. This reaction is ridiculous, and I need to work on it.
***Why do the doctors give those telltale circular band-aids? If I had a regular rectangle band-aid, I could've pretended that I was in a bar fight. I wanted to ask if she had any cartoon band-aids, but decided not to risk it. Doctor's visits are very serious business.
It's not you, it's me
In an effort to put off my annual summer book-buying orgy, I took out a hefty stack from the library.
The first one was from an author who is killing her series. She's jumping sharks and burning bridges. It's starting to retroactively affect the enjoyment I once had. She's actually trashing my memory of her books and characters because of the bullshit she's heaping on the pages. At the halfway point, I started skimming because I don't like to leave books unfinished.
The second one was testament to the fact that hitching your wagon to a trend is a big old slap to the reader. I'm still waiting for the steampunk romance that fits the expectation I have in my brain. I've read steampunk that fulfilled all my expectations of the genre, but they tended to be too dark for the likes of me. I want a steampunk heavy on the pretty clockworks and brass and lighter on the soul-scorching punk. I do not want some wannabe bullshit with goggles and airships thrown in last minute. Despite my cardinal rule of finishing all books, this one fell into the life-is-too-short-and-isn't-there-something-on-instant-watch-that-could-eat-up-my-time? category.
The third book is a modern day fairytale and I've stalled on page 127. I don't want to give up because I'm afraid what failure might mean. What if I've lost my ability to enjoy books? What if these three books are really great, and I'm too cynical or ignorant to partake of them?
I have four more in my stack. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
The first one was from an author who is killing her series. She's jumping sharks and burning bridges. It's starting to retroactively affect the enjoyment I once had. She's actually trashing my memory of her books and characters because of the bullshit she's heaping on the pages. At the halfway point, I started skimming because I don't like to leave books unfinished.
The second one was testament to the fact that hitching your wagon to a trend is a big old slap to the reader. I'm still waiting for the steampunk romance that fits the expectation I have in my brain. I've read steampunk that fulfilled all my expectations of the genre, but they tended to be too dark for the likes of me. I want a steampunk heavy on the pretty clockworks and brass and lighter on the soul-scorching punk. I do not want some wannabe bullshit with goggles and airships thrown in last minute. Despite my cardinal rule of finishing all books, this one fell into the life-is-too-short-and-isn't-there-something-on-instant-watch-that-could-eat-up-my-time? category.
The third book is a modern day fairytale and I've stalled on page 127. I don't want to give up because I'm afraid what failure might mean. What if I've lost my ability to enjoy books? What if these three books are really great, and I'm too cynical or ignorant to partake of them?
I have four more in my stack. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
What would you do #167
You're sitting on your porch steps, enjoying a cup of coffee, and you see a bug struggling in the spiderweb under the porch railing.
This bug isn't pretty. It's not a fuzzy-wuzzy or butterfly. It looks vaguely beetle-ish or roach-ish.
Do you:
1. Let fate take its course. Nature is red in tooth and claw, and far be it from you to interfere.
2. Free it with the expectation of it returning the favor because you try to live your life as close to a fairytale as you can.
3. Free it, but as soon as relief registers on its little buggy face, crush the hell out of that sucker. You are not a merciful god.
4. Free it and wonder if you haven't made the situation worse because it's limping due to the sticky strands around its legs and body.
I need to sweep the railing of the porch, but I have only one broom and don't want to make it an outdoor broom without having an indoor broom on hand.
This bug isn't pretty. It's not a fuzzy-wuzzy or butterfly. It looks vaguely beetle-ish or roach-ish.
Do you:
1. Let fate take its course. Nature is red in tooth and claw, and far be it from you to interfere.
2. Free it with the expectation of it returning the favor because you try to live your life as close to a fairytale as you can.
3. Free it, but as soon as relief registers on its little buggy face, crush the hell out of that sucker. You are not a merciful god.
4. Free it and wonder if you haven't made the situation worse because it's limping due to the sticky strands around its legs and body.
I need to sweep the railing of the porch, but I have only one broom and don't want to make it an outdoor broom without having an indoor broom on hand.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Remember my reward? (SUPER 8- spoileriffic)
I did leave the house and see SUPER 8.
My disappointment is as filled with bitterness as a mouthful of baker's chocolate when I was expecting the sweetness of Hershey.
Can you say manipulation? I think you can, and the last third of the movie tied ropes around my limbs and jerked. Not in the good way.
I liked the interactions with the kids. That little Fanning girl is going to be somebody, and I wonder if Dakota is fully supportive, passive-aggressively supportive, or outright threatened by her sis. Because Elle is a better actor. Sure, Dakota has the composure and self-possession that are always delightful and precocious in a child actor, but her sister has the chops.
