tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-138452342024-03-07T17:05:44.235-08:00Condi's HairGone but never to be forgotten.
(under extraordinarily lazy construction)karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.comBlogger429125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-24232313519987689682011-08-15T16:57:00.000-07:002011-08-15T18:26:15.511-07:00Anyone Else Want to Measure My Inseam?<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I got back recently from a smashing week in Boston where I ate my weight in lobster tail (if I weighed 2 lbs and who the fuck are you to say I don’t) and saw all sorts of magical historical nonsense that made me feel weirdly patriotic, ate a ton of good food and had an overall good time. Never really been one to explore the native land, so I haven't actually been to the East Coast (except NY) and sometimes it really is worth the ridiculously long flight to hear some accents in person (as opposed to Ben Affleck movies).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The fact of the matter is, it was kind of amazing to stand and stare at the 3 story building that once housed the city hall in the 1700s where the Declaration of Independence was signed, perfectly preserved with towering glittery sky scrapers all around it. It’s a juxtaposition that inspires some actual appreciation of where we started and where we are now. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And then I went to the airport. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The full body scanners have been around for several months now. Whenever I fly home from Atlanta for work, I am faced with the possibility of having to have some stranger sitting in a box (where I can't see them) look at me naked to ensure I’m not carrying a weapon up my ass. But it's never happened. I've always been waved the other way and heaved a sigh of relief. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Not so in Boston. They waved me over to the Naked Cancer Machine ™. There was another man in front of me who seemed to be waiting for some reason, so like a good American, I lined up behind him. Because neither of us were actually going through, the TSA agent (female) looked at me and said “Oh, are you opting out too?” </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I said “Oh, I didn’t know I could opt out. But if I can then yes, I’m opting out”. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She said “Well of course you can opt out, it just means you’ll be subject to a full body search by a female agent.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So through the regular detector I went and then had to spread eagle on a mat in front of a bunch of strangers wandering to and from flights. I think she noticed how red my face was and asked "do you want a private search?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"No." I replied, as her hands roamed ALL OVER my body "I want to stay here."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My eyes met Brendan's. He looked so angry. I've never seen him look so angry. And immediately I teared up. It was humiliating. I couldn't ever have guessed how humiliating it would be. But I thought that it was good that people stared as they walked by. Hopefully it helped remind them of the actual "cost" of our "freedom". And that seeing me or anyone else being groped (or naked) won't ever stop crazy people from doing crazy things. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The thing that made me so sad though was I'd just spent a week learning about where and how my country began. How it started as this tiny land of idealists (with some fucked up ideas, don't get me wrong) who nursed the little democracy, slowly trying to undo its own initial injustices one amendment at a time until it grew into a proper country. Only to culminate in me being felt up in front of strangers at an airport against my will. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It made me want to get a drink, but public consumption of alcohol is illegal.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In other news - the front running Republican candidate declared that she supports the Biblical philosophy that wives should be submissive to their husbands. I hope he at least helps loosen her whalebone corset in the evenings.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-38532371779035156622011-06-10T20:30:00.000-07:002011-06-10T20:33:04.365-07:00Insert Penis Joke Here.<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Like everyone else, I'm tired of hearing about Anthony Wiener and the pictures of his wiener. Ok, maybe not like everyone else because it's still EVERYWHERE. Here's my issue with this issue.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's not a fucking issue.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Except that it is. And no one is more guilty of making it into an issue then Wiener himself (not to be confused with HIS wiener). First the denial, then the admission, followed by gooey levels of remorse and apology. So disappointing. So badly handled. So utterly avoidable... </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is what he should've said instead of "I'm sorry."</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"IT'S NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS! Regardless of my marital status, if I want to send a picture of my impressively sized man meat to another consenting adult over the internet - what business is it of the public's! You don't know my life!"</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He then could have added that his wife's knowledge (or consent or lack thereof) is something that is only between them. So since he's not engaging in anything illegal (i.e.<ahem> prostitution) everyone else just needs to bugger off and let him get on with his day.</ahem></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Boom. Done. The whole storm would be gone by now. </div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But no, instead he's getting pressure to step down from a position where he's doing a lot of damn good by other people who have most likely done something similar in the privacy of their own home. Screw that, I bet half of them have done something similar in the non-privacy of their office, the bathroom stall of a airport or somewhere else terrifyingly public. There's a reason why I refuse to use the computers at the library!</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Anyway - there you have it. The reputation of another good politician totally ruined not by his deeds, but by his inability to own up to them. And that makes him a pussy.</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But this is still awesome.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/W4zwCMf8dsc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
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</div>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-54110457001185380902011-05-30T16:07:00.000-07:002011-05-30T17:10:32.812-07:00Head, Shoulders, Knees and I Fuckin' Give UP<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyPHB6K-Vd6ctFZOeayyYnNOqA7_jijHItPhvMGm1R-kdSBW8HEOeXW4KFgNcFh4PYEtAUpkjJm5qT6bKM3RLTpYrQtSlQY2PAb6vH5wloj6xVKig6rn4g89-0yWIIelpPpU4Rw/s1600/Old_classroom.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 314px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 204px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612660364309032754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKyPHB6K-Vd6ctFZOeayyYnNOqA7_jijHItPhvMGm1R-kdSBW8HEOeXW4KFgNcFh4PYEtAUpkjJm5qT6bKM3RLTpYrQtSlQY2PAb6vH5wloj6xVKig6rn4g89-0yWIIelpPpU4Rw/s320/Old_classroom.jpg" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">I kidnapped my friend's 10 year old a couple weekends ago. We had lunch at food carts and shopped around in junk stores and got our toes did. And all while doing so - I sought to understand the world of the pre-teen of now...</span><br /><div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"What's hot now with the 4th graders?"</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"Squinkies"</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"Squinksies?"</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"Squinkies. They're little animal and people shapes that come in clear plastic balls and you collect and trade them."</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"What do you trade them for?"</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">"Other Squinkies. I only have a turtle 'cause I'm not that into them"</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Realizing instantly that I have completely lost touch with today's youth, I had a moment's silence in memorandum for Garbage Pail Kids and kep the convo going only to discover that this particular 4th grader's suburban grade school no longer allows running at recess.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I had to ask her to repeat that. No running. No getting from the slide to the swings at a faster rate than a speed walk. Which means if someone else is heading for it at the same time, it will be the saddest race one could witness.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Around the same time, I was having brithday drinks with my awesome cousin who is a Phys Ed teacher at a middle school. Since there's been nothing but talk of cuts to education programs and staff, I plied her with liquor and hesitantly asked her if everything was kosher at her school. The good news was, she was still employed. The bad news was that she was no longer the Phys Ed teacher, but the Electives teacher. When I asked what that meant, she said she wasn't totally sure because they just cut a bunch of things including Health and Home Ec. Health would now be taught as part of P.E. and Home Ec was just out, period. I still have the Christmas shorts I made in Home Ec in 7th grade (circa 1992). They're...tighter...but they still fit. It's still my most successful sewing enterprise to date.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Another good friend - and 2nd grade teacher extraordinaire - just had a delightful little baby. I stopped by this weekend to bestow an ironic onesie and coo. I asked if she was looking forward to going back to work at all and her response was yes for the kids, not so much for the current environment. She went on to explain that the P.E. teacher had been forced to retire and now all the elementary classroom teachers had to include Phys Ed in their daily lesson plans. Music was also cut completely. Music. Fucking music. No recorders handed out to each student to take home and practice Hot Cross Buns and Somewhere Out There (Theme to An American Tale). What's truly tragic about this is I still remember the classical pieces of music that I fell in love with in 4th grade music class, Danse Macabre and Prokofiev's Peter and the Wolf. </span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Here in Portland a measure to raise property taxes to support schools just failed. I don't know if the measure was the right thing for the city, but I know the result will be less music, less physical exercise, less everything. It's starting to feel third world. I realize that's an extreme statement - but when considering we're the United States of Fucking America, I think it's appropriate. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't have kids yet. I don't mean that to sound like I've been trying to - I haven't. The reasons for this vary depending on the amount of wine I've imbibed on any given night. However the only explanation I'm willing to give here is that Brendan and I are still figuring ourselves out and until we do, it's just not happening. That being said - it's almost too depressing to contemplate. I know they're a blessing, they change your life, etc., but I imagine being in my friend's shoes when she's told that her child can't run on the playground and I just don't even want to do it. </span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">That being said - I also woke up at 9:30 AM this morning. Something I very much enjoy.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't have any fixes - I don't know what the answer is. I have some ideas, but they'll never be reflected through my local or federal government body. So all I can do is sit on my balcony in the sunshine, drink a beer, rock out to Kanye and write a pissy blog. And I'll do it. Because this is America.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Nevermind, I don't know what the fuck that means. Maybe I've had too much of the beer.