You Know What Blows??

Pirates of the Caribbean III.

They have finally succeeded in taking my favorite ride at Disneyland (since the age of 6, mind you) and soiled everything it stands for. Which, I think, was light-hearted pirate glorifying fun. They have also succeeded in inciting BOREDOM during a JOHNNY DEPP film. For this, I'll never forgive them.

Damn you...Them.
The worst part of it is...I LUURRRVVV pirate movies. I can't tell you how many times I've seen Captain Blood and The Buccaneer. Of course, not as often since I passed my 13th birthday, but still...in my mind, those two pirate flicks can't be beat. And Disney had its head in the right place for a while (as in, not up its ass) with movies like Blackbeard's Ghost and Treasure Island. When I discovered ages ago that they were making a movie based on my favorite ride, I was ecstatic. And it was cute! And Johnny was cute! And it had Kiera Knightly who never shuts her fucking anorexic mouth, but could easily be ignored! And then there was the promise of the second one with Bill Nighy! Everyone loves Billy Nighy!

And then the second one blew!

And then I thought...well, at least there's only one more. They'll wrap up the story line and that'll be the last we'll see of Johnny in eyeliner til...his next movie. But if any of you wasted three hours of your life that you'll never get back like I did...you'd have found out that not a goddamn thing is wrapped up since they're obviously doing a fourth. Which will probably also blow.

Money grubbing pricks.

In the meantime, I can't look my favorite ride in the face anymore. Or, at least, I won't be able to if I ever darken the doorways of Disneyland again.

Yo ho.

Oh yeah...did you hear that Britney's gone postal and is currently residing in psychiatric la la land? I'm a little saddened it's her and not Paris. At least we know that Paris' art flourishes behind bars.

Perspective?

2008 is going to be a big news year. I can feel it. Maybe not Fabio Brawls with Cloondog big...but big, nonetheless.

Because this year...this one here...this year is an election year. This year we are 100% GUARANTEED not to have George W. Bush as an ineffective buffoon...errr...president beyond this year. Though I won't get my wish to have him prosecuted as a war criminal...I need to be thankful for small favors, you know?


And as Iowa and New Hampshire gear up to decide who will be my options as candidates, as is their traditional and wholly unfair right...I reflect on how much worse the situation could be when I see stories like this one:

Mob torches Kenyan church, 30 die inside

This is what they're calling "post-election violence" in Kenya. Some "youths" of the opposition didn't like who was re-elected...so they protested by burning women and children alive. Happy New year.

Alas. Some perspective.

Even if my nightmares do come true and someone like Mitt Romney ends up in our White House...at least I know I can go to church and come out again fairly untouched. That is...if I ever went to church. However, even the bright side of the above scenario is grim.

I guess my best bet is to have faith that Iowans and New Hampshirites aren't assholes and that they - in the words of that title of that really old movie by Spike Lee - do the right thing. And now...Rosie Perez will dance for you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3GiWJ0G8L34

I Bet YOU Don't Have One

Yesterday, I paid good money to receive something called a "rock 'n roll" haircut. I had no idea what that involved, so when the Greaser with the pompadour holding the scissors told me what he was about to do to me, I was all "whatevs". This is what happens when I get the (rare) opportunity to read trashy magazines. I stop paying attention. Plus, they ply you with free liquor...judgment impaired on all sides!

So basically...with no rhyme or reason...he just started chopping chunks off. Some of it is really short and some was left long and now I look like Joan Jett, only slightly less mullety. And blond. And I'm about 10 lbs heavier. Maybe 15. Shut up.I can't tell you how rock 'n roll I feel now, with my new look. Immediately after paying I had the urge to get a tattoo and trash a hotel room. But I couldn't and therefore, didn't. So I settled for riding home in the rain WITHOUT a helmet. So badass. Go ahead and be jealous that you aren't me.

So what's everyone doing for New Years? The world's most anti-climactic holiday where we all count down to midnight and then go, 'ok, now what?'. Well, maybe that's just here. In other countries there are fireworks and brouhahas. Here we all just get smashed playing boardgames or at bars and then fight over taxis to get home. No fireworks. No brouhahas. No presents. No turkey with stuffing. No heart shaped boxes of chocolate. No baskets of brightly colored eggs. Booo.

When we were kids, the waif and I would battle to stay up long enough to bang on pots and pans outside at the stroke of 12...but that lost its oomph after a while. We were never really loud enough to piss off any neighbors, so what was the point, you know?

I think I'm whiny because 2008 brings around my 10 year high school reunion. And that really kinda chaps my cookies, because I had planned to send a video greeting from whatever location I was directing/producing/writing my latest film. So, I'm running out of time to become a director/producer/writer with a film to make at an exotic location. I have til, like, May I think. Shit. I have things to do.

I'm a Thief

So, I stole this idea from Rachel, who I believe, stole this idea from her sister, who may or may not be an idea thief herself...I'm not willing to do that much research. Below are the first sentences from the first posts of each month of this past year; you know...the one that's about to end.

Here we go!

January:
This is gonna be short because I can feel the sweats coming back again.

February:
I took the first of my three self defense classes last night.

March:
You've all missed me, haven't you.

April:
So I have nothing to write about.

May:
I'm sick.

June:
I know.

July:
Saw Sicko this weekend.

August:
Have I used this title before?

September:
Sunday afternoon I was walking Quimby.