I also liked the homage aspect of the movie. It felt like THE GOONIES and STAND BY ME, and Abrams really knows how to film a small town so that it seems familiar and warm and gooey.
But the end of the movie shit on all the good feelings. First off, if you're going to use the misunderstood monster trope, try not having the creature eat people. The minute your monster chows on the townspeople, whose only crimes were being wrong place/wrong time and not having the kevlar of childhood innocence to save them from an alien's maw, is the moment your monster has gone beyond the boundaries of woobie.
Not to mention the very ending. The alien flies off and the townspeople gape in awe and respect and who the fuck else knows. I wanted to scream at them. This alien just trashed your town and ATE your neighbors and relatives. Do not gaze in wonder. Open fire on that mother and blast it out of the sky. Or at least scowl some.
The main kid, whose mother died four months prior, gets a long sequence of holding onto the mother's locket, which has been a sort of talisman for him during the events, and then letting go and letting it fly to be assimilated by the neighborhood-trashing, neighbor-chowing alien's ship. Why? Why was this significant? Why did he need to let go of the locket? He wasn't obsessed with her death. Her death didn't prevent him from making a zombie movie or getting hot for Fanning. How was this action symbolic?
The reason I knew it was meaningful and symbolic was that the fucking soundtrack told me so. Oh God, the soaring upsweep of the music bitch slapped me with the meaningfulness of the moment.
At the end, emotionally remote and largely absentee father engulfs the main character in a bear hug and says, "I got you." Excuse me, but what? No really, what? The father doesn't rescue the main kid, his friends, or little Fanning. He's pretty much a douche to the kid after the mother's death, and there's no redemptive or conciliatory action on the part of the father. Except for the hug and the soundtrack, which should burn in all the fires.
I left the theater and wanted to punch a puppy, that's how pissed I was at the blatant and unapologetic manipulation of the ending.
I left the house for this shit. I corrected my exams for this shit. Fool on me for getting my hopes up.
My disappointment is as filled with bitterness as a mouthful of baker's chocolate when I was expecting the sweetness of Hershey.
Can you say manipulation? I think you can, and the last third of the movie tied ropes around my limbs and jerked. Not in the good way.
I liked the interactions with the kids. That little Fanning girl is going to be somebody, and I wonder if Dakota is fully supportive, passive-aggressively supportive, or outright threatened by her sis. Because Elle is a better actor. Sure, Dakota has the composure and self-possession that are always delightful and precocious in a child actor, but her sister has the chops.
I also liked the homage aspect of the movie. It felt like THE GOONIES and STAND BY ME, and Abrams really knows how to film a small town so that it seems familiar and warm and gooey.
But the end of the movie shit on all the good feelings. First off, if you're going to use the misunderstood monster trope, try not having the creature eat people. The minute your monster chows on the townspeople, whose only crimes were being wrong place/wrong time and not having the kevlar of childhood innocence to save them from an alien's maw, is the moment your monster has gone beyond the boundaries of woobie.
Not to mention the very ending. The alien flies off and the townspeople gape in awe and respect and who the fuck else knows. I wanted to scream at them. This alien just trashed your town and ATE your neighbors and relatives. Do not gaze in wonder. Open fire on that mother and blast it out of the sky. Or at least scowl some.
The main kid, whose mother died four months prior, gets a long sequence of holding onto the mother's locket, which has been a sort of talisman for him during the events, and then letting go and letting it fly to be assimilated by the neighborhood-trashing, neighbor-chowing alien's ship. Why? Why was this significant? Why did he need to let go of the locket? He wasn't obsessed with her death. Her death didn't prevent him from making a zombie movie or getting hot for Fanning. How was this action symbolic?
The reason I knew it was meaningful and symbolic was that the fucking soundtrack told me so. Oh God, the soaring upsweep of the music bitch slapped me with the meaningfulness of the moment.
At the end, emotionally remote and largely absentee father engulfs the main character in a bear hug and says, "I got you." Excuse me, but what? No really, what? The father doesn't rescue the main kid, his friends, or little Fanning. He's pretty much a douche to the kid after the mother's death, and there's no redemptive or conciliatory action on the part of the father. Except for the hug and the soundtrack, which should burn in all the fires.
I left the theater and wanted to punch a puppy, that's how pissed I was at the blatant and unapologetic manipulation of the ending.
I left the house for this shit. I corrected my exams for this shit. Fool on me for getting my hopes up.
End of Days...2011
I got no speech.
My end of the year speech is pretty much "Have a great summer and take care." Woefully uninspired, I know that to the bottom of my heart.
You know who was the king of year end speeches? My dad. When my school ended before his, he would let me come to the last day of his school. He was an elementary school teacher for a city, and it was always a great treat to go with him and hang out with the big kids.