</span></div></div>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-78519337015150455862011-03-08T22:54:00.000-08:002011-03-08T22:56:23.451-08:00Guest Blogging<a href="http://pleadignorance.blogspot.com/2011/03/if-by-guest-you-mean-password.html"><span style="font-family: arial;">Where I am right now.</span></a>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-22717342801817640392011-02-10T18:23:00.000-08:002011-02-10T18:52:00.453-08:00Joan<span style="font-family: arial;">I meant to show y'all my badass Joanie costume from Halloween! If you don't watch </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;">Mad Men</span><span style="font-family: arial;">, you should still know who this chick is because it's just important. To the world. And other places.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So anyway - this (see below) was the goal with only some hair dye, a vintage store and some excess winter weight to help me out.</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSZFMzBJjLbsyWx0wLHZwb9LO2KO1dyFb5LQYFtkVMgtIIF1Hmn-oonxzZ95IxFdlmMfKFKVS2FhEfkxL4z76lSPe3iQhd_S5fcDcaxGCJHZg6WWnTDHTHYA7NzhsKkaN9mTFhw/s1600/ManMen_Joan.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 187px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSSZFMzBJjLbsyWx0wLHZwb9LO2KO1dyFb5LQYFtkVMgtIIF1Hmn-oonxzZ95IxFdlmMfKFKVS2FhEfkxL4z76lSPe3iQhd_S5fcDcaxGCJHZg6WWnTDHTHYA7NzhsKkaN9mTFhw/s320/ManMen_Joan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572255686821940674" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The hair went full red. Sadly it didn't turn out as orange as I hoped, but the commitment was made. The incredibleness of this photo lies in the fact that I successfully fashioned a beehive with ALL MY OWN TODDLER HAIR. And a shit-ton of hairspray.</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4WnNZpavWQ7Ms7ACN5eLd5j8dx8EelQ6BVCR_wu3TvVUm4qk_e6geX1JFt78_qaF5P9-ZjnquqyzbA1DTf5wiF3rfMuJlVLQUXZMyIjbDIRFN0IOZZpegGDq6lJCMbOvK2LG0g/s1600/DSCN9059.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 238px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF4WnNZpavWQ7Ms7ACN5eLd5j8dx8EelQ6BVCR_wu3TvVUm4qk_e6geX1JFt78_qaF5P9-ZjnquqyzbA1DTf5wiF3rfMuJlVLQUXZMyIjbDIRFN0IOZZpegGDq6lJCMbOvK2LG0g/s320/DSCN9059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572253389664770914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">I also made the earrings out of a weird set of pendants and some craft supplies found at the local Michaels. Hot glue 4 LIEEFE!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Here's the entire ensemble. You can't tell, but I even have a pen necklace (thank you, Etsy) and my turquoise shoes (thank you, Jessica Simpson...gah) flippin' MATCH my blue and green dress (found for $20 at the thrift store and is from the correct era except there was a weird bunching situation in the front that made me look pregnant when posing)</span>.<br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxHGbaHveT8EwqB_jXF5NbQ-45Ia8uKMMa1yQKeyEwTUD2JKqvlTgnimL3S4f420P5nLTTbIS0VX3cD2Sg01WUcj3TR23m-WE3FGnTggq_5_0LsK6dmY9fdAXG8rjYyGIIglzYQ/s1600/IMG_1293.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlxHGbaHveT8EwqB_jXF5NbQ-45Ia8uKMMa1yQKeyEwTUD2JKqvlTgnimL3S4f420P5nLTTbIS0VX3cD2Sg01WUcj3TR23m-WE3FGnTggq_5_0LsK6dmY9fdAXG8rjYyGIIglzYQ/s320/IMG_1293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572253387098448242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">B got to be Han Solo this year because I made him be Ira Glass last year.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And then on top of it all - I was still able to do things like this, thanks to the help of drink.</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruolrVd3LB-RKFRhyphenhyphent8twAK9ZoaXtVPOsdhGYFsgc2ssy25bsrYq7h-Y8wwULi8HD1_MuxmcSzNBDzBdT-Vk-G_JsJtIDw9hq5mFsS7cDmIZPahgqfmsElmPme8nOHapTCm-5ow/s1600/Dancin"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgruolrVd3LB-RKFRhyphenhyphent8twAK9ZoaXtVPOsdhGYFsgc2ssy25bsrYq7h-Y8wwULi8HD1_MuxmcSzNBDzBdT-Vk-G_JsJtIDw9hq5mFsS7cDmIZPahgqfmsElmPme8nOHapTCm-5ow/s320/Dancin" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572257610591964882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes - I'm holding B's laser shooter gun thing. It makes "pew!" noises.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway - I was damn proud of that costume and since I tend to post a picture of what I go as every year - I didn't want you (dear Internet) to feel as though a part of you was missing for not knowing what I was for Halloween in October of 2010. The end.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-51603751131363226042011-02-01T19:53:00.000-08:002011-02-01T21:50:54.331-08:00This Exists - Part XXIII<span style="font-family: arial;">Do any of you get </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.dailycandy.com/subscribe/?sel=4&stat=1&edition=4&refcd=GO037514s_daily_candy&tsacr=GO3224648088&gclid=CNTD4Lbg6KYCFSdtgwodihp01w">Daily Candy?</a><span style="font-family: arial;"> It's a mailing list you can join where every day they tell you how to be cool by informing you about the music you should listen to, the clothes you should buy and the books you should read, etc. I've been on the mailing list for years and while I'd like to say it's because my job is in email marketing and I have to know about these things...it's really just that I need to know what music I should listen to, what clothes I should buy and what books I should be reading.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Once a week they send you a special newsletter with "Deals" for their subscribers. Today's included this:</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gN3oFF5fqvLhpZPtsHqxvPH3XUTayoB3lIVBuCxum0w4lj-9cmKuRjbbhYALC-zk46Xt0E3IyU3_bL9lf8pdo5tlWIhg6jdVnBfcXqCaOGMe4lPo97FfSgr18m-e9xKGCYJafA/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-02-01+at+7.52.39+PM.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 255px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5gN3oFF5fqvLhpZPtsHqxvPH3XUTayoB3lIVBuCxum0w4lj-9cmKuRjbbhYALC-zk46Xt0E3IyU3_bL9lf8pdo5tlWIhg6jdVnBfcXqCaOGMe4lPo97FfSgr18m-e9xKGCYJafA/s320/Screen+shot+2011-02-01+at+7.52.39+PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568936307175560738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Aside from the obvious skepticism surrounding this being considered a "deal" - I find the following items concerning:</span><br /><ul style="font-family: arial;"><li>She calls herself "Psychic Girl". Is this the name of her business? Does it instill any faith? I mean if I'm going to put my future in the hands of anyone, it's going to be "Psychic Woman"</li></ul><ul style="font-family: arial;"><li>The "deal" is for 43% off. Why? And how might the discounted price affect the quality of the reading? </li></ul><ul style="font-family: arial;"><li>Her name, "Jusstine", has one "s" too many. Excess consonants are shady.</li></ul><ul><li><span style="font-family: arial;">Jusstine is labeled as a "trusted" psychic. Trusted by whom? And can they also be trusted? Would I leave a puppy in their care? Tell them a secret? Ask them to hold my hand while I cross the street blindfolded? </span></li></ul><span style="font-family: arial;">In this day and age where everyone's trying to make a buck (or avoid gainful employment) I urge us all to question any and everything that is 43% off. Because really - nothing good can come from a discounted 6th sense.<br /></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-53641327937320088982010-12-16T18:17:00.001-08:002010-12-16T18:36:12.522-08:00Butt Yoga - A Christmas Tale<span style="font-family: arial;">Bikram yoga is the new antidote to everything. Go sweat it out for 90 minutes at a time in tree pose and you'll never get cancer, goiters or canker sores. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The room is 105 degrees at all times. I don't know what's magical about this temperature, but it causes tiny rivers of perspiration to follow little Oregon Trails down one's face, arms, back, legs and other places one shouldn't mention. Except I have to because the whole room stinks like unmentionables. Mainly because the men wear shorts like these:</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcrscUMsyrSKIHfk3u2ZqtlKknzyfoiH-S4Y7vXgCcClVRA1aaY2j81_xnLCJDRoPqpClH28g4NSWgYttkdE4QDsPsLUEq8xAPGxaOsHrbJxuXbGwcTNplDR1tyg5QR9wLgIIrw/s1600/manyogashorts"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 136px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdcrscUMsyrSKIHfk3u2ZqtlKknzyfoiH-S4Y7vXgCcClVRA1aaY2j81_xnLCJDRoPqpClH28g4NSWgYttkdE4QDsPsLUEq8xAPGxaOsHrbJxuXbGwcTNplDR1tyg5QR9wLgIIrw/s200/manyogashorts" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551471156579477122" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family: arial;">And the room is carpeted. CARPETED!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm not a huge exercise person anyway. I wouldn't be going to this place at all if I</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">a) didn't live 4 blocks away</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">b) didn't have such an affinity for holiday foods in large quantities</span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">c) didn't consider yoga to be one of those "sports" you can half-ass your way through and still see results<br />d) didn't have a friend already enrolled and applying prohibition era mobster-like pressure<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">But being a known fainter, I was still scared. What if I'm bending back looking at the wall and - boom - I go down like an anvil on an accident-prone coyote? It's hard to get back up from that without looking not awesome. Like running for a bus. This was a valid concern. However I made it through the first class (while watching old hats occasionally crouch in the fetal position or run for the door with a green face). I even made it through the second. And then the third. And I'll tell you what, if you can get through it (and if you've ever spent a summer in Louisiana, you can get through it) - it makes eating two molasses cookies a day for breakfast all the sweeter. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">However - it should come as no surprise that I remain a cynical yoga-ist. I refuse to do the stupid audible breathing and I refuse to say "namaste" at the end of class. There's maybe one brown body on average in that whole room and it just makes us all sound like paleface assholes. And if they don't like it (they don't) then they can passive aggressively suggest it so (they do).</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This didn't have much to do with Christmas at all, did it. Poo.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So what's new with y'all? I joined a book club.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-76916995146260885982010-08-08T22:02:00.000-07:002010-08-08T22:40:13.778-07:00Hey.<span style="font-family:arial;">Lately my favorite thing to do in the whole world is ride my bike around late at night. Clear sky, wind in the trees, no cars so I can go through the stop signs - it's incredible. I can honestly say it's the only time my thoughts aren't racing. When my chest isn't tight. When I don't have a throbbing headache behind my left eye.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I don't have a whole lot to say that I want to hear myself say lately and I really can't bring myself to sit in front of</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> a computer more than I already do against my will, so I'm going to step away for a bit. I don't know how to measure time in bits, so you'll have to guesstimate for yourselves what that means. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />However - this blog will not be deleted. If your own blogs are overflowing with words and you want to store some of them here in a guestly posting capacity, you are openly invited to do so. Just email me a <span style="font-weight: bold;">condishair@blogspot.com</span> and I'll put your shit up, accompanied by the most inappropriate google im</span><span style="font-family:arial;">age I can find. Don't deny me my amusement.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Anyone still following when I come back will be given a party. With streamers.