I Hate You, J.K. Rowling.

And here's why. The Waif and I were there. Opening night of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I'm fairly certain Waif was bouncing in her chair. She has to be careful with that sort of thing...her fragile little bird bones can snap like a twig on those hard seats. Anyway...we were there. I saw it on opening night. Could I tell you a thing about it? No.

Why?


Because all I could see was this man. Goddamn, Gary Oldman is hot.

And then he died and I wanted to storm out of the theater in a huff. I literally lost interest completely after that point. It was an unconscious reaction that couldn't be helped. Staring at Helena B-C's rotting gums didn't help matters. But this is the effect Oldman has on me. Has been ever since I first met him (at an age old enough to recognize pure lust)...














...in this. I probably watched this movie more times than I'm willing to admit...even to perfect and imperfect strangers. Never have I wanted fangs piercing the fleshiness of my throat more than when this man was doing just that to Winona Ryder. And never since...cause that shit's just fucked up.












And then there was Sid. Not being the world's biggest Sex Pistols' fan...I prefer The Clash...it took me a while to see this. But then I did. And then I did again. And then one more time...just fast forwarding to the good parts.






Some lonely night in a video store I stumbled upon this little gem. It's not that great of a movie, but you get to see his nekkid self diving into water like the aqueous god that he is. A man nymph. Does such a thing exist? Well I say it does.

Demi Moore is a poorly acting cow in this film, so I just mentally superimpose my face over hers. The cow. Anyway, I highly recommend this one. He has a fuck-me-now Scottish accent as the cherry that should sit right up near the top of this sundae of luuurv.










I'd even do him as Beethoven. Watched this projected on the wall of a patisserie several months ago. It made him almost life-sized.

There are, of course, exceptions. His character in 5th Element looks like a circus freak and sounds like George W. Bush...which I bet is intentional. And his role as Commissioner Gordon in the new Batman movie(s) leaves something to be visually desired (lose the 'stache - the cheese cannot stand alone)...but he the man fairly consistently makes my heart race.











But here's the crux of the thing. THe's pushing 50. And by "pushing" I mean, I think he actually is 50. That puts him in the same Baby Boomer generation as my parents. But somehow...it just doesn't matter. Every year when he should be going the pruney way of Sean Connery...he somehow manages to get a little bit hotter. Why is this? What sort of fucked up Dorian Gray deal with the devil has this man made? Somebody tell me why I have no control over the beating of my body temperature when he steps into the frame?

Look at him here next to Harry. I'm having a hard time keeping my index finger from running down that tattooed chest. I wouldn't try so hard, except that I'm at work and it would look...odd.

So if you were looking for a review of the new Harry Potter...I'm sorry. I've failed you all...I've failed myself...I've failed my film degree. But it was worth it. I'd do it again in a second...if it didn't cost me $10.

I'll Tell You People What...

This place is crazy. Yesterday was a hundred and something degrees. I know that's standard for a lot of the country, but you guys can just shut it because that's fucking hot for Oregon. The land of "what's air conditioning?". We wear socks with our sandals 9 months out of the year for chrissakes.

The only answer was a pool. Amy g. has a pool. And yesterday...I was in it. With a vodka-laced Slurpee. And in between lounging in the plastic deck chair (in the shallow end, of course) and telling small children to piss off...I got to thinking about the Iraq war. Yeah.

NPR had a report this morning stating that even Republicans are having second thoughts about our Commander and Chief's fantastical stratagems where that tragic pile of sand (once home to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon) is concerned. They seem to think (according to one conservative member of congress who's name I cannot recall) that the Iraqi government isn't doing its part to become truly independent. You know, they're relying too heavily on our troops and not keeping up with their end of the deal to train and control their own troops. What I'm not clear on is this "deal" thing. When was that made? As I recall...no one from Iraq ever actually asked us to liberate their country. There was never a "can you pop on by when you have a minute?" letter sent to Bush that I know of. So where do we get off being overly annoyed at THEM not being able to get their shit together in a timely manner while bombs go off in every direction? Hmmmm? I thought so.

THEN I get to work this morning and everything breaks. So I read a little of the New York Times. Headline: Surgeon General Sees 4-Year Term as Compromised

Some snippets for you:
The administration, Dr. Carmona (Ex Surgeon General) said, would not allow him to speak or issue reports about stem cells, emergency contraception, sex education, or prison, mental and global health issues. Top officials delayed for years and tried to “water down” a landmark report on secondhand smoke, he said.

Lovely.

Dr. Carmona said he was ordered to mention President Bush three times on every page of his speeches. He also said he was asked to make speeches to support Republican political candidates and to attend political briefings.

You know...just in case anyone forgot his name.

Emily Lawrimore, a White House spokeswoman, said the surgeon general “is the leading voice for the health of all Americans."
"It’s disappointing to us,” Ms. Lawrimore said, “if he failed to use this position to the fullest extent in advocating for policies he thought were in the best interests of the nation."

It's disappointing to ME that she didn't also include the fact that this man tortures and skins kittens for DNA testing and is trying to cure cancer by utilizing the healing power of the 'thought bubble'. The quack.

To be fair, the article goes on to pinpoint the issues that Bush Sr. and Clinton tried to suppress as well...but what the fuck?! Where do they get off controlling the dissemination of health-related informations? Suddenly I'm seeing a little red, if you get my not-so-veiled play-on word right there. Somebody get me a Slurpee!

Fine...screw you all, I'll get one myself.