Is it my imagination or did kids seem bigger and more mature in the seventies?
His speech would have those kids rapt and shiny-eyed. I'm surprised none of them stood up and sang "To Sir, with Love."
I wish I had copied at least one of his speeches down. I would steal the crap out of that mother.
He'd say how great it was to be a part of their lives and that if they ever needed him, they could call on him. But my paraphrase doesn't do it justice.
I sometimes think about what I'd like to say: It's been an honor and a privilege teaching you. You've challenged me. You've made me weep and made me laugh, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity and dumb luck to have spent a year with you.
I can't. I stand up to deliver and choke and cover by saying, "Take your feet off the desk and don't line up at the door."
If only they knew. If only I could overcome this shyness or nervousness...but am I not falling into a trap here? I'm succumbing to that teacher flaw that one word at the right time can make the difference in a person's life. Are my students missing out by not hearing an up-and-at-em speech at the end of the year? I don't know. I honestly don't know.
My end of the year speech is pretty much "Have a great summer and take care." Woefully uninspired, I know that to the bottom of my heart.
You know who was the king of year end speeches? My dad. When my school ended before his, he would let me come to the last day of his school. He was an elementary school teacher for a city, and it was always a great treat to go with him and hang out with the big kids.
Is it my imagination or did kids seem bigger and more mature in the seventies?
His speech would have those kids rapt and shiny-eyed. I'm surprised none of them stood up and sang "To Sir, with Love."
I wish I had copied at least one of his speeches down. I would steal the crap out of that mother.
He'd say how great it was to be a part of their lives and that if they ever needed him, they could call on him. But my paraphrase doesn't do it justice.
I sometimes think about what I'd like to say: It's been an honor and a privilege teaching you. You've challenged me. You've made me weep and made me laugh, and I'm so grateful for the opportunity and dumb luck to have spent a year with you.
I can't. I stand up to deliver and choke and cover by saying, "Take your feet off the desk and don't line up at the door."
If only they knew. If only I could overcome this shyness or nervousness...but am I not falling into a trap here? I'm succumbing to that teacher flaw that one word at the right time can make the difference in a person's life. Are my students missing out by not hearing an up-and-at-em speech at the end of the year? I don't know. I honestly don't know.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Anyone else going to see SUPER 8?
I corrected most of my exams and plan to see SUPER 8 as a reward. The movie doesn't start for another hour, and I'm burning time until I have to leave.
Tattoo Queen has been watching SONS OF ANARCHY, and after talking to her yesterday, I decided to watch some episodes. Some episodes turned into a whole bunch of episodes, and the show done ate up my day.
HBO has ruined my brain- I was expecting a lot more sexing and found myself wondering when the nekkid times would come. That's my profound conclusion about the show: needs more of the nekkid.
I would also like to see more bike porn on it. A show about a motorcycle gang should make me want to run out and buy a bike, but so far, the urge hasn't taken me over.
Other than that, I kind of like it. Katey Segal is rocking her character on all the good levels. She's a Lady Macbeth, Jocasta, and Marmee parfait. Tattoo Queen hates the way Ron Perlman plays his character, but I don't mind it. I like gravelly-voiced cliches.
I finished nine episodes, and I feel the same way I did when I reached a certain point of watching THE WALKING DEAD: the writers need to raise the stakes. Someone familiar needs to die.
On another tangent, I'm kind of mad at Netflix for being a total cocktease. DOCTOR WHO Seasons 1-6 are listed in the description on instant-watch, which made me insanely happy, but when I sat down to watch season 6, it wasn't on the list of episodes. I had to shake my fist at my computer.
Tattoo Queen has been watching SONS OF ANARCHY, and after talking to her yesterday, I decided to watch some episodes. Some episodes turned into a whole bunch of episodes, and the show done ate up my day.
HBO has ruined my brain- I was expecting a lot more sexing and found myself wondering when the nekkid times would come. That's my profound conclusion about the show: needs more of the nekkid.
I would also like to see more bike porn on it. A show about a motorcycle gang should make me want to run out and buy a bike, but so far, the urge hasn't taken me over.
Other than that, I kind of like it. Katey Segal is rocking her character on all the good levels. She's a Lady Macbeth, Jocasta, and Marmee parfait. Tattoo Queen hates the way Ron Perlman plays his character, but I don't mind it. I like gravelly-voiced cliches.
I finished nine episodes, and I feel the same way I did when I reached a certain point of watching THE WALKING DEAD: the writers need to raise the stakes. Someone familiar needs to die.
On another tangent, I'm kind of mad at Netflix for being a total cocktease. DOCTOR WHO Seasons 1-6 are listed in the description on instant-watch, which made me insanely happy, but when I sat down to watch season 6, it wasn't on the list of episodes. I had to shake my fist at my computer.