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptdqiV2ivE7yPjyTKkcRbNDYwy0k_2GHnFHIe2O2Vba4Lgwjhjvj-mVP8lUfQ7LuAkPM0bnmpRmdbJ5N1vmzpNogqcvc7LqtXvGHMTYA3yWXtowgFVTXlxRgSmtFZsLL-g59CeQ/s1600/bicycle"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptdqiV2ivE7yPjyTKkcRbNDYwy0k_2GHnFHIe2O2Vba4Lgwjhjvj-mVP8lUfQ7LuAkPM0bnmpRmdbJ5N1vmzpNogqcvc7LqtXvGHMTYA3yWXtowgFVTXlxRgSmtFZsLL-g59CeQ/s320/bicycle" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503279168208190114" border="0" /></a></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-16892952848152307392010-07-18T22:46:00.000-07:002010-07-18T22:57:21.557-07:00Half-Assed Movie Review: Inception<span style="font-family: arial;">This movie blew my fucking mind.</span> <br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPOh_RqTM7KP_3ys9hAIcuyQHz_IggIW7Ol71IVDzXC5TQoeizLQd4JEzA3mXd7wKhB6tiNfpIT6peaRgD6xDwyfqRRSt5Nyv0RmgAHpy4wu5fa_bjUV5mvqvKdeU_7dRr0Haw6g/s1600/inception"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPOh_RqTM7KP_3ys9hAIcuyQHz_IggIW7Ol71IVDzXC5TQoeizLQd4JEzA3mXd7wKhB6tiNfpIT6peaRgD6xDwyfqRRSt5Nyv0RmgAHpy4wu5fa_bjUV5mvqvKdeU_7dRr0Haw6g/s320/inception" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495489577034049762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Symbolism, plot holes, Juno's scarves and the inability to believe Leonardo DiCaprio capable of being any manner of parent to small children aside - this is one of the most mind-rippingly beautiful movies I've seen in a considerable age. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I can't remember the last time I've cared to know how a movie was made. Well done, Nolan. Thank you for making me care again. For sewing up the hole in my heart with zero-gravity fight scenes and Joseph Gordon Levitt in a tie.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Disclaimer: </span><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">This review is more half-assed than usual since it just came out and I don't want to be guilty of doing a "he's dead the whole time" bit of douchebaggery, so that's all I'm saying.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Except this - it's difficult to make the name Arthur hot. And yet...</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-90290641156344678162010-07-15T22:18:00.000-07:002010-07-15T23:16:38.371-07:00"I can no longer sit back and allow the international Communist conspiracy to sap and impurify all of our precious bodily fluids"<span style="font-family: arial;">I'm not blogging because my mother told me to. Really, I'm not. It's more that before now, I've been afraid of Russian spies reading my shit and taking my online internet secrets straight to the Motherland. I'm not having that.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2012312991_spying09.html?syndication=rss">But now it appears we're safe.</a><br /><span style="text-decoration: underline; font-family: arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: arial;">Listen Russia - we're all sorry that the good ol' days have gone softly into the night. They were good times. I get this. Great music, fabulous clothes, no one knew smoking was bad for you...and espionage everywhere. Like a fad. Everyone's the Third Man. I mostly blame this on the hats. How is it possible not to be up to something when you look like this:</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizu6ThUu5-0okhM9q3e9ABy4tiDNImVCIHJL8PFBIZg_h0n_cp-1Sn-f4qYcamWKFJeniITeChki-67rbPESYa15ktqdyer-6ZpfpJb0rekcmvAKdfMekVBOFXHRVNAYXJ4QXDEA/s1600/ThirdMan.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizu6ThUu5-0okhM9q3e9ABy4tiDNImVCIHJL8PFBIZg_h0n_cp-1Sn-f4qYcamWKFJeniITeChki-67rbPESYa15ktqdyer-6ZpfpJb0rekcmvAKdfMekVBOFXHRVNAYXJ4QXDEA/s320/ThirdMan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494372034286510066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">Well the days of looking both stylish AND sinister are over. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Now people look like this:</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcbfGUy3M-FebMs-N20sqBGHPjeQKRJbUn2UpWnuXC4WH5XugC0YVeAxRRubjLI_pM16R_wXKnizOEqjDZMCaBI6C6L3w9lr5k41_r7NGRDCZs2KoaN4oF9X-dxikDOQYpipOLQ/s1600/hipster"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcbfGUy3M-FebMs-N20sqBGHPjeQKRJbUn2UpWnuXC4WH5XugC0YVeAxRRubjLI_pM16R_wXKnizOEqjDZMCaBI6C6L3w9lr5k41_r7NGRDCZs2KoaN4oF9X-dxikDOQYpipOLQ/s320/hipster" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494377879652190946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">That's your secret agent pool. What could you possibly learn from that? Is there a camera hidden somewhere in his man-tote so he can record everyone's bad shoes? I'll tell you right now, footwear has never been more important to this nation and its political leanings. And I didn't even need to go into deep cover to figure that out. But you should pay me anyway. Euros. Swiss account. And I'll know it if it's just a couple $100 euro bills on top of a pile of rubles, so don't even try it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Do svidaniya.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-40874405619578140932010-06-22T18:14:00.000-07:002010-06-22T19:00:52.998-07:00Oh hi.<span style="font-family: arial;">The sun is finally shining...and magically I feel like blogging again. I wonder if there is a correlation. Eh. Chances are there's more of a correlation between the urge to blog and the ice cold vodka/soda at my side. With lime. Extra lime. The lime-e-ist.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So it's fitting that I'm back to gripe about shit, but I really must. Mainly because there's a girl who rides her cruiser around town wearing an English saddle equestrian helmet. I've been annoyed by this for - literally - months.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I think she's convinced it looks cute. But I need to somehow convince her that it does not. Recommendations on how to do so tactfully are welcome. Most disturbing of all, I have to wonder...is it not a style choice? Does she perhaps think she's riding a horse? Because it's very possible that there's a bigger issue to confront here. The case against "it's cute" is much easier to prosecute than "it's a horse". It's all very Israeli/Palestinian conflictish between adjectives and nouns these days. Conflicts are vogue.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">If only the word "vogue" was still vogue. Sigh.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I've had to leave my home because the air is stagnant and I was overheating (thanks to an out of shape bike ride 10 miles home). So now I'm across the street at the Bye and Bye - a severely vegetarian hipster bar filled with bike-related art that Dave Chappelle once showed up at on a random Wednesday night. That fact will keep me coming randomly forever in the hopes that something that cool will happen again. I am prepared for disappointment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Summer is taking forever to get to Oregon and I resent it. I have mint plants that need harvesting to go into lemon things! I have sundresses to wear that allow Vitamin D to reach non-essential patches of skin! I have lawn chairs to park in the grass for half-naked hippie heckling! I have a BBQ just sitting there WAITING for me to under-cook meats on! There's a lot to do! Yet another reason why this place is bunk. It's all a lie.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Back to my being annoyed by how people adorn themselves. I'm thinking of doing something about it. I'm not telling you what because right now that's a secret...but I promise it wont...probably...get me arrested or sued. I just can't sit idly by and watch a chick walk past me with a raccoon tail sticking out of the ass of her jeans. This aggression will not stand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Sorry...went a bit "Dude" on you there.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Be that as it may, I need a hobby anyway, so this will be a good thing. I also think maybe I should start writing something. This doesn't count. But we all know how I don't end up doing things, so don't get your hopes up. Or get them up. Someone needs to be optimistic for the rest of us.<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEges0jJ60Ka1m9u6l4IdSjzzGu355rPH_01NDe2Zy5KLZMDeLXbTXI7LAWd2Ohbt-TtHzBfcyUy2wd_FL7lyVlEIIe3FMrFTiWEuKX-YSC5Y3xUa09bYLo5tHIS8SWxPdIyCuC8ug/s1600/racoon_tail.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEges0jJ60Ka1m9u6l4IdSjzzGu355rPH_01NDe2Zy5KLZMDeLXbTXI7LAWd2Ohbt-TtHzBfcyUy2wd_FL7lyVlEIIe3FMrFTiWEuKX-YSC5Y3xUa09bYLo5tHIS8SWxPdIyCuC8ug/s320/racoon_tail.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485781791124359330" border="0" /></a>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-77011619267935943092010-06-14T22:36:00.000-07:002010-06-15T00:01:31.760-07:00Summer is Here.<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Things I've been doing while not blogging...</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAI5ABSgBegusnbTDitnblNAFWQNteu3SvpyNxvoxYbk9Ze3q8HtCgzXgJPzYzKCkv5MV5GZBdWoRY1EFap5nGSa5t9o2mAFCABsqekXbzMceQyZ9WyMPqle7iaRP9r2L36xJrxQ/s1600/beard_judging"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAI5ABSgBegusnbTDitnblNAFWQNteu3SvpyNxvoxYbk9Ze3q8HtCgzXgJPzYzKCkv5MV5GZBdWoRY1EFap5nGSa5t9o2mAFCABsqekXbzMceQyZ9WyMPqle7iaRP9r2L36xJrxQ/s200/beard_judging" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482875452239608114" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Watching other people judge other people's facial hair.</span> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-fnAsLpKzDVG6QjgkKMLRCSGr2MjLrh8jKXmgu3s-rxjQPsCKCxPTwndHdVssrNV1iYAfzJqyjEcKbsFsRR3jwVgIp5oy6lCUUSd4JvdxBeQbds0XyiDizsWxf3l5nuMzUBmkA/s1600/willi_beard"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-fnAsLpKzDVG6QjgkKMLRCSGr2MjLrh8jKXmgu3s-rxjQPsCKCxPTwndHdVssrNV1iYAfzJqyjEcKbsFsRR3jwVgIp5oy6lCUUSd4JvdxBeQbds0XyiDizsWxf3l5nuMzUBmkA/s200/willi_beard" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876278121782642" border="0" /></a><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil31ltCKu-m6RDgbdE1qeRebnJOBXfbLiJpYI1uKm4_Mx70m-7gJvKT4kvSsEGR_Sa1bm2AN4wJxrWsTkvew6C4pmDo8kZ2xJi8u2prV3zr0Y6Utez9sxznnTUQfToLKGQq8QujA/s1600/pointy_beard"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 113px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil31ltCKu-m6RDgbdE1qeRebnJOBXfbLiJpYI1uKm4_Mx70m-7gJvKT4kvSsEGR_Sa1bm2AN4wJxrWsTkvew6C4pmDo8kZ2xJi8u2prV3zr0Y6Utez9sxznnTUQfToLKGQq8QujA/s200/pointy_beard" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876047222835506" border="0" /></a> <a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHk8vtAzdIHIgQZ6fJ_0jZ6CWn175i8Ttjfg7R46YX14-S2pLHLYvAJrnL86ifa3PS10tRBe0QPwqWkrOfWdyARDMpmxuhNS2dvgNV35C8tlvEZwrVFMuR9ORF6wrXBLb4Fek6Zw/s1600/pabst_beard"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 181px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHk8vtAzdIHIgQZ6fJ_0jZ6CWn175i8Ttjfg7R46YX14-S2pLHLYvAJrnL86ifa3PS10tRBe0QPwqWkrOfWdyARDMpmxuhNS2dvgNV35C8tlvEZwrVFMuR9ORF6wrXBLb4Fek6Zw/s200/pabst_beard" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876030199023138" border="0" /></a><br style="clear: both;" /><br /></div><br /><div><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B7wt3U1_pMaqMTbaVQlnG48Gsrn97k9c03cmgJeDR76qSVby_WQUGkBxIk5gN6q6lgqriyb-a9aCOr45CcDLqSCtDdSL8HI286ejzrGw0qk0QOMNcFICDZq3wDBU5Kohd4HlGQ/s1600/me_and_mustache"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2B7wt3U1_pMaqMTbaVQlnG48Gsrn97k9c03cmgJeDR76qSVby_WQUGkBxIk5gN6q6lgqriyb-a9aCOr45CcDLqSCtDdSL8HI286ejzrGw0qk0QOMNcFICDZq3wDBU5Kohd4HlGQ/s200/me_and_mustache" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482878620055007506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">Posing for pictures with them.</span><br /><br style="clear: both;" /><br /></div><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrq9CDzCbQXETsNxSC5H1RT4th4xd8VuTye3iWJcX7SnkoZFXXoW1MV_DZIePbwrDAv3OnTZypF_BrHgJGBgThOkzo5z2D2V3Kq4TbB1H4P4btOMNii9IIwx1UPbpfE5KsMySMg/s1600/cave_owning"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNrq9CDzCbQXETsNxSC5H1RT4th4xd8VuTye3iWJcX7SnkoZFXXoW1MV_DZIePbwrDAv3OnTZypF_BrHgJGBgThOkzo5z2D2V3Kq4TbB1H4P4btOMNii9IIwx1UPbpfE5KsMySMg/s200/cave_owning" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482875458797138306" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br />Cave conquering.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bAL1VYgvo8t_NDkIoSG-fzfGP9vv6XvudhCyP5NU1s_2JMC3a1sSci7hohYgWQ8_15h90uk6mtJDhnXyhYo4MP6F54SQE9D-27LWIpy2wgjG61rdfeAalvHjDA5t1rtw9WqMXQ/s1600/lava"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bAL1VYgvo8t_NDkIoSG-fzfGP9vv6XvudhCyP5NU1s_2JMC3a1sSci7hohYgWQ8_15h90uk6mtJDhnXyhYo4MP6F54SQE9D-27LWIpy2wgjG61rdfeAalvHjDA5t1rtw9WqMXQ/s200/lava" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482875475916598306" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br />La</span><span style="font-family:arial;">va stare contests.