October:
And how is that, you ask?

November:
Some psycho wench against the war in Iraq tried to go at Condi with blood (paint) on her hands at a House of Rep. foreign relations committee hearing.

December:
This title is misleading.

Well, mine didn't turn out as interesting as hers did. Oh well. What is kind of cool is how it reads like a conversation. If you lump them all together, they're kind of like dialogue.

Based on these sentences I have...had the flu, learned how to fight off baddies, grown a swollen head, lost my inspiration, gotten sick again, gone to see a movie about sickness, repeated myself, walked a dog, answered my own questions, verbally defended Condi's coif and mislead my readers. I'd like to call that a full year, but I don't know if I can. Obviously I need to make some changes in my life to add a little excitement. Or maybe I should just make it up for the benefit of my posts. Nah...that's too much work.

Speaking of work, I have no reason to be here today. It's the definition of dead in this office...minus the smell. But because of the wonderful world of databases...not only will I sit here twiddling my thumbs all day...but I'll have to work tonight. Friday night. When I should be kickin' it with a tasty groove (TM - Tenacious D). Blast databases and all their uselessness. If they had children, I would curse them with webbed feet. Would database babies have feet? These are the things I plan to investigate in 2008. It should make for some interesting posts.

Or I'll just keep writing about the levels of hotness and shoes. What I do best.

A Christmas Miracle

It snowed today. On Christmas. For, like...hours. Well..., maybe two. But still, I can't tell you the last time it snowed on Christmas here. I could probably google it, but I don't have that kind of energy. I'm in a consumption coma.

I hope everyone had a delightful Christmas. I enjoyed mine, even if the snow did melt by 3:00 PM.

As is our tradition, amy g. and I went to a movie this evening. We find it to be a good way to wind down from all the family of the several days prior. Usually we hit the pub theater for a glass of wine and a slice of pie, but this year we had company. Kansas, the waif and her man-half til death tears them asunder, ty, amy g. and I all went to see Sweeney Todd...because I had been hyperventilating with anticipation ever since I saw the trailer on somethingorother months ago. I'm a huge Tim Burton fan. And an even huger Johnny Depp fan. And an even HUGER Burton/Depp hybrid fan (with the exception of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory...what the fuck was that?)

Even better, I'd already gone to Rotten Tomatoes to see that finally Burton has graced us with a winner in review-land. It's been a while. So we went. Immediately I had to pee. Why does that always happen? But I held it. When watching a stage-to-screen musical such as this, it is imperative that one pays extra close attention to the songs, since they are the primary mover of the storyline in a way that dialogue...well...just isn't. So I stayed in my seat trying not to think about how many glasses of horrible white zinfandel I'd downed before setting myself down for a two hour stint. Because you can't miss a second of a musical and still know what's going on.

So this is what I thought:

Sacha Baron Cohen is a gem. His part was fabulous. He was the much needed comic relief when Helena Bonham Carter just couldn't be. And based on the tightness of his trousers, I would say his wife is a very lucky woman.

Carter should get an Oscar. That woman needs recognition for being CONSISTENTLY wonderful, whether it be Shakespeare or Chuck Palaniuk she's reciting. And I truly feel that if it hadn't been for her character, the complete lack of heart in the film would've left me feeling empty as well as ooged out.

Depp is hot. That is both obvious and an understatement, but when you take into account the double digits of roles where his character has OBVIOUSLY questionable personal hygiene and he still is the hottest thing in the room...that says something. I was surprised at how pleasant his singing voice was but mourned the complete lack of emotional depth of his Sweeney. I realize that's the character...it was what he was supposed to be, but he does "emotional" so beautifully...I felt ever so slightly robbed.

Broadway plays have never been known for their tight storylines...but this translated pretty well onto the film. There are the usual plot holes that we feel more distinctly on screen than if one were sitting in an audience waiting for intermission to grab a cocktail so the set can change. But I think trying to hold something like this to the same storyline standard as, say, Syriana is unfair. Still...it'd be nice if Burton could've tightened it up a little.

But visually...it was fucking sweeeeet.

Ladies and Gentlemen...A Christmas Party:

Dr. Zaius watched over the proceedings from his place at the top of the Tannenbaum:

Laurie and Kansas with their serious attire and their serious faces:

Kara's late night balancing act:
I can only imagine what they're discussing. Only imagine:
This is from the "steal Kara's baby picture and hold it high so she can't reach it" game. Not one of my all time favorites:
They steal my baby picture...I steal their baby:

I don't trust that face for a second:

It's about 3:00 AM here. Kellie probably isn't listening to what I'm saying as much as just laughing at general drunkeness:

Needs no caption...but I guess it got one anyway:

Feet:

Mandy is winking. Yes, we care that much:

So much booze...so many child proof caps:

Standing room only in the kitchen:

Sitting room only in the living room. The waif breaks rules:

I...don't know.

It was...fun. The next day, it was like a bomb had fallen. A sticky bomb. You know the kind.

There are a million more pictures but I don't know who wants their faces on the internet and who doesn't, so this is all you get.

Sarah - I have, like, NO picture of you. Several of your baby, but not you. What's your deal, lady?

I have to go. I have to go back to Powell's...AGAIN. And you know how I get when I have to go there. Angry is how I get. This'll make TWO visits during the Christmas season. Oh the tortures I suffer to be a giver.