Last week in a hard little shell
I keep on meaning to do a yearly reflection because the end of the school year is closer to what New Year's Eve is supposed to be; however, I always forget that the end of the year brings a crap-ton of doubt and evil thoughts. Who can reflect under those conditions?
Last week was such an unholy mixture of bright spots and black spots that on Wednesday my brain threw up its hands and decided to melt down.
The good: moments of pure joy as I planned for next year's classes- I'm excited about my new schedule, the grace and kindness I witnessed in students, a couple of e-mails from parents that warmed my heart, and the feeling of just kicking back and enjoying the camaraderie of fellow teachers.
I should list specifics, but in all honesty, it's taken me a lot to write this post.
The bad: shit from the administration, shit from students, shit from parents, and the persistent doubt in my abilities as a teacher and a functioning human being.
Wednesday night I couldn't really do anything but cry. I felt like I was cracked and one more thing would shatter me. The only comforting thought was that I hadn't shattered, but holding myself together from the inside was taking everything I had.
Teacher insomnia also decided to have its merry way with me, and by Thursday, I didn't even try to sleep. Instead of staying in bed, I re-read some Nora Roberts and dicked around on the computer until it was time to get ready for school.
I could blame the full moon, the lunar eclipse, or PMS, but that seems like a cop out. I guess one of my goals for next year should be to end the year without letting the end of the year best me.
Last week was such an unholy mixture of bright spots and black spots that on Wednesday my brain threw up its hands and decided to melt down.
The good: moments of pure joy as I planned for next year's classes- I'm excited about my new schedule, the grace and kindness I witnessed in students, a couple of e-mails from parents that warmed my heart, and the feeling of just kicking back and enjoying the camaraderie of fellow teachers.
I should list specifics, but in all honesty, it's taken me a lot to write this post.
The bad: shit from the administration, shit from students, shit from parents, and the persistent doubt in my abilities as a teacher and a functioning human being.
Wednesday night I couldn't really do anything but cry. I felt like I was cracked and one more thing would shatter me. The only comforting thought was that I hadn't shattered, but holding myself together from the inside was taking everything I had.
Teacher insomnia also decided to have its merry way with me, and by Thursday, I didn't even try to sleep. Instead of staying in bed, I re-read some Nora Roberts and dicked around on the computer until it was time to get ready for school.
I could blame the full moon, the lunar eclipse, or PMS, but that seems like a cop out. I guess one of my goals for next year should be to end the year without letting the end of the year best me.
Friday, June 10, 2011
The original title was a little too severe*
Meghan Cox Gurdon wrote an article a couple days ago in the Wall Street Journal about how darkity-dark-dark-dark YA was getting. Her anecdotal evidence is that a friend went into a chain bookstore and was totally unable to find a YA book suitable for her daughter.
Sherman Alexie wrote a response that I want to hug and feed and call George. If you haven't read any of his long or short fiction, please do. He's one of the best contemporary writers out there, and (for those of you who are like me) I've only heard good things about him as a person. His writing is incredible; if you haven't read him, rectify, rectify, rectify.
Gurdon's article comes at the same time as Naomi-Fucking-Rapist-Defending-Wolf's article that presents another attack on YA. Between the two of them, a person is supposed to absorb the following facts: YA is too dark, glamorizes the wrong lifestyles, and won't someone think of the children?
I really think that YA authors these days are thinking of the children.
Here's why:
1. Some teenagers crave darkness. Some of my most well-adjusted, privileged students list A CHILD CALLED IT as their favorite book. Teenagers, and adults, crave the extremes. Even if it's just to say thank all the powers in any pantheon that my life is good.
2. There's a tremendous amount of relief and affirmation to find out you're not the only one. I'm speaking for myself, but when I am lucky enough to find a book that talks about a trauma I've experienced or shares a darkness that pervades my heart, I'm damn grateful that I'm not a freak. To me, the words "You're not alone" are the ultimate salve.
Both of those authors can suck my dick. Their articles show a woeful ignorance of YA literature and come from a incredibly high pedestal of privilege.
If Gurdon doesn't understand that teen readers want to know the dark side of reality from the safe space of a book, and if Wolf doesn't know that extremes can be tantalizing without influencing, they should both get on their knees and thank whatever deity enabled them to escape their teen years unscathed- even vicariously unscathed.
The comments for the Gurdon article are defuckinglightful because of all the ways ignorance can manifest itself. One commenter clutches her pearls (AND AREN'T ALL THESE WOMEN CLUTCHING THEIR PEARLS?- and not even in a good way) and says that she disdains modern YA lit and recommends solid, virtuous lit like THE DRAGON RIDERS OF PERN.