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSScSyet_4ESwGXLfKscoWyf9Tw0v9J0QdRZ6dnQGr-EF86IUMxWk3eUh5P1xrr4uFIa2VzOekYo6Zsaf8enRnMN7-zpUQfv4bhcAG06mdF7l5cPn9wYJRil7CKWqOgvrDNrcjyA/s1600/hot_tub"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 132px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSScSyet_4ESwGXLfKscoWyf9Tw0v9J0QdRZ6dnQGr-EF86IUMxWk3eUh5P1xrr4uFIa2VzOekYo6Zsaf8enRnMN7-zpUQfv4bhcAG06mdF7l5cPn9wYJRil7CKWqOgvrDNrcjyA/s200/hot_tub" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482875465925563554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Cultural cinematic absorption.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSepvomp6WaVyXONNbNXwpR3f0tEyEA2d8Bq6FfAVC0G77_AAtSLwqG_lT6YIfvczBc2xeZgIyEwbW0WvVclrDo3DTokG9N5t9Z1AGYyfO_snO6IN6svqyrEDSLbPZ2fcszno-g/s1600/timberline"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivSepvomp6WaVyXONNbNXwpR3f0tEyEA2d8Bq6FfAVC0G77_AAtSLwqG_lT6YIfvczBc2xeZgIyEwbW0WvVclrDo3DTokG9N5t9Z1AGYyfO_snO6IN6svqyrEDSLbPZ2fcszno-g/s200/timberline" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876051037179442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Seeking</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> out play to accompany the work. ..in an attempt to </span><span style="font-family:arial;">keep from being dull. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />(Also...snow in June. JUNE)</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAVcgDWFjnECMhzxS5xMZYlbLsy9XfE1C6VkNfOWjrrJeBzKgLrc1YNr78DTlqRoZCqO2dtxJJKxI_98Tijqho8EUr1YYPgHb4GYjW6yzzL0yabgt98osmPyFKy3B1l07hYvv7w/s1600/wine_class"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 164px; height: 109px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAVcgDWFjnECMhzxS5xMZYlbLsy9XfE1C6VkNfOWjrrJeBzKgLrc1YNr78DTlqRoZCqO2dtxJJKxI_98Tijqho8EUr1YYPgHb4GYjW6yzzL0yabgt98osmPyFKy3B1l07hYvv7w/s200/wine_class" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876284366184322" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Learning shit about wine.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbhoHwN8lGLyYxHfzEv12qojkCwT6OyX0RCiWyR1j2aTCanhKKDk_EA_cOU4LRKZY2FG-7RxuFCHKfrph4itvoiKCbER4mk8dU3R6nPC6fzGjf4-wc486mp4EY0fyKh7gJLjy4g/s1600/true_blood"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpbhoHwN8lGLyYxHfzEv12qojkCwT6OyX0RCiWyR1j2aTCanhKKDk_EA_cOU4LRKZY2FG-7RxuFCHKfrph4itvoiKCbER4mk8dU3R6nPC6fzGjf4-wc486mp4EY0fyKh7gJLjy4g/s200/true_blood" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482876056564443794" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Geography lessons.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Following white rabbits with empty promises into strange shrubbery.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />And then just napping for a bit.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokUU-J6G6JBJGphBZhtj39y2QKan2TAhcl4dL3YSMGMOwr3I__iPkoBb-aWxn7KK4-2PmjYMJI2sQkJ6Ulm5Z-xDijj-JIqZuLh7HgCwohIJ9tTbZEQb6utJ2y-BIQ7_3ISMaJw/s1600/peninsula_park"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiokUU-J6G6JBJGphBZhtj39y2QKan2TAhcl4dL3YSMGMOwr3I__iPkoBb-aWxn7KK4-2PmjYMJI2sQkJ6Ulm5Z-xDijj-JIqZuLh7HgCwohIJ9tTbZEQb6utJ2y-BIQ7_3ISMaJw/s400/peninsula_park" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5482883307438921394" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;">Then waking up to find crop circle sunburns all over the extremities. </span></span></span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Finally.<br /></span></span></span></span></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-23792737167245919622010-05-25T21:50:00.000-07:002010-05-25T22:31:53.326-07:00Buckets for the Motherfuckin' Cure<span style="font-family:arial;">So maybe you can tell by the title that I'm listening to Naughty by Nature and maybe you can't, but the fact of the matter is...Kentucky Fried Chicken is using pink buckets of fried chicken to cure cancer. Science has finally come full circle.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I know I'm behind the times in reporting this...but I really tried to ignore it. The commercials have been running for a while and each time I use diversionary tactics to delude myself that such a thing couldn't/doesn't exist. But I have failed and the most recent accidental viewing...well I can remain silent no longer</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The proprietary rights surrounding the stupid thing won't allow me to embed the unappetizing waste of eye space in its entirety, but it can be seen </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.kfc.com/promos/commercial.asp">here</a><span style="font-family:arial;"> (for those who are outside of the U.S. or don't have a TV within the U.S.. Or have a DVR). </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Yes, that link will take you to the </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.kfc.com/promos/commercial.asp">KFC MEDIA PLAYER</a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Sweet jesus.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">As you all damn well know, I do </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://condishair.blogspot.com/2006/09/drink-for-cure.html">Drink for the Cure</a><span style="font-family:arial;"> every year, unless I'm in Europe. I have wonderful, beautiful friends who have both beat and lost to breast cancer. It is a dickbag and I want it to disappear as much as the rest of the world does. But I do not believe driving our fellow Americans to congential heart failure is the way to do accomplish this.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />There must be something else we can organize. A car wash. "Wash away breast cancer." Catchy? Bake sale. "Eat away breast cancer." We can use Seinfeld's wife's cookbook to insert vegetables so they're healthy. A spelling bee! "Spell away c-a-n-c-e-r." Ok, so my ideas are not awesome, but are they really worse than pink buckets of chicken?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The exclusivity also boils my balls. There's other cancers in this world you know. There was no city-wide walk to sign up for when my step-dad got lymphoma. No specially marked packages of sunblock to purchase when my step-mom got melanoma. This special treatment is all sorts of unfair. Pink home goods for everyone! </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />There are people who argue that breast cancer is the main event because of the importance of breasts to our society. But I'd be willing to argue in favor of the ovaries or prostate. Shoot...where would we be without the </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wa5MrT3yY-I">pancreas</a><span style="font-family:arial;">? Nowhere. Exactly.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So KFC - stop. You offend me with you buckets of pink saturated fat. Instead of spending the moolah to manufacture such an unappetizing food conveyance, perhaps you should just donate that money to the Komen foundation and be done with it. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Don't force your customers to associate cancer with the breast they're currently biting into. It's in poor taste.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As was that last line. And yet, I'm proud of it.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNv1hT5xCdCJZK19biVBA6cBeuB89c6wNqkadGQ3opLuSuEqbRL91OCKO5N5zl4ZzXhz4Q3W5CEciiHmFAXpo8BZIXrDSNWhewxzmiN60lnaf46ahH4wxYgP1uVk_DczH1M_JLw/s1600/pinkbucket"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 177px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNNv1hT5xCdCJZK19biVBA6cBeuB89c6wNqkadGQ3opLuSuEqbRL91OCKO5N5zl4ZzXhz4Q3W5CEciiHmFAXpo8BZIXrDSNWhewxzmiN60lnaf46ahH4wxYgP1uVk_DczH1M_JLw/s320/pinkbucket" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475446405855880610" border="0" /></a></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-47370320576976339862010-05-16T22:57:00.001-07:002010-05-16T23:48:39.764-07:00Twi-soft<span style="font-family:arial;">My girls and I have been doing Sunday Dinner for a couple of years now. Yes it started with the first season of </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >True Blood</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> and me being the only one with HBO at the time. No, I'm not ashamed of either of those facts.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Actually - no it didn't. It started with </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Flight of the Conchords</span><span style="font-family:arial;">...and me being the only one with HBO at the time, so shut the hell up.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />We don't always watch something. Sometimes we actually go out into the world...and sometimes we just drink limeade cocktails in someone's backyard. But without fail (almost) we ignore the fact that we see each other all the time and hang out on Sundays until stupidly late, drinking and laughing much too much. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">It's my favorite thing.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />But this Sunday...we sank to a new low. And it was awesome. Tonight we watched </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Twilight: New Moon </span><span style="font-family:arial;">while simultaneously playing the </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.rifftrax.com/rifftrax/twilight-new-moon">Rifftrax</a><span style="font-family:arial;">, eating pierogies and washing it all down with German beer (you see, it was a poorly executed theme). If you don't know what Rifftrax are, then I'm sure you know what </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_EAXYH4b4yM"><span style="font-style: italic;">Mystery Science Theater 3K</span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"> is. Well it's those guys, only they don't have a show anymore. They record themselves talking through the movie and then you download the track and play it on your ipod whilst the movie is viewed. It's genius. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Anyway - we made it through the entire movie. And we may or may not have rewound and watched that bit where the underaged/overdeveloped bronze god of modern day musculature tore his shirt off to blot a small cut on no-talent-hack Kristen Stewart's brow three times. Maybe four, it's all a bit fuzzy.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">But that is not my point. I have now seen two </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Twilight</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> movies and read one of the books (couldn't get farther than that one) and still, I come away from them perplexed. I don't get why they're so popular. I really don't.<br /><br />I think about the movies and books that defined the combined romantic ideals of danger and love for me in those formative early teen years...and even how much I loved that gothic vampire stuff (seriously, you don't want to know how many times I watched </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Brahm Stoker's Dracula</span><span style="font-family:arial;">. It's where the whole Gary Oldman obsession started). But I'm convinced that if I'd picked up and read <span style="font-style: italic;">Twilight </span>when I was 13, I would've wanted to throw it across the room as much as I did at 29.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />First of all - who's all like "I want you. We're connected. Why fight it. I can't live without you." at the creepiest guy in school when you're 17 and the new girl? I think Bella and Edward's fourth conversation was about how much they love each other...with a little "but I may kill you" thrown in to keep things lively. Young people don't move that fast. They have to analyze everything to death with their friends and then send a few vague emails or texts before any big decisions are made.<br /><br />And what teenager in this day and age gets seduced by Claire de Lune? Come on. I'd be all..."um, you've been alive since before jazz was invented and THIS is what you're rolling with?" Weak.