Wednesday, January 31, 2007

"`Harry Potter' Stage Strip Stirs Storm"


I'm just kidding.

Or am I?

As most folks know by now, Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe will soon be appearing on the London stage in Equus, the story of a boy who is...Exceedingly fond of horses. Recently, some promotional photos from the play have been making the rounds on the internet, and I guess there's a big to-do about it, since he's all nekkid and stuff. I mean, you can't see his bits, but well, here:

I honestly don't know what I think here. I know several grown women who have expressed a DESIRE to edumacate Daniel in the art of love, and usually I just think to myself "See you on Dateline!", and go on about my business. But after seeing this photo, I gotta say, it's not the worst thing I've ever seen in my life. I'm a little put-off by the way he's looking at that horse, but otherwise, he's not an altogether bad looking KID. Maybe I'll feel better about my reaction to this photo in about 6 months when he turns 18.

Yes, I checked to see when he turns 18...For research purposes, you understand.

Shut up.

Yahoo News

Naturally Thin Like Posh?

I know this picture doesn't perfectly go with this post, but I figure it's close enough, plus I've been wanting to use it for awhile now. So, up it goes.

Former Spice Girl Victoria Beckham has banned size zero models from promoting her clothing line.
The skinny singer-turned-fashion designer is the latest figurehead to clamp down on too-thin catwalk stars - even though she sports a tiny figure herself.
When Beckham launches her new range of denim, she promises it will be modeled by curvier women.
A source tells British newspaper The Sun, "Victoria wants to give out a positive image that you don't have to be ultra skinny to look good. Many of the models on the catwalk make young girls feel insecure about their own bodies."
Although the star herself believes many models are naturally thin, she says, "I know quite a few models and they do eat. They are just naturally thin girls."


Sunday, January 28, 2007

Sunday Music Dump

Dumb Blonde

I have two dogs. There's Pepper, the light of my life, my canine pride and joy, and then there's....Lily.

Oh, when we got Lily, she was exactly 6 weeks old. So cute. Harper had gone to the grocery store with my dad, and some people were giving away puppies in the parking lot. Harper comes home all excited-she REALLY wanted one of these dogs. Normally, when she sees some random animal and decides that she simply MUST HAVE IT, I say no, and believe me, I say no A LOT. But this time, she was absolutely overcome with emotion, and at that time, she was keeping her behavior in check.

So, we go BACK to the store, and I'm confronted with a pack of excruciatingly adorable yellow lab mixes. Up until that point, I was still unconvinced that I should take on another animal to raise (at that time-april of last year-we were in possession of one dog, Pepper; a turtle, John; and the world's largest chicken, cleverly named Chickadee. John and Chickadee are no longer with us.) Despite all my bluster and my savagely cool demeanor (what?), I am a gigantic softie deep down, and I relented. She makes her pick (the only thing I told her, was that it HAD to be a female), and we go home with a fat, fluffball that she dubs Lily.

And all was good. For awhile. Lily was was a well-behaved puppy for the most part. Sure, she crapped in the floor, peed on my bed, and chewed my belongings, but she was obscenely goodnatured, and it bears repeating, PAINFULLY cute.

Cut to almost a year later-she's STILL taking MUCH LARGER dumps upon my floor, she's stopped peeing on my bed, but instead manages to takes squirts in obscure parts of the house (and I still manage to step in them), and on occasion, chows down on my furniture, and now she's tall enough to root in the garbage. She's still rocking the winning personality, to a degree, only she's not as cute anymore.

Yesterday, I got about 4 rolls of film developed(No, there were none of me), and after going through all of the pictures, I found one solitary photo of the canine in question. It's not a good one, but since I posted Pepper's saucy centerfoldesque pic way back when I started this blog, I thought I'd give equal time to her sister. She's big, she's dumb, she's destructive, she enrages me at least twice a day, but I still love her...Most of the time.