I love Anne MacCaffrey and I love the hell out of them dragonriders. Geez, for the longest time I wanted my own little hatchling to impress. I would've even settled for a dragon lizard. But those books contain some pretty thorny issues: child abuse, bullying, the slaughter of a family, rape, forced seduction (that is referred to as rape), and sexual content (when a dragon needs to fly- and I think you know what I mean- the rider has no choice of the deed or the partner. The dragon decides).
What kills me is that the articles don't acknowledge the fact that this time in history is an mother-effing boom-time in YA lit. Anything, anything young readers want is theirs for the taking. Sweet or sour, realistic or unrealistic, dark or light, it's all there.
I don't know how these women live with their ignorance. I guess their privilege makes one hell of a shelter.
*Original title: I want to piss on their faces to put out the fire of their ignorance
Sherman Alexie wrote a response that I want to hug and feed and call George. If you haven't read any of his long or short fiction, please do. He's one of the best contemporary writers out there, and (for those of you who are like me) I've only heard good things about him as a person. His writing is incredible; if you haven't read him, rectify, rectify, rectify.
Gurdon's article comes at the same time as Naomi-Fucking-Rapist-Defending-Wolf's article that presents another attack on YA. Between the two of them, a person is supposed to absorb the following facts: YA is too dark, glamorizes the wrong lifestyles, and won't someone think of the children?
I really think that YA authors these days are thinking of the children.
Here's why:
1. Some teenagers crave darkness. Some of my most well-adjusted, privileged students list A CHILD CALLED IT as their favorite book. Teenagers, and adults, crave the extremes. Even if it's just to say thank all the powers in any pantheon that my life is good.
2. There's a tremendous amount of relief and affirmation to find out you're not the only one. I'm speaking for myself, but when I am lucky enough to find a book that talks about a trauma I've experienced or shares a darkness that pervades my heart, I'm damn grateful that I'm not a freak. To me, the words "You're not alone" are the ultimate salve.
Both of those authors can suck my dick. Their articles show a woeful ignorance of YA literature and come from a incredibly high pedestal of privilege.
If Gurdon doesn't understand that teen readers want to know the dark side of reality from the safe space of a book, and if Wolf doesn't know that extremes can be tantalizing without influencing, they should both get on their knees and thank whatever deity enabled them to escape their teen years unscathed- even vicariously unscathed.
The comments for the Gurdon article are defuckinglightful because of all the ways ignorance can manifest itself. One commenter clutches her pearls (AND AREN'T ALL THESE WOMEN CLUTCHING THEIR PEARLS?- and not even in a good way) and says that she disdains modern YA lit and recommends solid, virtuous lit like THE DRAGON RIDERS OF PERN.
I love Anne MacCaffrey and I love the hell out of them dragonriders. Geez, for the longest time I wanted my own little hatchling to impress. I would've even settled for a dragon lizard. But those books contain some pretty thorny issues: child abuse, bullying, the slaughter of a family, rape, forced seduction (that is referred to as rape), and sexual content (when a dragon needs to fly- and I think you know what I mean- the rider has no choice of the deed or the partner. The dragon decides).
What kills me is that the articles don't acknowledge the fact that this time in history is an mother-effing boom-time in YA lit. Anything, anything young readers want is theirs for the taking. Sweet or sour, realistic or unrealistic, dark or light, it's all there.
I don't know how these women live with their ignorance. I guess their privilege makes one hell of a shelter.
*Original title: I want to piss on their faces to put out the fire of their ignorance
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Moving to the state of education
There's a huge push in education for differentiated instruction.
What is differentiated instruction? Good question. Let me know when you find out.
Tell me what to do, and I'll do it, but the rub is that no one knows how differentiated instruction looks at the secondary level. The administration and my department head mouth the words like chimps on an apple, but when it gets to the concrete, no one has any ideas.
I've been reading about teaching literacy at the high school level, and one author said we shouldn't be focused on content if there's no state mandate. That depresses me. One of the reasons I teach high school is to be able to teach canon. I'm not hidebound (ah, but even saying that shows how non-adventurous I am), but letting the students read anything? That messes with my mind. Therein lies the problem: my reactions to these approaches come in two flavors- "That's impossible; I en't gonna do it" and "But I already do that."
I have to change my way of thinking.
Another initiative is intervention, and if I was the parent of a decent student, I'd be pissed. If you're a highly motivated, high-performing student, you'll be in the advanced classes that tend to have small populations. If you're a knucklehead who would sooner kiss a dead fish than complete an assignment, you'll be in the intervention classes (wicked small class size). If you're a solid B-C student on the college prep track? You'll be in a class of 25-27...Good luck with that.
And it's the outliers that enable my school to boast that the average student-teacher ratio is 12:1. I'm calling shenanigans.