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">So with this second book (well...movie...) it goes all sorts of through the roof. Edward is gone, but he comes back as a ghost(?? - not explained) to tell her not to do stupid shit she does anyway. Then she almost kisses a SIXTEEN year old a million times (um, that's a sophomore, friends. Did you think they were hot when you were a senior? Men, don't answer that). And then when she's done stringing the well-built puppy along, she jumps at the chance to marry Edward? At EIGHTEEN?! I mean, she's not even going to </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >try</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> to find a guy that isn't dead? Doesn't she understand that's what college is FOR? </span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />What all of this says to me is that the author, Stephanie Somethingorother, grew up in a cave believing in unicorns with a Victrola, Debussy greatest hits and one worn out VHS copy of </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Sixteen Candles</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, without ever meeting any other teenagers.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Regardless... this young man is uncomfortably good looking.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-XfuDhVPkQ9c3cqg6KKa88G6FmBmgRYfZEP-Ix9GwkDujZ-aBLjDYn0wP_QBzHfojpSVy8a_ZQG1DoIm1CJRZdEblGJC9K9ukl_71xN95O09kJ0CBy5Gon1fX-hdCL6ny0R2-g/s1600/shirtless"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-XfuDhVPkQ9c3cqg6KKa88G6FmBmgRYfZEP-Ix9GwkDujZ-aBLjDYn0wP_QBzHfojpSVy8a_ZQG1DoIm1CJRZdEblGJC9K9ukl_71xN95O09kJ0CBy5Gon1fX-hdCL6ny0R2-g/s200/shirtless" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472124266518299586" border="0" /></a><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Sorry it's been so long. I've missed you, my pretties.</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-5228947735963677792010-04-25T17:28:00.000-07:002010-04-25T17:30:35.946-07:00Art Imitating Life - Sort Of<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">We had a very weird argument the other day. So weird, I asked Brendan what at artistic representation of the argument would've looked like if it existed. He drew it up and showed me. And it made me laugh for many many minutes. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >Subject: Trail mix</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Kara: ...and aside from two handfuls of your damn devil trail mix, I've eaten really well today.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: It's not even my trail mix anymore. You're the one mixing it now.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Kara: I do not mix it, I just empty containers when they're almost gone! You're the one always freaking out about ratios like it would be the worst thing ever to get a handful of raisins.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: It WOULD be the worst thing ever. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: I'd vomit. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: Instantly. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: Everywhere. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Brendan: The cat would scream.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhET56fn1rdbz8DxP22MSUnPcfipK8fiNicQa5IhCaET0Z-6SWkkUHoystv_zwrlLOPwWceFTsullvJ9kFen83FQn18Wtl8NDF7rNBI0dvpyXcgpf3wP0HlY5v5FtYe8A4HTHc3Rg/s1600/blurghskreee.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhET56fn1rdbz8DxP22MSUnPcfipK8fiNicQa5IhCaET0Z-6SWkkUHoystv_zwrlLOPwWceFTsullvJ9kFen83FQn18Wtl8NDF7rNBI0dvpyXcgpf3wP0HlY5v5FtYe8A4HTHc3Rg/s320/blurghskreee.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462712029213376018" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-62947236510361319692010-04-15T19:53:00.000-07:002010-04-15T22:16:03.914-07:00What I Like - What I Want<a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjlCl3pc5m9fMFwnLP70zRM1Wu5Dxw-sgvguG7EPQERK9-eYS_J7S2eg9IJHfZgX_Y8XtT7FFHIDBXoHdwz4B2eALOsdOySlo50lTGSNev0ekFJfRs-A9TucWT9FZn3KVmBHgFg/s1600/sunchips.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMjlCl3pc5m9fMFwnLP70zRM1Wu5Dxw-sgvguG7EPQERK9-eYS_J7S2eg9IJHfZgX_Y8XtT7FFHIDBXoHdwz4B2eALOsdOySlo50lTGSNev0ekFJfRs-A9TucWT9FZn3KVmBHgFg/s200/sunchips.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460590545013153090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">You know, this compostable bag from Sun Chips is freaking awesome. It appeals to my hippie-side (it's innate, being Oregon-grown). I mean, I buy biodegradable garbage bags off the internet. I freak out on B when he throws his Aveeno face wash containers away instead of recycling them. And I bring canvas bags to the grocery store. I know what I am and I've accepted it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So, I'll admit that these bags are cool. And I'm really excited about them.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Except for one thing.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Sun Chips fucking suck. They taste like a soy bean blended with grain and flattened into a chip. They taste like an envelope made from recycled newspaper. They taste solid Kool-Aid before the sugar's added. They taste like how I imagine a treasure map would taste if I found it forgotten in an attic and then ate it. They taste like crap.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">If only they could do the same thing with Doritos' packaging. Sadly, I don't believe that will ever happen. Because whatever chemical crack they put in/on those little pretties would probably eat through the bag like acid. So I have a choice to make. And I think you already know my choice.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And for the record...this just makes me angry.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5x0gjHu3ZTMQX7r8jBf_d0zsq-la2VhTSe_y0kEL15YFpQ6FV8LXGFEPDj4hMbp9DuODdz_fEZoKngQB1ZrQEIDaudW6mF7yQyJXeW_PU5ATEVm-MINHxYPY0teQKTaxD-ofsg/s1600/doritos.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ5x0gjHu3ZTMQX7r8jBf_d0zsq-la2VhTSe_y0kEL15YFpQ6FV8LXGFEPDj4hMbp9DuODdz_fEZoKngQB1ZrQEIDaudW6mF7yQyJXeW_PU5ATEVm-MINHxYPY0teQKTaxD-ofsg/s200/doritos.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460595594862208466" border="0" /></a>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-83722603061957616352010-04-13T22:03:00.000-07:002010-04-13T22:40:26.146-07:00What Dreams May Come<span style="font-family: arial;">A couple of months ago, I had this incredibly vivid dream about zombies. It was easy to figure out why....<span style="font-style: italic;">Shaun of the Dead </span>had been on TV a lot, and I pretty much can't not watch it when it happens to be on. Still. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I was in my own neighborhood (with the obvious "dream" variations) with my family, friends and coworkers (at different points), and we were collectively attempting to escape via the normal escape-from-zombies channels. At one point, I am alone and cross a street to the opposite sidewalk. The sidewalk is garnished by some tall shrubbery from which two zombies suddenly emerge. I felt brave, for you see, I had crossed the street with a nice, big baseball bat in my clutches. I was gonna knock this sort of dead bastard's brain in. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I go in for the hit. And again. And again. His eyes do this kind of old school video game thing where the giant black pupils shrink to almost nothing. I know that if they disappear all together, he's a goner. But they don't...they start to shrink, but come back again. What the hell? I check my weapon to find that it's no longer a bat, but a plastic comb. The same one I use in the (waking) mornings to untangle my hair. I'm toast. Panic. Wake up. End scene.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's 4:00 AM. Think about something else. Think about something else. So. Sleepy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And back in zombie scenario. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">That was months ago.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Last night, I go to bed way early, like, 10:30. No good reason - I've had some wine and watched a Ricky Gervais rom com (<span style="font-style: italic;">The Invention of Lying </span>- not awesome, sadly). All harmless.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I'm in a house in the French countryside. All old world and ivy-ey. It's some sort of party...not wild, just like a dinner party or something. Weird stuff starts to happen...there are people outside and they're moaning and banging on the door and walls. We turn on the TV and yes...zombies. Damn. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It gets a bit fuzzy after that. There are some secret passages. Some "friends" lost. Somehow someone got a shotgun, but I think we lose them too.. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Then I'm in a room and a zombie is attacking my friend. I have no gun, no bat, nothing. So I grab a pillow off a bed and try to smother the already-not-needing-oxygen corpse by pushing its head against the wall. Yes, the zombie is upright. No, it's not working. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's not working at all. Shit. I'm toast. Panic. Wake up. End scene.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">It's 4:00 AM. Think about something else. Think about something else. So. Sleepy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah - right back in it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">So what gives? I'm not one of those people who watches horror movies with glee. Not a huge Romero fan. I don't participate in the </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://pdxpipeline.com/2009/10/25/video-2009-portland-zombie-walk-thriller-dance/">Portland Zombie Walk</a><span style="font-family: arial;">. Why am I having<span style="font-style: italic;"> the</span> most realistic and terrifying dreams I've had since childhood (and that one that I had from reading The Road) about being attacked by the undead? </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyone have an idea? Thoughts? A dream encyclopedia?</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;"><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6d-tNXxTRBA&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6d-tNXxTRBA&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-68175917230658437302010-04-07T22:14:00.000-07:002010-04-07T23:03:00.635-07:00A Matter of Personal Preference<span style="font-family: arial;">I'm always curious to discover what other women consider sexy.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Let's take Robert Downey Jr. for example, shall we? Yes. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">The 80's weren't his best era with that slight essence of ventriloquist dummy around the jaw line there...which lingered until he discovered cocaine and disappeared from the face of the earth for years and years.</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYvBa3Z2aR6XTOvoJgOq8ICRj0U-76v0dOt6CNVmNQ_9RlE7oRVEaZHUiPSzsFjojJoJbc3mp6izyLJhO6E_4cJ9Ph1M-pXQt9-MRDxZoW5iQr8Bvxt36C3YaZQSQM6tm9pRW0w/s1600/rdj-pickup"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAYvBa3Z2aR6XTOvoJgOq8ICRj0U-76v0dOt6CNVmNQ_9RlE7oRVEaZHUiPSzsFjojJoJbc3mp6izyLJhO6E_4cJ9Ph1M-pXQt9-MRDxZoW5iQr8Bvxt36C3YaZQSQM6tm9pRW0w/s200/rdj-pickup" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457637476180054226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">I am convinced that there are some men in this world who make deals with the very devil to age the way that they do. As if contained within rehab (or prison) there existed a kind of Opposite Day El Dorado where the fountain of youth just made you age beautifully. Gary Oldman drank from it...as did Tim Roth, Gabriel Byrne, Jon Stewart, etc. And so, apparently, did Robert Downey Jr. - who, upon his reappearance to the outside world - became the first actor (in my opinion) to successfully introduce a super hero to a the starting line-up of every woman's fantasy (as evidenced below - though I, personally, don't dig the sculpted facial hair).</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86hcwoB7m6hb94w2FITXFCQ8qr_FK9wJCJMrDdlr7K6W_KjTTImUJybvPVQOntuutN_E9tGgR5R2WYkQBnzNrbwjijbO-bnivbuvK6UV1eneizRna7TUAprRoaq6Ql_UMFyg0rA/s1600/rdj-tony"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh86hcwoB7m6hb94w2FITXFCQ8qr_FK9wJCJMrDdlr7K6W_KjTTImUJybvPVQOntuutN_E9tGgR5R2WYkQBnzNrbwjijbO-bnivbuvK6UV1eneizRna7TUAprRoaq6Ql_UMFyg0rA/s200/rdj-tony" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457636396919014770" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">And then a HUGE downgrade. Not hot. FUNNY. Not hot.</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsXYROsdlvqUStB023BYO2CEeIY825d1gudx9k-idDyoYxFdTGxe02Wx7k3epI-uwsLhe_CaaIpJ8OZZWsZ_wu79ONGjmlZW7UbTXHt03GT51KY5OG7-3lN3EA3vbEkbBrnACrQ/s1600/rdj-tropic"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGsXYROsdlvqUStB023BYO2CEeIY825d1gudx9k-idDyoYxFdTGxe02Wx7k3epI-uwsLhe_CaaIpJ8OZZWsZ_wu79ONGjmlZW7UbTXHt03GT51KY5OG7-3lN3EA3vbEkbBrnACrQ/s200/rdj-tropic" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457637480398325010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Oh now wait, but what is this. Could this be the culmination of all things desirable? Classic sexy fictional character, period garb, untamed facial scruff, post-coital tousled hair. A waist coat. Yes, I do believe this might be it.