Now presenting, Lily:

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Tokyo Police Club-"Citizens of Tomorrow"


Last night, I actually managed to get to sleep before the ass crack of dawn. Of course, I also WOKE UP before the ass crack of dawn-I can't win. I won't bore you with the harrowing details of every single thing that seemed to unite in some sort of conspiracy to keep me from sleeping. I will say that I ended up turning on the television, which I am known to do on occasion (amazingly, not as often as you'd think), and THIS movie was on, and I managed to turn it on during THIS exact scene. Sometimes I get lucky. Never did get back to sleep, though...

Sunday, January 21, 2007

Thank You, Captain Tightpants

I have had a seriously craptacular week. It was one of those weeks where the big problems seemed to just get bigger, and the minor pains-in-the-ass were many and varied. Somehow, I managed to make it to saturday night without reaching my breaking point, and don't you know it took something as trivial as the dog relieving itself on my floor to cause me to have a meltdown?

Well, it wasn't a proper meltdown: I just let loose a stream of obscenities, my eyes got all red and ugly, and I do believe I stated to no one in particular, that everyone in my house was an idiot (thankfully everyone was asleep, aside from me and the dumbest dog in creation.) After I composed myself, I removed the offending feces from my rug, and went to take a shower.

While I was in the shower, something happened. I don't know if the water was too hot, I don't know if it was the smell of the soap, or if it was because it was the only moment I've had to myself to contemplate things in the past 2 days, but I just started BAWLING. Every miniscule detail of every single offense of the past week, just came rushing through my brain, and it all hit me pretty hard.

I calmed down, and truth be told, I actually felt much better after my mini-breakdown than I felt all week, and I decided that instead of making a sure-to-be worthless attempt at sleep, I would turn to my old insomnina-fueled habit of watching a crappy movie. I had gotten out of that habit for one reason or another, but since I got Netflix, I've been allowing myself to rent movies that I might not rent otherwise, mainly because if I'm going to pay $4.00 at the video store for a movie, I want it to be good. So, I popped Slither into the DVD player, and prepared myself for some good, old fashioned cinematic cheese...

OK, who went and replaced my shitty movie with a good one?

Yes, I watched a movie called 'Slither', and I just said it was good-that's not the half of it. I haven't told you what it's about yet.

As the small town of Wheelsy is gearing up for their annual Deer Cheer celebration (wherein they celebrate the start of deer hunting season), a meteor falls from the sky, containing...We don't know yet. We're then introduced to our key players: Police chief Bill Pardy (played by Nathan Fillion of Firefly, and who is also one of my 14 husbands), rich guy Grant Grant (nope, not a typo. Grant Grant is played by Michael Rooker of Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer fame. He's still creepy as ever) and Grant Grant's lovely wife, Starla, a high school teacher (played by Elizabeth Banks, who's been on Scrubs several times. Speaking of, I finally got into Scrubs, and I don't know how I lived so long without Dr. Cox in my tv viewing life. But that's another post.)

Anyway, after an argument with Starla, Grant Grant ends up in the woods, and a sluggy, wormy critter comes skittering out of the meteor and barrels into Grant Grant's chest. He begins to act and look a bit differently, and then pets and livestock start to disappear, a woman disappears and eventually Grant Grant himself disappears. Pretty soon, you've got townsfolk acting like zombies, and no one can enjoy the start of deer hunting season. It's up to Bill and Starla to find Grant Grant and get to the bottom of things before things get REALLY bad.

At this point, you may be asking "How can ANYTHING you just described to me possibly be considered good, by any stretch of the imagination?" Ah, your question is valid, if a tad on the argumentative side (you people and your sassy mouths.) It's good because it doesn't take itself seriously-it's a comedy, and a good one. I'm not going to lie and say that Slither is some piece of brilliant filmaking-it's not the greatest movie I've ever seen, hell it's not even the best movie I saw last WEEK (that honor falls to Little Miss Sunshine-that was just about perfect), but it's FUNNY and ENTERTAINING.

