Hell Yes.

In one hour I turn 29. 6 hours ago I was handed the keys to my first piece of property. The last two hours were spent unwrapping various shapes of glassware used for varying types of liquor (me) and trying to figure out how to work the Swedish-made washing machine (Brendan).

Goals can be beautiful things when achieved.

(You know...when one bothers to finally getting around to make them because they panic that they're hurtling toward 30 with nothing to show for it.)

What I have to show for it:

Feed A Local Animator...Go See Coraline.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Will Vinton. He liked to make cartoons out of clay and became modestly successful at it.

Exhibit A.




Across town there was another man named Phil Knight. He liked to run. In shoes. In really really expensive shoes. Especially because he made the shoes and became overly successful at it.




Exhibit B.


Phil had a son who liked what Will did and wanted to do it too. In an overly simplified and not at all objective version of an otherwise long and more complicated version of the story - Phil got his son secured in a position under Will as an animator...and then performed what was known in the olden times as a "hostile takeover".

Ouch.

Thus dieth Will Vinton Studios and thereafter riseth Laika from its ashes. Or something.

What was to come after was a series of M&M commercials and some whisperings about a movie directed by the man who made Nightmare Before Christmas from the only Neil Gaiman book I ever read...Coraline.

It was too much to hope for, really - the coolness of stop-motion animation combined with the spookiness of Neil Gaiman's writing was more than I could even hope for. I was sure it would have to disappoint.

Then years passed and I forgot all about it.

Suddenly Terry Hatcher is in my city. And I'm all..."get out". What that means is, the movie is made. And it's been released. And so have all the artists who MOVED to this city to work for Laika in making it. Most of them were laid off until Knight could determine whether or not there was a market for this type of filmmaking. Despite the fact that it took us three tries of being turned away at the window before finally seeing the movie...this is apparently still up for debate.

But I don't agree. I'd say the fact that we got assaulted with an Ice Age 3 preview, is a pointed way of reminding us that there's a market for any and all things animated. But that stop-motion is more valuable, as it's a crossover.

Pixar, no matter what Brendan says, is NOT a crossover. Or if it is, it's a selective crossover. Case in point:

Credits end. I take my Gryffendor slipper socks off and replace them with my slip on shoes. Brendan gathers our contraband (non-regulation candies and pop cans):

Me: That was awesome. I'd take that kind of animation and story over Wall-E any day. It's much more visually intruiging.
Brendan: There's no comparison. I think there were several slow moments in this.
Me: See, and I think Wall-E was one really long slow moment.
Brendan: What?! Wall-E was much more.......
~Argument continues all the way to the parking lot~

Anyway, my chickadees...you be the judge. Go see Coraline and tell me if you don't get wrapped up in the magic of what clay can do more than the standard of Pixar's computer animated routine. Even if you don't fall in love with it, you'll have the satisfaction and moral self righteousness of knowing that you helped feed a starving artist.

But whatever you do...stay the hell out of crawlspaces. I don't know how many times I have to warn people but no one ever listens! What's WRONG with you people!?

Where "They" Say My Heart Is

People are feeling removed from the loop, so let me get something straight.

I have indeed purchased a condo. The inside of which has two bedrooms, a fireplace and an AUTOMATED WASHING DEVICE for both clothes AND dishes. Plus a small closet for Brendan to live in with this things. You scoff, but it might have to be that way. You should see the boxes of books this boy wheels around in his peddler cart (Honda Fit) whenever he moves. He's obviously never had to do the great purge. I've had to do the great purge on a number of occasions. Books and LPs, the two heaviest thing-types, get thrown overboard. I try to hold onto the barrels of gunpowder as long as I can. Safety first.

The condo is in a neighborhood known as "Alberta". Which is actually just the name of the street, but whatever. It also used to be known as a ghetto. Any city with an actual ghetto would laugh at this and then pop a cap in your ass whilst simultaneously trying to sell you weed. I thrive on stereotypes. Over the last couple of years, Alberta has become what I like to call Doucheberta. In other words, it's been gentrified to the point where many of the original inhabitants can't afford to live there anymore. And there are lots of shops that sell beaded shit and stationary. And restaurants that only serve vegetarians.

However. We cannot afford to buy in our current neighborhood. Well, strike that. I cannot afford alone to buy in my current neighborhood. So we're gonna baby-step our way back into SE by moving to the edge of gentrification in NE. C'est si bon.

Nextly, I still haven't decided on a mug. You guys gave me too many great options and I'm really pissed. You all know how I feel about decisions.

I'm also still annoyed with blogger. It hasn't done anything horrible lately, but I don't forgive easily so I may still break up with it. Dealing with "coding" and "bugs" and "RSS" bullshit is not my idea of a good time. Basically, I am of the opinion that technology can blow me. (Shhh, shhh, it's ok, I still love you, little VCR).

So now you're updated. Please do feel free to carry on with your day.

A New Gimmick For Absolutely No Reason!

Hey hey hey!

I've decided to once in a while freak you all out by giving a stalkerish shout out to one of my readers who's location I've been able to pinpoint via Google Analytics. Don't worry...it doesn't mean I know who you are...just where you are. Comforting, no?

So this week, I'm sending a special 'hey, whut up' to my reader in Sussex, Wisconsin. How's the weather over there? Probably pretty bitch ass cold and you're stuck inside reading my blog. I'd ask you to send me some cheese since I'm betting that's what Sussex is known for, but we have kick ass cheese here and I'm ethnocentric. I think that term can apply to a love of state. Whatever.

Anyway, that's my stalkerish shout out for the week. Cross your fingers and pray to unicorns that you're next...you other people, you.

I put my couch up on craigslist today thinking it would take a week or two to sell. It took three hours. So now I'm sitting in my living room in a lawn chair. One of two. And a full sized mattress with throw pillows. It looks...odd. But what can be done? We have several social events between now and move day.

Though the leopard print throw pillows on the mattress are a bit porn set-ish. Ick.

Niblet

These are the devil.

6 servings, my ass.

I Need A Mug

It's true.

My office's main facilities have moved down several floors. The only people up here are the ones who are so busy working their lives away that they don't give a shit what receptacle holds their caffeinated beverages...they just want it within clutching distance. So they don't care that all the nice mugs have been moved down to the other floor and what we're left with is a rag tag bunch of Island of Misfit Mugs ridiculousness.

Except for me. I care.

I cared enough to go to Goodwill last year and get myself a fancy pants teacup with an elegant pastoral scene upon it...which got stolen about 6 months ago. Somebody's a rat.

So since then I've been slumming with POM glasses and beat up travel mugs, and I'm just over it. I tell you I'm over it! What I'm trying to say is, I need a mug. But I don't want it to be just any mug. I want it to be THE mug.

I want it to say "I am a mug...but I am also Kara"

I want it to accessorize my desk and life like...well...like an accessory.

I want it to not come from Ikea, a sporting event or a non-profit. But I can't seem to find it. The Kara Mug is eluding me.

Maybe I'm not looking hard enough. Maybe I'm focusing too much on the new condo, the new bike, and the new pair of canvas shoes that need to replace the ones literally falling apart ON my feet right now. But none of the mugs I've looked at already have made my heart soar. And that's something one needs from one's mug. Heart soarage. I think we all know this.


Bottom line: I can't do it alone. I need you. You all know me well enough by now...please take that hard-earned knowledge and help me scour the internets for a mug. THE mug.

(Now accepting links via the "comment" screen. All suggestions will be considered; some will most certainly be mocked.)