</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGfaWVgRIxNsuyCO4TLEMguBLpwOmF_Rx7MyOMgSQSlBQ7x0Be_gaWnOodFjqdI40L5XNtLWmgnILliy-RWzTaUzZJPcG6s0LLrgSb_j2Pfys63I1Jkh_hL6jW25c2vnJDh_W-g/s1600/rdj-sherlock"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 130px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGfaWVgRIxNsuyCO4TLEMguBLpwOmF_Rx7MyOMgSQSlBQ7x0Be_gaWnOodFjqdI40L5XNtLWmgnILliy-RWzTaUzZJPcG6s0LLrgSb_j2Pfys63I1Jkh_hL6jW25c2vnJDh_W-g/s200/rdj-sherlock" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457636389854021730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family: arial;">But I'm curious to know if you agree. And if not, why? Which RDJ is your RDJ? Young with a little baby fat and an innocent pre-penal twinkle in the eye? Impeccably groomed and somewhat pointy superhero? Um...black face? Or mad genius with a propensity for a dirty fight and a WAIST COAT?! Just curious.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: arial;">Yes, I watched <span style="font-style: italic;">Sherlock Holmes</span> tonight. How could you tell?</span><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEGfaWVgRIxNsuyCO4TLEMguBLpwOmF_Rx7MyOMgSQSlBQ7x0Be_gaWnOodFjqdI40L5XNtLWmgnILliy-RWzTaUzZJPcG6s0LLrgSb_j2Pfys63I1Jkh_hL6jW25c2vnJDh_W-g/s1600/rdj-sherlock"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></a>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-64006441728046167742010-04-05T22:39:00.000-07:002010-04-05T23:12:48.359-07:00Coming To Terms<span style="font-family:arial;">I got sad today. No, it wasn't because David Tennant is no longer Doctor Who. It's not because my tulips are starting to wilt. It's not even because I ran out of the good bread.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://www.businessweek.com/news/2010-04-05/nasa-s-space-shuttle-discovery-launches-on-next-to-last-mission.html">It's because I'm probably not ever going to go into space. </a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Thanks, Mr. President. Thanks a lot.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Today the space rocket (shuttle, whatever) Discovery (ironically named) shot into the sky with the passion of a last kiss. That visual doesn't work at all, does it. I will never be Nicholas Sparks. After this little intergalactic go-around, we (the US gov't) are going to turn the telescopes back toward Earth to try to save the glaciers or some such nonsense. I'd like to see how astronauts go about it. I imagine it will involve the technology behind freeze-dried ice cream. Insert indignation here. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">It's not that I don't think science needs to focus on our global issues. I know they're important. I know it's, on some level, the right thing to do. But my heart bleeds (strong term, but can't think of a better one) for all those kids who grow up wanting to be an rocket man, burning up his fuse out there alone *cough*. But instead will end up going over geographical charts with geologists in a conference room labeled "The Sequoia Room" at the Hilton in Juno. You know?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I know this won't be forever. We'll go back into space. I mean, if I understand our future correctly through the genre of science fiction, we're all going to have to leave here at some point because nature will combine forces with germs and create a <span style="font-style: italic;">Day After Tomorrow</span> meets <span style="font-style: italic;">I Am Legend</span> trifecta (because there will also be a third thing) that can only be escaped via, well, escape pods to Mars. But I doubt it will be in my lifetime. And that's probably okay.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Still...I'm sad.</span><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DvQwXOCKNLY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DvQwXOCKNLY&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-27583532001191878302010-03-31T19:21:00.000-07:002010-03-31T21:02:23.494-07:00Things to Say While Waiting<span style="font-family:arial;">I asked my coworker/friend person to give me an i</span><span style="font-family:arial;">dea of what to blog about today. She changed the subject. I'm trying not to take that personally.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />So what we're left with is random statements like rappers with lisps are FUN-NY. A rapper with a stutter would be funnier. I imagine there are less of those, however, out amongst the riffraff.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have a cold. I know, who doesn't. The difference with this one is, I've been shooting Emergen-C straight into my veins and killing germs and bacteria with wine. Combine that with some much needed sleep and a positive attitude...and this puppy's on the way back OUT. I must've aligned my chakras without even realizing it. Or do you align our chi and massage your chakras? Either way, I must be doing it. And a healthy diet, don't forget that. Tonight we're having Tachos. Yes, you </span><a style="font-family: arial;" href="http://condishair.blogspot.com/2007/08/would-you-like-to-sit-inside-womb.html">remember me introducing you to the glory of those. It was a boyfriend ago</a><span style="font-family:arial;">. Well it turns</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> out they're also medicinal. And beneficial to both chi and chakras.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Your tattoo replies are good, though some of you are holding out. I don't even have ten yet, so this blog isn't really happening. Ignore it. As you were.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQTjaYvfZxfO4CwnwRkMaqU5Ag3wXzXcJW1fD5D2YQPpdCs-5q0NE0AbELaanLV3lIhccjuRidbIEpPXM61tKALEm6S6MubizHwJAaPSkhjflu2fGJ3TALhlkH32xvD0BOK2uMg/s1600/emergen-c.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQTjaYvfZxfO4CwnwRkMaqU5Ag3wXzXcJW1fD5D2YQPpdCs-5q0NE0AbELaanLV3lIhccjuRidbIEpPXM61tKALEm6S6MubizHwJAaPSkhjflu2fGJ3TALhlkH32xvD0BOK2uMg/s320/emergen-c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455012873427026226" border="0" /></a>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-37182471353244548712010-03-24T19:41:00.000-07:002010-03-24T20:10:35.348-07:00An Essay on Art: A Type Of<span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8FzgWeUTLmfOsSysWJiKDhOSp_ZrFkgtEUhdjO74YlQ7S4wTgK36CfnjluKO1dKBAKkywMVcRB5c0T6rsD0WrYq5yuu7cldoi_8ZS2lTT93eNogFduFpcXg_fiGm83ZiNGk0Bg/s1600/tatoo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 167px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ8FzgWeUTLmfOsSysWJiKDhOSp_ZrFkgtEUhdjO74YlQ7S4wTgK36CfnjluKO1dKBAKkywMVcRB5c0T6rsD0WrYq5yuu7cldoi_8ZS2lTT93eNogFduFpcXg_fiGm83ZiNGk0Bg/s200/tatoo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452399352730788914" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" >Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about tattoos. And when I say “lately”, I mean for about 5 minutes earlier today.<br /><br />I remember when I got my first one at the precocious age of 19 and my dad found out. He FLIPPED out! (Yeah, you all thought he was always so cool, didn’t you). His largest concern was that the act had put me into a different class of people, a “type”, if you will. He got over that and now finds them interesting…tattoos in general, not just mine. I think Mom always had a “eh, it’s your body” feeling with regards to my socially accepted self-mutilation…with the exception of letting me dye my hair (mean!)<br /><br />They are a funny thing, though. Special, in that you have them forever – but not so in that everyone and their grandmother has one these days. We no longer have to worry about being 80 with saggy inked body bits flapping about because we’ll all be in the same boat. And I don’t know about you, but I love seeing old people with tattoos. It gives them that much more character. Tells you a little something about them.<br /><br />That being said, I often find myself looking at someone’s tattoo and (on a regular basis) having any of the following reactions:<br /><br />1. “Dear god, why?”<br /><br />2. “Oh!”<br /><br />3. “REEEEally?”<br /><br />4. “That makes my heart cry”<br /><br />Earlier in my life, I was of the opinion that they were a very personal thing. Time and thought went into the choosing of one. And each had a reason for its existence. Of course the amount of time and the type of reason can sometimes be directly related to the proximity of a vacation and/or alcohol…but the fact remains. For some people, I still believe the “personal” theory to be true. For others, I believe their free time and any disposable income should be taken away.<br /><br />I could take up space with examples here, but we’ve all seen them. And if you haven’t, all you have to do is google.<br /><br />For my own, personal experience…I think I got my first tattoo too young. The good news is, I’m not sorry I got it and think it still looks great. It’s just, I’m not sure I would’ve been quite so keen on the size and detail at 30 the way I was at 19. It’s a good tattoo, purchased in an old parlor on Frenchman in New Orleans. It’s not there anymore. They painted the hundreds of year old brick yellow and made it an Electric Ladyland. It’s Egyptian – taken from a sketch in an old book I found at the university library. My only complaint is that the feet of the tattoo peek out from my shirt if I ever lean over and to this day I have children AND adults lifting UP my shirt to try to see it in it entirety.<br /><br />You may or may not know the story of the second one. I posted here when I got it, but I don’t remember if I explained why I chose the barn swallow. There’s a nautical myth that says a sailor would get a barn swallow tattooed for every 5,000 nautical miles he traveled. I’ve traveled significantly more than that, but tattoos hurt and are expensive and so only purchased two.<br /><br />I have two restrictions on any tattoo I commission:<br /><br />1. It must be placed on a part of my body that is least likely to get fat<br /><br />And<br /><br />2. No color – if they had color and were visible, I’d feel the need to match my outfits to them.<br /><br />I don’t imagine I’m alone in my pickiness…but I’m interested…call it anthropologically…in who out there among my acquaintances has tattoos? Don’t tell me here…comments are too hard to compile. Email me. Or comment that you’ll email me. OR if you don’t have one, tattoo me why. Or just comment it. And I refuse to let you say that you just haven’t figured out what you wanted yet. I bite my thumb at such a lack of originality/funds/inspiration.<br /><br />I’ve finally given this blog its own email address, so send a description of your tattoo(s) to condishair@gmail.com. You will presented (anonymously if you so desire) as a portion of my scientific findings (within a sample size of the dozen or so people who read this blog). Feel free to out friends and loved ones if you yourself are not inked.<br /><br />Just know - I refuse to blog again until I get at least 10 emails.<br /><br />My, that was verbose, wasn’t it.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-65258089822044563062010-03-22T19:19:00.000-07:002010-03-22T21:34:09.286-07:00Progression: The Act of Moving Forward. Finally.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLkmhjyVSjbvHJPn6uJSVD221wa48BIom3-t2cSVJwxH-83RN7xYD_bfW3pFJDa6zSVPHHlJNWH74cG0ISfID0W_M3Jxhu6W_fm5CefnwCxB67WmIrdPv2Qyq7mBX9-X1tvy5HFA/s1600-h/brendan_docta.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 138px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLkmhjyVSjbvHJPn6uJSVD221wa48BIom3-t2cSVJwxH-83RN7xYD_bfW3pFJDa6zSVPHHlJNWH74cG0ISfID0W_M3Jxhu6W_fm5CefnwCxB67WmIrdPv2Qyq7mBX9-X1tvy5HFA/s200/brendan_docta.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451660855126830018" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">It's that time of year when the cherry blossoms are on the trees and I'm mildly interested in politics for, like, a minute.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">If any of you have a television, internet connection, radio transmitter, workplace water cooler or news ticker...then you'll know that the United States finally passed a bill to make securing and benefiting from healthcare a little bit easier for some 30-odd million Americans. This improvement has taken an incredibly long time. And it's unfinished. We still have no public option, and a big Debbie Downer part of me is concerned that it will never happen with the passing of this bill.