I'd say a good portion of that has to do with Nathan Fillion. I may have stated before that I love the man, and not ALL of it is due to the fact that I think he's totally hot, and I want to have his illegitimate babies. He's not the best actor in the world, but he's mastered this kind of dry, sardonic persona that works for him, especially in Slither (favorite line: "My easy goin' nature is getting sorely fucking tested".) If he can keep finding roles like Bill Pardy and Mal Reynolds (AKA Captain Tightpants), then I'll keep watching him work, and not just to satisfy my lust, either.

Slither is not high art by any definition-it's a B-grade horror/comedy, but a superior one, and most importantly a FUNNY one, and at that point in time, it was just what I needed.

Now then, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with my Firefly DVDs...

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Harper's Bizarre

There is a huge chance this could turn into one of those long-winded, moody-type schpiels. I hate making those posts. It's just not ME, you know. But I've got something on my mind, and it's about Harper, so I figured I could slip it into one of her music dealies, and no one would make too big of a thing about it. Pretty sneaky, huh?

Yesterday, I had one of those super-fun parent/teacher conferences at school. This is the second one I've had in as many months. She's not going around beating the snot out of the other kids, or anything like that, it's more to do with some of the things she says, which they've deemed 'innapropriate'. So, I was told by her teacher, the school nurse, the guidance counseler and some other woman, that 'perhaps' I should have her go in for psychological testing. YAY! THEY THINK MY KID'S CRAZY!


As you may imagine, I was less than thrilled with this assessment of my pride and joy. I mean, they didn't come right out and say that was what they thought. Basically, they said that she was very smart, in fact one of them ACTUALLY SAID that she was "too smart for her own good" (!!), and it might be working against her. In effect, she has a vivid imagination, she says and does things that they don't get, and some of the kids are afraid of her.

You know, if this wasn't making me so upset, I'd be really proud that I gave birth to a mad genius.

The thing about this that really pisses me off, is that I don't know if I agree or disagree with what they said. Now, I don't think that's she's bonkers, or anything like that-she's certainly quirky, that's for damn sure, and even though I know that kind of thing is frowned upon (especially in small town Texas), it still makes me angry that instead of trying to understand her, they've just decided that it's a negative quality and it's to be stiffled (one of them, only one, surprisingly, made mention of medication. NO.)

However, there's a part of me, the Mom part of me, that wants her to be accepted and not thought of as a pariah, and knows that she has a tendency to cause some awkward moments when we're out(I've cringed at some of the stuff that comes out of her mouth when we're in public.) But see, that's just it though: maybe because I'm a bit on the odd side, I don't notice it as much, but when she's at home, she doesn't say anything that I'VE-or anyone else here, now that I think about it-ever construed as being peculiar. At home, she acts like a normal kid, for the most part, and only when she leaves the comfort of home does she let her freak flag fly. I'm sure part of the answer lies in that statement, but aside from keeping her prisoner, I can't glean a solution from it.

I guess I'll go ahead and get her tested, because maybe I can learn something from what they find, even if it's nothing (which is not without precedent: when she was about 4, we had to take her to a shrink because she bit her endocrinologist. The psychiatrist said he didn't think there was anything wrong with her, in his opinion, she was just fed up with being stuck with huge needles. Get. Out.)

But I digress...

Actually, I wasn't going to post this Bizarre thing after saying all that, but it's actually in context with what I just talked about. See, my sister in law got Harper a guitar for Christmas. Well, she's just loving the hell out of that damn instrument, however my ears are less than thrilled. I've ALMOST told her to give it a rest many a time, but since the first school meeting, I've opted to let her release her creativity here, at home, where it won't get her into trouble, even at the risk of my own sanity-I'm a SAINT, doncha know? So, I let her pluck along to my CDs, and right now, she's way into Guided By Voices, which isn't so bad. She doesn't sound ANYTHING like what she's playing along with, of course, but she's happy, so I don't give a rat's ass that it sounds like she's poking a cat with a sharp stick.

I told you-I'm a SAINT.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Better Than a Poke in the Eye

I have come to the conclusion that Blogger hates me, has somehow achieved sentience, and is trying to make me insane. I have been trying since last night to post about this movie, Session 9, and it wouldn't let me. I either couldn't sign in, which has happened quite a bit lately since they-AHEM-worked out the bugs with Beta, OR I'd manage to sign in, and I'd get a blank page which, though very pristine looking, doesn't really help me any. I finally managed to sign in and access the posting doohickey (yes, that's the technical term), so maybe I can finish this before Blogger goes back into Hal 9000 mode and tries to fling an evacutaion pod at me or something.