I don't know why we're catering to the students who choose not to work. There. I've said it. I want the same efforts exerted on the students who do their work, who feel as though school is a necessary torture (and deal with it with good humor and grace), and who would never dream of calling the teacher the C-word.
Why don't they count? Why isn't the same amount of money being spent on them? Why is being decent and good not good enough?
I'm just so pissed that the powers that be feel comfortable giving teachers an expectation with no guidelines or definition. I'm angry that the students who make my day are overlooked.
Maybe I'm too stuck in my ways. Yes, I most definitely am. Luckily, I have an entire summer to scout the internet and the bookstore for a path out of the woods.
What is differentiated instruction? Good question. Let me know when you find out.
Tell me what to do, and I'll do it, but the rub is that no one knows how differentiated instruction looks at the secondary level. The administration and my department head mouth the words like chimps on an apple, but when it gets to the concrete, no one has any ideas.
I've been reading about teaching literacy at the high school level, and one author said we shouldn't be focused on content if there's no state mandate. That depresses me. One of the reasons I teach high school is to be able to teach canon. I'm not hidebound (ah, but even saying that shows how non-adventurous I am), but letting the students read anything? That messes with my mind. Therein lies the problem: my reactions to these approaches come in two flavors- "That's impossible; I en't gonna do it" and "But I already do that."
I have to change my way of thinking.
Another initiative is intervention, and if I was the parent of a decent student, I'd be pissed. If you're a highly motivated, high-performing student, you'll be in the advanced classes that tend to have small populations. If you're a knucklehead who would sooner kiss a dead fish than complete an assignment, you'll be in the intervention classes (wicked small class size). If you're a solid B-C student on the college prep track? You'll be in a class of 25-27...Good luck with that.
And it's the outliers that enable my school to boast that the average student-teacher ratio is 12:1. I'm calling shenanigans.
I don't know why we're catering to the students who choose not to work. There. I've said it. I want the same efforts exerted on the students who do their work, who feel as though school is a necessary torture (and deal with it with good humor and grace), and who would never dream of calling the teacher the C-word.
Why don't they count? Why isn't the same amount of money being spent on them? Why is being decent and good not good enough?
I'm just so pissed that the powers that be feel comfortable giving teachers an expectation with no guidelines or definition. I'm angry that the students who make my day are overlooked.
Maybe I'm too stuck in my ways. Yes, I most definitely am. Luckily, I have an entire summer to scout the internet and the bookstore for a path out of the woods.
A thought occurred to me-
I keep my beer in the veggie drawer with the juice boxes I give to my nephews.
Is this egregiously wrong?
Am I teaching my nephews to equate beer with other tasty beverages? Would people clutch their pearls and call Family Services if they knew where I lived?
It seems normal to me, but with the child-caring gig my brother has me doing in August, I want to get my ethics straight.
None of my little nephews- the ones who partake in the juice boxes- can work a bottle opener, so I don't think they'll be breaking into my stash anytime soon. Or is that a massive justification?
Is this egregiously wrong?
Am I teaching my nephews to equate beer with other tasty beverages? Would people clutch their pearls and call Family Services if they knew where I lived?
It seems normal to me, but with the child-caring gig my brother has me doing in August, I want to get my ethics straight.
None of my little nephews- the ones who partake in the juice boxes- can work a bottle opener, so I don't think they'll be breaking into my stash anytime soon. Or is that a massive justification?
On my doorstep
A box was on the stoop when I got home.
My shoes, I haz them!
They are beautiful and fierce, and I can't wait to go clomping up and down the halls in them tomorrow.
I really have to hand it to Zappos: I ordered them on Saturday afternoon and received them today. They really do employ shipping elves.
My shoes, I haz them!
They are beautiful and fierce, and I can't wait to go clomping up and down the halls in them tomorrow.
I really have to hand it to Zappos: I ordered them on Saturday afternoon and received them today. They really do employ shipping elves.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I don't know nothing 'bout taking care of no babies
My brother, who lives in South Carolina, has his son for the summer, and he's recruiting help from the family.
My mother's going down in June to stay for a month, and I've been asked to go for a week in August.
I don't want to.
He's an excellent brother, as all my brothers are, and he'd help out sans hesitation if I needed him to watch my kid. Except I don't have a kid. The only things I have for him to watch are my DVDs, and they're pretty good about staying on their own as long as I keep them away from the liquor cabinet, which is not problem since the booze is in the living room closet with the vacuum and my DVDs don't have feet.
I think the reason he asked me was that I have ovaries and must naturally be inclined and able to take care of children. I also have the summer off, which puts my brothers, who are far more experienced and capable, out of the running.
I floated the idea of making the week a Girls' Trip, but my sisters are giving me the unenthused vibe.