We've Finally Found Him

I just got this text message, well...it was actually two text messages because it was too long for one, but still...I just got this:

From: Kansas (971-xxx-xxxx)
I hate to say it honey, but this bedroom is a nightmare straight from hell. I was digging around and found not only long lost clothing but also a skeleton that I am convinced is Jimmy Hoffa. We must tag-team it some day. The room, that is.
July 9, 11:32am

You see, of course, why I love him.

So I'm not a neat-nick...who cares! None of the great ones ever are! Cleanliness asphyxiates creativity! It cuts it off, right at the vocal cords. That's a lot of pain. Clean, boring, mundane stick-people drawing pain. If I have to get busy cleaning...I'll run out of time for the really important things, like writing in my blog and drinking! Drinking! You can't drink and clean! What if you get confused due to lightheadedness from the chemicals and you take a swig from the bleach instead of the beer? There's very little difference between and glass and a plastic bottle, people! Very little!

I'm not dirty, though. I'm messy. What he's referring to in that text message are mountains of CLEAN laundry that I can't be bothered putting away because I might want to wear it at ANY MINUTE and piles and piles of papers and whatnot. I cannot seem to keep the paper that infiltrates my life in any sort of organized containment unit. I used to use a filing thingy on my dresser but it started overflowing, so I put some of it in a drawer. But now the drawer is full and I'm relatively sure there's a bill somewhere in there that I haven't paid and now I can't find it for all the envelopes screaming at me every time I try to open the drawer. So now I use the floor. It has mingled well with the clothing and has somehow avoided be thrown up on by the cat (this is her latest thing...I think she WANTS me to kill her). So it was all settled.

Or, at least it was 'til I got this text. Bless his little heart.

The Sun Is A Mass Of Incandescent Gas

Like a gigantic nuclear furnace. Guess what that does to my pasty self? Go on...guess. I dare you. Double dog dare you. Ok fine, I'll just tell you...

It burns it to all fuck.

Sat at a picnic table for 15, count them 15 minutes this afternoon with an iced tea and The Mercury and what do you THINK happened. What? Go on, guess. Really. Ok, fine...I'll just tell you...

I got a sunburn.

People wonder why I'm not outdoorsy...well, probably no one actually wonders that, but the fact is I'm not and THIS is why. It's hard to enjoy spending time in the sunlight when it's constantly trying to kill you.

It's almost akin to taking up yahting when you can't swim.

Or working in a casino when you only have one lung.

Or shopping when you're broke.

Actually...I don't know that any of those examples are really what I meant...but I like them, so they're going to stay. Kansas is currently trying to kill Tallulah who is trying to kill the neighbor cat, albeit through a screen...but the effort is there.

I should probably intervene to save at least one of them...but I'm drinking a beer and it'll become room temperature if not consumed quickly. See...priorities.

This is the first Saturday night that I haven't had something I've had to go do in ages. It's thrilling. We're thinking of walking out to a pub theater to see a movie...but who knows since I'm so very slightly charred. I might be feeling too fragile. But probably not. I do want to get at least two more beers down my gullet before heading out, though, so I think I need to go focus on that. You guys were great, though...thanks for listening.

Maybe I'll even drink too much and start a fight with someone over something trivial, like the price of milk.. And then Kansas will have to pull me off as I continue to kick their lifeless body after utilizing my secret weapon...the pinky rip. That could be fun.

My Night Terror

According to Kansas, sometime in the wee hours of Thursday morning I jumped up to my hands and knees (I sleep on my stomach) and started freaking out about bugs. Kansas, so rudely awakened by my freak out, calmed me back down into the appropriate nighty night time position only to discover that I was and had been sound asleep the entire time.

Thursday Morning, 6:30AM
Kansas: Remember what you did last night?
Kara: Did?
Kansas: You jumped up in bed and freaked out.
Kara: I what?

Yeah...explain THAT.

So What IS The Problem?

Saw Sicko this weekend. I also fell on my ass in front of a sidewalk full of people, but that's another story. One which I'll also tell today.

But first...I have my issues with Michael Moore as much as anyone else does. He's a self-righteous man who exploits the victims he includes in his movies as much as he helps them. His sense of humor is obtuse and somewhat patronizing. And his biggest problem, I believe, is that his attitude and "in your face" style narrows his audience down til what is left is the proverbial choir. Thus, his message (which is generally a great one) only goes out to people who are already outraged enough to spend $10 a piece to become even more outraged at one of his movies. He's not convincing anyone new of anything they didn't already guess. In this way, he is ineffective.

But still...the man asks the most beautiful questions. And his name can get him, as a filmmaker, into places no other filmmaker could ever get in to. And for that, he is invaluable. Sicko is a beautiful film...with the exception of its opening credits (this dude sews up a cut on his leg). I think he focuses too much time on the "utopian" societies that are Canada, France, England and Cuba (uh huh) and too little time on how we can change America...but the message he sends is clear and sickening. We NEED socialized healthcare to keep so many people from suffering and dying unnecessarily. And we need to stop being so afraid of our government. As one of the interviewees, an ex-member of the British Parliament put it (imagine Peter O'Toole's voice) "a government should be afraid of the people, not the people afraid of the government." All I can say to that profound statement is 'Fuckin' A, man'.

As for what happened on the bike... I was balancing sideways on the straight bar of the frame on the sidewalk in front of McMenamin's Blue Moon Pub waiting for the check to come to our table so we could get the fuck to the soccer (football for the Commonwealth) game that had already started (Timbers WON!). Suddenly, I felt the bike lose ground and it hit the concrete with a *crash*! And my ass fell right on top of it. In front of an entire sidewalk of tables filled with hipsters. I got an applause. Assholes.





PS: I love you, mom...even if your employer is evil incarnate.