Back to the reason I'm here, Session 9. Here's the plot synopsis from the almighty IMDB, since I'm too frustrated and wracked with paranoia to compose one myself:

An asbestos abatement crew wins the bid for an abandoned insane asylum. What should be a straightforward, if rather rushed, job, is complicated by the personal histories of the crew. In particular, Hank is dating Phil's old girlfriend, and Gordon's new baby seems to be unnerving him more than should be expected. Things get more complicated as would-be lawyer Mike plays the tapes from a former patient with multiple personalities, including the mysterious Simon who does not appear until Session 9, and Hank disappears after finding some old coins.

Alrighty then. I'm going to keep this on the short side, because I'm a bit haggard and borderline bonkers from my rumble with Blogzilla, and also since the movie is so hard to pin down, if I try and say everything I want to say about it, I risk making the longest post in the history of the internet.

First of all, this is NOT a by-the-numbers horror movie, and unless you have some idea of that before getting into it, you probably won't like it. It relies more on atmosphere, and the viewer's impression of the characters and events that take place to give it a palpable sense of uneasiness, and it WORKS-you don't know if there's someone besides the workers in the hospital; you don't know if one of the workers might be crazy; if you DO know one of them is crazy, you don't know exactly WHY, and it performs quite the little mindfuck on the viewer. Plus, a good portion of the film's eeriness is centered on the story that unfolds on the taped sessions with the former patient, and you start to get antsy wondering just what in the hell happened to this woman-with this movie, it's more the behavior of the characters and the build-up to the end that gives you the creeps, not constant, wall-to-wall death and mayhem.

On top of that, aside from a couple of very brief appearances by minor players (and the voices on the tapes, of course), the movie is populated by only 5 guys, and that brings a very claustrophobic feel (think "The Shining") to the proceedings. Most of the guys surely go home to their wives, girlfriends, kids, pets, what have you, but you don't see any of that-you just see them at work, and their interactions with each other. That actually works for and against the movie, since on the positive side, it adds to the overall feeling of dread and seclusion of the film once the trust between the men starts to erode. On the NEGATIVE side, you end up not finding out much about them, other than the dynamic they have with each other, and you just don't have enough information to actually CARE about any of them (I liked Mike for some reason, but not enough that I really gave a damn what happened to him.)

I posted way more than I intended here, so let me just wrap up by saying that despite the lack of character development, Session 9 is an eerie little prince of a movie, and if you want something in a horror movie besides some dude stalkin' and a'slashin' a bunch of teenagers, then I highly recommend it...Not that there's anything WRONG with carving up teenagers, of course...I meant ON FILM, that is. What did you think, I was condoning the murder of teens? I would never say that killing teens was wrong and mean it...Mean it some OTHER WAY, is what I was trying to say: I did mean to say that there was nothing wrong with slicing up teens, just not--I better stop now...Stop the POST now, not stop killing teenagers...Wait, no-well, that tears it: Blogger has finally turned me into an official, full-on nutjob. I better sign off before I say something else that might get me into trouble, like how in the past 24 hours, I've been hearing a voice coming from my shampoo bottle, telling me to...

Err, nevermind.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Okkervil River-"For Real"


I had an internal debate about posting this, because I didn't want to say anything that makes me sound like a psychotic egomaniac. But, I think I can manage to avoid that, and still get away with saying that this would never, ever happen to me, not in a million, billion years. Why? When you're playing TP with a game board, there is one mistake that experienced players just do not make: NEVER pick the yellow game piece.

A 21-year-old woman was hospitalized for intoxication over the weekend after "continually providing wrong answers" during a game of Trivial Pursuit where participants drank alcohol and did drugs when they answered incorrectly.