A week on my own with a one year old. The marrow in my bones freezes at the thought. I think I can be trusted not to get him drunk, pierced or tattooed, but the whole meals and changing diapers and entertainment factors make me uneasy.
I don't have maternal instincts; I have aunt instincts. I can keep my nephews and nieces amused for short bursts of time and throw them presents and money on the right occasions. This here gig is another thing entirely.
My mother's going down in June to stay for a month, and I've been asked to go for a week in August.
I don't want to.
He's an excellent brother, as all my brothers are, and he'd help out sans hesitation if I needed him to watch my kid. Except I don't have a kid. The only things I have for him to watch are my DVDs, and they're pretty good about staying on their own as long as I keep them away from the liquor cabinet, which is not problem since the booze is in the living room closet with the vacuum and my DVDs don't have feet.
I think the reason he asked me was that I have ovaries and must naturally be inclined and able to take care of children. I also have the summer off, which puts my brothers, who are far more experienced and capable, out of the running.
I floated the idea of making the week a Girls' Trip, but my sisters are giving me the unenthused vibe.
A week on my own with a one year old. The marrow in my bones freezes at the thought. I think I can be trusted not to get him drunk, pierced or tattooed, but the whole meals and changing diapers and entertainment factors make me uneasy.
I don't have maternal instincts; I have aunt instincts. I can keep my nephews and nieces amused for short bursts of time and throw them presents and money on the right occasions. This here gig is another thing entirely.
Stop me before I shop again
Tattoo Queen turned me on to Zappos, and the minute I saw the hundreds of clogs available, I was hooked as surely as the first time I did heroin.*
I wear clogs because they give me the sense of height without the treachery of stilettos. They are my go-to shoe for school.
I bought a nice pair and saw another that completely captivated me. They were Harley Davidson clogs with studs on the heel, a big-ass S&M buckle, and four inches of towering goodness. Ugly? Yes. Incredibly fierce? Yes, yes, yes.
Then when I went for a comfort browse through the selection yesterday afternoon, I noticed the pair didn't have my size anymore.
I DIDN'T KNOW THE STYLE COULD SELL OUT!
(My feet make me kin to Sasquatch. I find it weird that the shoes sold out because that means that big-footed women and great minds think alike).
In a panic, I scoured the sight for similar models and latched onto another Harley Davidson pair. Similarities: black leather, big-ass S&M buckle, and studs- on the sides, not on the heel. Differences: the aforementioned stud placement, three inch heel (instead of four inches, which would've been the death of me), and the Harley Davidson logo on the inside, outside, and on the sole. Which means I could step on someone's neck and leave a lasting imprint.
I'm a little worried about the money I'm spending on shoes. I bought four pairs this year- two in the last month- and I'm afraid it's the first step down a slippery slope, which ain't good because I'm wearing heels.**
Questions I ask before I make a big purchase: Does it come in my size or preference? Can I afford this? Do I truly want this? Am I going to use this? No really, am I going to use this to a consistent degree? Do I deserve this?
The last question is a stumper and serves to weed out most impulses. In order to answer correctly, I need to come up with a few achievements (yesterday's were finishing my correcting on Friday, making two tests yesterday morning, writing the finals for my classes yesterday morning, and cleaning out my closet) and can't have any major screw-ups to mess with the balance.
I don't want to be one of those women you see on TV: The ones who use shopping as therapy and spend themselves and their families into the poorhouse. My evil former sister-in-law is one of them, and the less I have in common with her, the better.
Four pairs of shoes is a banner fucking year for me, and buying shoes that I like- not for how long they'll last or for their utility- is a huge deal. I'm just afraid a year from now I'll be fathoms in debt and nothing to show for it except a closet full of shoes.
*I meant heroine, as in the first time I saw a kick-ass woman save the universe (Ripley from ALIENS- not so much the "Let me take off my clothes and show my seventies undies even though the music should be telling me to look for that mothereffing alien" Ripley from ALIEN).
**I'm going to try to hold off on the shoe puns.
I wear clogs because they give me the sense of height without the treachery of stilettos. They are my go-to shoe for school.
I bought a nice pair and saw another that completely captivated me. They were Harley Davidson clogs with studs on the heel, a big-ass S&M buckle, and four inches of towering goodness. Ugly? Yes. Incredibly fierce? Yes, yes, yes.
Then when I went for a comfort browse through the selection yesterday afternoon, I noticed the pair didn't have my size anymore.
I DIDN'T KNOW THE STYLE COULD SELL OUT!
(My feet make me kin to Sasquatch. I find it weird that the shoes sold out because that means that big-footed women and great minds think alike).