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Still...fuck yeah!</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And THIS is the part of the post where I take the quotations from various members of the senate and congress out of </span></span><a style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/22/health/policy/22health.html?pagewanted=1&th&emc=th">the New York Times article I read</a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" > and reply to them as though said members are in the room with me:</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >“This is the Civil Rights Act of the 21st century,” said Representative James E. Clyburn of South Carolina, the No. 3 Democrat in the House.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Mostly, Mr Clyburn. Mostly. And your last name is odd. I think it's missing a vowel. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />The House Republican leader, Representative </span><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/b/john_a_boehner/index.html?inline=nyt-per" title="More articles about John A. Boehner." class="meta-per">John A. Boehner</a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > of Ohio, said lawmakers were defying the wishes of their constituents. “The American people are angry,” Mr. Boehner said. “This body moves forward against their will. Shame on us.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />John, have you ever not had insurance while making minimum wage and then broken a tooth? Have you ever been rejected for coverage because you have a strange and small condition that has a 20% chance of ever affecting you in your lifetime? Have you paid a $1,000 premium a month for two people because you're technically retired but too young to be on Medicare? No? Well then fuck you. You don't know any American people. And let me tell you something about some of these "angry" people. They're still looking for WMDs and signs of the Rapture. Enough said.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /><br />Representative Lincoln Diaz-Balart, Republican of Florida, called it “a decisive step in the weakening of the United States.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Lincoln, you should be stripped of your name. The first one. And secondly - what does that even fucking mean? How could we be any weaker? And denying 50 million Americans the right to a healthy life helps that how?</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /><br />Representative Virginia Foxx, Republican of North Carolina, said it was “one of the most offensive pieces of social engineering legislation in the history of the United States.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Really? Because I would've said that about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Patriot_Act">The Patriot Act</a>. Bitch.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >On Sunday afternoon, members of the group announced that they would support the legislation after Mr. Obama promised to issue an </span><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/22/health/policy/22health-text.html" title="Text of the proposed executive order.">executive order</a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" > to “ensure that federal funds are not used for abortion services.” Mr. Stupak described the order as a significant guarantee that would “protect the sanctity of life in </span><a style="font-style: italic; font-family: arial;" href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/news/health/diseasesconditionsandhealthtopics/health_insurance_and_managed_care/health_care_reform/index.html?inline=nyt-classifier" title="Recent and archival news about healthcare reform." class="meta-classifier">health care reform</a><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />This reminds me of the movie </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Children_of_Men"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Children of Men</span></a><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >? You see that movie? I didn't get it. There was this scene when these people were all warring with each other...but stopped to let a pregnant woman through, because she was the last prego on earth. Or some junk. But as soon as she passed, they went back to shooting each other. The theme you were supposed to take away is that life is precious. But the theme I took away was that life is precious until you're a teenager and then you better fucking watch it because I'm going to shoot you in the face. That's what this abortion provision is to me. Unborn life needs to be preserved at all costs, but once you're born, you're on your own. The social conscience expires. Make sure that kid is born to the teenage mother working at McDonald's...but don't support the ability of that mother to get the kid the vaccine to prevent it from contracting polio. Serious lack of perspective, Mr. Stupak. Serious.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /><br />Representative Rodney Alexander, Republican of Louisiana, said, “You cannot expect to expand coverage to millions of individuals and to curb costs at the same time.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />No shit, Roddy. But maybe if they're not going bankrupt from that emergency surgery on their pancreas - they can afford to stay in their house and buy that big screen tv that you're convinced will save the economy.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >“Are you so arrogant that you know what’s best for the American people?” Representative Paul Broun, Republican of Georgia, asked the Democrats.</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Are you? It seems to me that an elected body created for the purpose of representing the people should maybe spend its time trying to figure out and implementing what they think might be best for the people who voted for them. Or something. Someone needs a civics lesson. And a punch in the nads.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" ><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >After the legislation passed, Mr. Obama sought to place the day in perspective. </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >“In the end what this day represents is another stone firmly laid in the foundation of the American dream,” the president said. “Tonight, we answered the call of history as so many generations of Americans have before us. When faced with crisis, we did not shrink from our challenges. We overcame them. We did not avoid our responsibilities, we embraced it. We did not fear our future, we shaped it.”</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" ><br /><br />Amen.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">In other news, I just got </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Donnie Darko</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> on Blu-Ray and am therefore cooler than you.<br /><br /></span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-32444953199102731772010-03-19T22:38:00.000-07:002010-03-19T23:09:53.293-07:00Oh How St. Peter Will Laugh in My Face.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kAnZRICUaP5NM_g6HxFZgOx3Nf9kuRreDTU5T-bxVY71MsvLaNlW7N_Jqf0Wprb_cu0DglHNlbRUNzGiwOOQ-7_E7x7ngsZPA50pRhCqjRyQTwiKYde3jIYamw_nXigTKpCEwQ/s1600-h/uncomfortable"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4kAnZRICUaP5NM_g6HxFZgOx3Nf9kuRreDTU5T-bxVY71MsvLaNlW7N_Jqf0Wprb_cu0DglHNlbRUNzGiwOOQ-7_E7x7ngsZPA50pRhCqjRyQTwiKYde3jIYamw_nXigTKpCEwQ/s200/uncomfortable" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450594053608007234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I worked from home today and so therefore, the TV was on. Strangely and wonderously - </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Little Women</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> showed up on ET (the channel, not the movie). What are the odds. It was in-between some Kardashian-related reality show and celeb news. Who's idea was that? The one intern with the English degree?</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Anyway.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Every time I see any of the various versions of </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Little Women</span><span style="font-family:arial;">, I feel bad about myself. I should be more like Marmee. I should be more like Meg. Shit, I should be more like Jo...outspoken but still confined to the parlance of the times.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">But the fact is, I'm not like any of them. In my constant quest to make people laugh, I often (not necessarily purposefully) try/end up being the most outspoken/inappropriate person in the room. Mean comedy has it's place...Lenny Bruce has shown us that, if no one else. It's a necessary evil, someone has to provide it. I just never thought it would be me every single fucking time.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">In almost ever social occasion, there is something I say that I look back on with almost cringing guilt. Whatever it is, it gets a laugh at the time, but I spend the remainder of the evening mortified that I said what I said...and it eats me up inside.<br /><br />Tonight is no different. It's like I can't control what comes out of my mouth...a character flaw that I sincerely hoped would improve with age. Sadly...it hasn't. </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">So what do I do? Accept that I am always going to be the inappropriate joke teller who gets the laugh but burns in a personal hell for it later? Or try to change?<br /><br />I fear it is hopeless, mostly due to alcohol. I get relaxed and I sometimes forget my audience. But is it a gift? Or a curse? There is nothing I enjoy more - watching people crack up at whatever nonsense I've spouted...but knowing that there's one person in the room who may be touched negatively...sucks.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />The fact of the matter is, I probably won't change. And that may be ok. There's a place in society for us...the not-quite-as-bad-as-Andy-Dicks. Nature has placed us here and so we shall remain. I guess if we offend to often, our social circle will dwindle. Let's hope that happens before I start giving guilt hugs, shall we?<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;">Happy Friday.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-50449455367416589672010-03-06T16:18:00.000-08:002010-03-06T17:38:49.316-08:00On The Eve of The Big Event...<span style="font-family:arial;">I know most people don't give a good goddamn about the Oscars, but I've been watching them faithfully ever since I was a wee one. And since they're tomorrow, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the Academy Award nominations for Best Picture with you all. And you're gonna shut up and like it.</span><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cwzwG9y00hjhLJqkV_QPv898ooX1RQxEY73xm_65r3TXHedO5TSNeCJh3pq-w-CiBRlRx8vDIB_lWIlbbNWXS23D6LtFNwZIeTXPUczGcQzhNquHwUSRuUNs1e6D_0JMhj5wrQ/s1600-h/upintheair"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 119px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1cwzwG9y00hjhLJqkV_QPv898ooX1RQxEY73xm_65r3TXHedO5TSNeCJh3pq-w-CiBRlRx8vDIB_lWIlbbNWXS23D6LtFNwZIeTXPUczGcQzhNquHwUSRuUNs1e6D_0JMhj5wrQ/s200/upintheair" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445694663373685234" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Up in the Air</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I saw it. It was cute. But I'll tell you this - any movie that has an "Oh my god, it's Young MC! Let's dance!" moment is not an Oscar contender.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Avatar</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgv-hzLlLV_io-f0jrp7dGTUYaKXW_d6c9AkvVKStMTWK5sbNE8hqK4OL9ZleylROVzflTrWzHsiHzM7X0RLgxWSnvUcZciF5VtxnvtCYirFTzHO5zrnsww8psdDZmLyW_rI4SFg/s1600-h/avatar.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 194px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgv-hzLlLV_io-f0jrp7dGTUYaKXW_d6c9AkvVKStMTWK5sbNE8hqK4OL9ZleylROVzflTrWzHsiHzM7X0RLgxWSnvUcZciF5VtxnvtCYirFTzHO5zrnsww8psdDZmLyW_rI4SFg/s200/avatar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445691260800102674" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I haven't seen this movie yet. Want to know why? Because I don't want to have to see a movie "just for the awesome effects". Now that the technology exists, I'm going to WAIT until they find a way to merge those awesome effects with a FUCKING DECENT STORYLINE. One that may or may not involve blue people.