Flurisha L. Cooper, of the 1000 block of N. Central Park Ave., and Bridgette Pierce, of the 1500 block of E. 65th St., were playing the 2006 Current Events version of Trivial Pursuit about 6:30 p.m. Saturday on the 1000 block of N. Monticello Ave, according to a report taken by Harrison District police officers.

If a player provided an incorrect answer, that person would take a shot of E&J Brandy and take a "hit" off a cannabis "blunt," according to the report, which defined a "blunt" as the street name for cannabis rolled up in cigar leaves.

Cooper, 21, who was the yellow piece, continually provided wrong answers, resulting in over intoxication. She was taken to Norwegian-American Hospital where was listed in good condition, the report stated.

The incident was an accident, according to the report.

Information regarding charges was unavailable as of 7 a.m. Tuesday.

Chicago Sun Times

Monday, January 01, 2007

Everybody Into the Pool

WARNING: This post is going to be just a tad on the morbid side, so if you're offended by conjecture about death, GET OUT NOW!

Last night, instead of going out like most people do on New Year's Eve, I stayed home, and talked myself into cleaning Harper's room. Ostensibly, that's a job for her, but the room had gotten so cluttered that she couldn't possibly have done it herself. See, during the summer, it was so hot in there, due to the central AC going on the fritz, that she had been sleeping in my room for the past several months, and we had basically just been throwing her stuff in there and not thinking about it. Well, one of my new years resolutions (OK, only) was that I wanted-nay-NEEDED my room back, so after she went to sleep, I grabbed a wad of trashbags and set about sorting through the massive nightmare of clutter that would have felled even the most hearty of men (I'm a chick, therefore I could handle it with no problem.)

After about an hour of hearing nothing but the crinkle of trashbags and the clatter of flimsy plastic, I decided to turn the TV on for some company. I flipped through the channels for awhile before deciding on The Andy Griffith Show. I'll admit, I like the show-it's comforting, and doesn't require much thought (normally, I have no problem with thinking, but I was too busy chucking toys and paper into a bag to subject myself to any mental exertion over a tv show.) That being said, it actually DID end up making me think, but it had nothing to do with the shenanigans taking place in Mayberry.

I got to wondering why Andy Griffith was still alive.

Now, now-I don't have any ill will towards Andy: that's not what I'm saying. What I mean is, last year, after Don Knotts died, they had a bunch of people on Larry King who had worked with him, including Andy Griffith. I remember thinking that he wasn't looking so good; he's old, and he seemed a bit addled, and I thought to myself that his time on this mortal coil was looking a bit short. Cut to almost a year later, and as far as I know, he's still kicking.

After I finished with the room (or after I got too tired to go on-I didn't finish cleaning it until this afternoon. It looks GREAT, BTW), I got on the interweb and did some poking around a couple of those celebrity dead pool sites. Some of the names listed on those sites just jumped out at me-I either whole heartedly agreed with the notion that the person would be croaking sometime soon, or I thought they were dead already.

On that note, I have compiled a list of people that, in my opinion, have a tenuous grip on their own mortality. Again, I would like to state that I don't actively dislike any of these people-even if I did, I'm not the type that wishes death on a person. Let me make it known that I don't WANT them to die, but I will say that if any of these folks were to pass away this year, it wouldn't shock the hell out of me (although I would feel a bit creepy if any of them died after I put their name on a list like this), and to drive the point home that I am a stand-up gal, I would never actually bet money on the death of anyone, so if we were to lose any of these folks, I would not benefit financially-that's just gross: The knowledge that I can foretell a visit from the Grim Reaper is all I need, thankyouverymuch.

Estelle Getty
Lady Bird Johnson
Nancy Reagan
Richard Dawson
James Arness
Richard Widmark
Natasha Lyonne
Charlton Heston
Ernest Borgnine
J.D. Salinger
Carl Reiner
Walter Cronkite
Courtney Love
Muhammad Ali
Harry Morgan
Abe Vigoda
Kirk Douglas
Fred Phelps (ok, maybe there's some wishful thinking going on with this one.)

May they all (except Phelps) live long and prosper.