In a panic, I scoured the sight for similar models and latched onto another Harley Davidson pair. Similarities: black leather, big-ass S&M buckle, and studs- on the sides, not on the heel. Differences: the aforementioned stud placement, three inch heel (instead of four inches, which would've been the death of me), and the Harley Davidson logo on the inside, outside, and on the sole. Which means I could step on someone's neck and leave a lasting imprint.
I'm a little worried about the money I'm spending on shoes. I bought four pairs this year- two in the last month- and I'm afraid it's the first step down a slippery slope, which ain't good because I'm wearing heels.**
Questions I ask before I make a big purchase: Does it come in my size or preference? Can I afford this? Do I truly want this? Am I going to use this? No really, am I going to use this to a consistent degree? Do I deserve this?
The last question is a stumper and serves to weed out most impulses. In order to answer correctly, I need to come up with a few achievements (yesterday's were finishing my correcting on Friday, making two tests yesterday morning, writing the finals for my classes yesterday morning, and cleaning out my closet) and can't have any major screw-ups to mess with the balance.
I don't want to be one of those women you see on TV: The ones who use shopping as therapy and spend themselves and their families into the poorhouse. My evil former sister-in-law is one of them, and the less I have in common with her, the better.
Four pairs of shoes is a banner fucking year for me, and buying shoes that I like- not for how long they'll last or for their utility- is a huge deal. I'm just afraid a year from now I'll be fathoms in debt and nothing to show for it except a closet full of shoes.
*I meant heroine, as in the first time I saw a kick-ass woman save the universe (Ripley from ALIENS- not so much the "Let me take off my clothes and show my seventies undies even though the music should be telling me to look for that mothereffing alien" Ripley from ALIEN).
**I'm going to try to hold off on the shoe puns.
Am I eating week-old birthday cake?
Why yes, I am eating week-old birthday cake.
When I think about possible deathbed regrets, which I am wont to do, throwing out True Blood cake would be one of them.
It's tangible proof that my family loves me. And chocolate mousse!
When I think about possible deathbed regrets, which I am wont to do, throwing out True Blood cake would be one of them.
It's tangible proof that my family loves me. And chocolate mousse!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Well, at least he bought a house in New Orleans
I watched THE SORCERER'S APPRENTICE the other night. I was thinking about recapping it, but then realized that I had 40 essays simmering in my bag.
I don't understand why you would start a movie with the incredible Ian McShane doing a voiceover and NOT have him in the movie. Why, why would the director toy with my emotions that way? Why would he give me a hard on and leave me to wag my wood in the wind?
I feel kind of bad for Nicholas Cage. I feel like he's the type of actor who thinks he could be De Niro but for dumb rotten luck. I don't think he's reached the Michael Caine I'll-Do-Anything-For-A-Check stage yet, and that must bother him.
I have to say, the first 37 minutes pretty much suck (exacerbated by the tease of the McShane), but just when I was going to turn it off, it sucked me in. I don't know how or when exactly, but I started to become invested in the tale of an underachieving physicist realizing his true potential and power as a sorcerer.
The special effects were okay, although I kept on telling my computer (who's the only one who listens to me) that they could've saved some bucks if they chose cheaper cars and less CGI.
I wish the females lead had been more dynamic. They had the great Alice Krige but didn't take advantage of her.
However, it was an enjoyable waste of time, and I always like seeing Alfred Molina when he pops up.
ETA: "Sorcerer" is a word I can never spell on the first try: How that vexes me.
I don't understand why you would start a movie with the incredible Ian McShane doing a voiceover and NOT have him in the movie. Why, why would the director toy with my emotions that way? Why would he give me a hard on and leave me to wag my wood in the wind?
I feel kind of bad for Nicholas Cage. I feel like he's the type of actor who thinks he could be De Niro but for dumb rotten luck. I don't think he's reached the Michael Caine I'll-Do-Anything-For-A-Check stage yet, and that must bother him.
I have to say, the first 37 minutes pretty much suck (exacerbated by the tease of the McShane), but just when I was going to turn it off, it sucked me in. I don't know how or when exactly, but I started to become invested in the tale of an underachieving physicist realizing his true potential and power as a sorcerer.
The special effects were okay, although I kept on telling my computer (who's the only one who listens to me) that they could've saved some bucks if they chose cheaper cars and less CGI.
I wish the females lead had been more dynamic. They had the great Alice Krige but didn't take advantage of her.
However, it was an enjoyable waste of time, and I always like seeing Alfred Molina when he pops up.
ETA: "Sorcerer" is a word I can never spell on the first try: How that vexes me.
Hell, it's good to laugh
I don't even care if they're real, but Damn You, Autocorrect is some funny shit.
Crying, I'm crying from laughing so hard right now.
Crying, I'm crying from laughing so hard right now.
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