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >District 9</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3M8-fREpyyHIHQx92yqsmloK3eZhRJIDbWDYc7k69lCI0AiRdykSTTSpUeXWye_islXsUwsbmPVm7YPe1ClODEzjNrUWjldQ-jBh6imPR4Mkv7gMMSB1uvEc3MtzKBag1POhog/s1600-h/district9"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 97px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3M8-fREpyyHIHQx92yqsmloK3eZhRJIDbWDYc7k69lCI0AiRdykSTTSpUeXWye_islXsUwsbmPVm7YPe1ClODEzjNrUWjldQ-jBh6imPR4Mkv7gMMSB1uvEc3MtzKBag1POhog/s200/district9" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445694659344875970" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I walked away from this movie feeling like Nigerians must be the worst people on Earth. Though it may not have been the intended consequence - it still left a bad taste in my mouth. My friends tell me to stop being so sensitive. But then I tell them to shut up, so it all evens out.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixCfx0YEOQhZqBfSK4dPsUmfKDw5CWKsbf_EORJXZk_-x-_VKOXHskgj81cUV9IDRRL2mMk5ZL8cotLxfpuvldWjN-Oqv7gYuDEZTM1G_gMEj1UWiuEW_fYPZrqPDtkcrcD7Y6Q/s1600-h/aneducation.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhixCfx0YEOQhZqBfSK4dPsUmfKDw5CWKsbf_EORJXZk_-x-_VKOXHskgj81cUV9IDRRL2mMk5ZL8cotLxfpuvldWjN-Oqv7gYuDEZTM1G_gMEj1UWiuEW_fYPZrqPDtkcrcD7Y6Q/s200/aneducation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445691245641638450" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >An Education</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This was a fanfuckingtastic film with the exception of Peter Sarsgaard's sad English accent. But it suffers from <span style="font-style: italic;">Vera Drake</span> (Mike Leigh) syndrome...as in - it will not win due to the inclusion of the following elements:</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">a. It's British</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">b. It's too quiet. Thoughtful and filled with dialogue. Not a single explosion.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">c. The heroine's journey - though a definable journey - is not epic. There's no racial or spacial divide to cross...it's just youth and we've all been there.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">d. Everyone agrees that things were fucked up in the 60s.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">That being said, the best part of the movie is Rosamund Pike. Anyone who can pull off playing a ditz while remaining likable as a character is truly amazing acting.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The Hurt Locker</span><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHOPChGrJYwwRnXvB2kHprCw2J17XBdoHOgPsZrTiIL2j_0NoZFOE74WThO6mV5btZIMCk3ogTOSN833EYnWs-aNbN6X34Nncxhak-cnDF7MSN0Sg4PVDD19NNgMu52lb3_mzZg/s1600-h/thehurtlocker"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZHOPChGrJYwwRnXvB2kHprCw2J17XBdoHOgPsZrTiIL2j_0NoZFOE74WThO6mV5btZIMCk3ogTOSN833EYnWs-aNbN6X34Nncxhak-cnDF7MSN0Sg4PVDD19NNgMu52lb3_mzZg/s200/thehurtlocker" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445693458672279074" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">B and I saw this when it first came out and no one was talking about it yet. I don't remember why. I think maybe we're drawn to titles with "Hurt" in them. Or maybe "Locker". B really loved this movie. Really loved it. I...appreciated it. There were some beautifully bleak scenes and some fun (as much as you can use that word in a war movie) cameos - and I definitely could get behind the message. But I'm a little desensitized to war films, so they take a lot to impress me. But you know...you should see it anyway.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >The B</span><a style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZ9-jCHk8hUr-MAga1dRRcmpkebfUCYpwcirh3ciQU87Poi00aVts-NK-9fYVX7ALWy348vV1bBBSbm6CdsmL086iUzf-zKrO7oc24Y9AoHyL2em3RnNaseHKBG0QoOdMCEgO9Q/s1600-h/Blind-Side.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 161px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWZ9-jCHk8hUr-MAga1dRRcmpkebfUCYpwcirh3ciQU87Poi00aVts-NK-9fYVX7ALWy348vV1bBBSbm6CdsmL086iUzf-zKrO7oc24Y9AoHyL2em3RnNaseHKBG0QoOdMCEgO9Q/s200/Blind-Side.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445693449477512530" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >lind Side</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Are you fucking kidding me?! A blond Sandra Bullock?! Football?! Rich white lady helps poor black teenager!?</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">The SOUTH?! </span><span style="font-family:arial;">TIM MCGRAW?! </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Come on.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Inglourious Basterds</span><a style="font-family: arial; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzEeKqbbiusVaHQfzE43Neny2FYdFm_qT9_jghivfbrt50Db1hCj2UnILWlv8C1slbXPvEGgnK5hVFX_5HqmtxeNU7KBBJDTwO-0Piy2l62Av9wf3K97jneqCPdQ_y9zm2_oCXQ/s1600-h/inglouriousbasterds"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrzEeKqbbiusVaHQfzE43Neny2FYdFm_qT9_jghivfbrt50Db1hCj2UnILWlv8C1slbXPvEGgnK5hVFX_5HqmtxeNU7KBBJDTwO-0Piy2l62Av9wf3K97jneqCPdQ_y9zm2_oCXQ/s200/inglouriousbasterds" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445691279263766530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I just recently saw this one. I know, how behind the times can you get, right? I wanted to like it more than I did. The first 30 minutes are awesome. The last 30 minutes are awesome. Eli Roth is strangely awesome. But I really do just hate Quentin Tarantino, his obsession with the 70s - everything he stands for. And I want someone to slap his chin right off his face.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvY2LnRMSl8YwmOowemsrH8786tWEjBEejh9tqdsZHgSsuXLDPGbdEPTovdYim7iopATa5VpL5TnSUGOrOxe30lLMYDH1bu22VVzqbMuvhnOC7jP3ixSqh8FwxruW1f59uqoRXJA/s1600-h/precious"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 137px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvY2LnRMSl8YwmOowemsrH8786tWEjBEejh9tqdsZHgSsuXLDPGbdEPTovdYim7iopATa5VpL5TnSUGOrOxe30lLMYDH1bu22VVzqbMuvhnOC7jP3ixSqh8FwxruW1f59uqoRXJA/s200/precious" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445693473729537842" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Precious</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">This was in theaters (and very few of them) for a depressingly short time and I didn't make it. However - the preview makes me cry. Photos from the film make me cry. Mo'Nique accepting her Golden Globe made me cry. Seeing Mariah Carey's face on screen normally makes me cry (for an all together different reason) - but in this role, I'm able to hold it in.</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlM31sHkTJl54kssUlsOjawoGpysZt_Gkm6k2BPPyaPVPy1qKlXgu4wFMf1LwVqOhF5GbGeLJdyLsjLjdPJkrHnoSX5FgyfPmfhstyWX5wU0kMbhP7qeTf7UKasRGxJUx1r9eLPw/s1600-h/aseriousman"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 196px; height: 107px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlM31sHkTJl54kssUlsOjawoGpysZt_Gkm6k2BPPyaPVPy1qKlXgu4wFMf1LwVqOhF5GbGeLJdyLsjLjdPJkrHnoSX5FgyfPmfhstyWX5wU0kMbhP7qeTf7UKasRGxJUx1r9eLPw/s200/aseriousman" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445691251457428658" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >A Serious Man</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I have not seen this yet, not for lack of trying. Things keep getting in the way, and I'm beginning to take it personally. Yes, I'm talking to you, Universe. I've heard good things - but I think we all know that the Coen Bros. have recently had their day in the red-carpeted sun and this nomination is just to let them know they're not forgotten. Also - the main actor looks disturbingly like a young Robin Williams. Anyone else notice this?</span><br /><br /><br /><a style="font-family: arial;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkv_u3zPrYDrEktRY_IDze83Hz0jdXSs7Ic0fZo_O6-CpsMRpXtIWAB9eaQNWEqVeKtMO1m_aCfI8iW-zPFGM4ZTXXqmOPnI6PqVRWUwqIqq4pWB-kjR4L4uWGjCsoUsWpYrF1g/s1600-h/up"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 170px; height: 148px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGkv_u3zPrYDrEktRY_IDze83Hz0jdXSs7Ic0fZo_O6-CpsMRpXtIWAB9eaQNWEqVeKtMO1m_aCfI8iW-zPFGM4ZTXXqmOPnI6PqVRWUwqIqq4pWB-kjR4L4uWGjCsoUsWpYrF1g/s200/up" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5445693475475164914" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-family:arial;" >Up</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">When this was in the theaters, I told Brendan to plan to see it when I was out of town. According to him, this is because I have no soul and hate all things good in the world (children, puppies, etc.). He might be right. However. It's not going to win.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >MY PREDICTION</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Stupid-faced <span style="font-style: italic;">Avatar</span> will win. You know it. I know it. Everyone knows it. James Cameron knows it. Cocky bastard. You can see it in his facial hair. And when he does - I plan on yelling and shaking my angry red-wine encased in glass fist (Oscar party) that <span style="font-style: italic;">Precious</span> was ROBBED. And then we'll move on to other things, like who looks the most anorexic in their dress.</span>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13845234.post-35344012879741102522010-03-02T22:19:00.001-08:002010-03-02T22:54:41.300-08:00Moved to Poetry by Poetry Because of Poetry<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:arial;" >An Ode to the corner store</span> <br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Oh Corner Store...how I heart thee</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />With your 24-hourness and</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">chicken and jojo-scented<br />Oxygen</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">singing to me like a non-drowny siren</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />With the promise of neon, ranch dip and</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />A refrigerated top row of 22 ouncers</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />You always have what I need</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Whether it's duct tape or $1 meat</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And for that, I metaphorically embrace you and<br />Your </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">rowdy, fun-lovin' gangster wannabes</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Hanging out by the bus stop like Tupac's </span> <span style="font-family:arial;">Not dead.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Calling everyone a bitch.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:arial;">The pasty skinny-jeaned buying Pabst (case</span><span style="font-family:arial;">-style)<br />Making small talk with other races</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Trying to pretend they're not uncomfortable.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />You have the specialty chips I need</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />To make the tuna casserole</span><br /> <span style="font-family:arial;">'Cause it's comfort food night</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />As it is when I work late.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Though no sleep occurs</span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />You know you're my Comfort Inn.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br />The sketch is my crutch</span> <span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />And yes, that last part was a haiku.</span> <span style="font-family:arial;">For you, Corner Store<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vahdROhcwE8b89eD_-1-mB-3FTi2bOpR5IMKePHzXD0hq3riPYH-PIZuKvsT2kfxwyR9NXYbAhvFdvnBtgguE73_c2g-TxSa7n8ghdkG69Ym2P4M21c3gxUqPcsjWmvwtoDpwA/s1600-h/Screen+shot+2010-03-02+at+10.43.27+PM.png"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5vahdROhcwE8b89eD_-1-mB-3FTi2bOpR5IMKePHzXD0hq3riPYH-PIZuKvsT2kfxwyR9NXYbAhvFdvnBtgguE73_c2g-TxSa7n8ghdkG69Ym2P4M21c3gxUqPcsjWmvwtoDpwA/s320/Screen+shot+2010-03-02+at+10.43.27+PM.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444294787134674578" border="0" /></a><br />Bless you, google earth. And thank you as well.<br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>karahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01690274092026593186noreply@blogger.com11