Dragon Christmas

I recently dragon-flew my way from Idaho into my original lair of Enfield, Connecticut. I have recently watched Wolverine AND the Wizards of Waverly Place--how awesome would it be if that was just one long title?--but in honor of Christmas, I think I shall talk about Christmas movies.

I say this because my father and sister are currently watching The Holiday Inn. Oh yes, the movie where Bing Crosby dons blackface and pays tribute to Abraham Lincoln. (......) But what I really wanted to talk about is how any self-respecting woman could possibly choose Fred over Bing. Fred is impish (my sister's description) and is constantly drunk and is generally skulking about and occasionally bursting into dance for three minute intervals. I guess he is somewhat suave on the dance floor. Yeah, so was Vanilla Ice. But when Bing sings, angels weep, flowers bloom, and Posh smiles. Even when Bing tries to dance, it's endearing. I don't understand how they are even rivals. It's like the reality show Average Joe where they take all the average Joes and have them compete over some babe. She sort of latches on to the one who would be most passable at a cocktail party, and just when the Average Joe thinks he has her in the bag---bam! The produces manage to scrouge up some straight male models and throw them in the mix.

Bieber (my sister) and I just watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. I never noticed how much sexual tension there was between Herbie and his boss elf who says everything in CAPSLOCK. Or between Rudolph and Fireball (his frienemy). Yeah, that's right--Fireball. Do yourself a favor and watch the stretch between when BOSS ELF makes Herbie cry and when Rudolph is exposed as a fraud. Tell me if you don't want to say "That's what she said" after almost every sentence. Yeah, Rudolph, I BET you want to pull Santa's sleigh. I probably should keep Christmas sacred and enjoy the movie like I did when I was a child. .....But the snowman is such a pimp! How could I not have noticed his pimp watch, pimp umbrella, and general swagger before?

I'm going to keep slinking about my house pretending that I'm the paparazzi. I spotted my dad in a flannel frock so I made him hold paper towels. Can you say Brawny man? I captured my mom reading this very blog. So far my sister has been elusive. She doesn't like to be caught in her natural habitat and she also has stopped shaving. She's pretty much a yeti.

Merry Christmas!

Repossession: Links

In honor of my evening last night, I shall build a post of links, repossessions. I shall harvest the organs of the interweb.

The last few days I have immersed myself in something that might seem... strange. The world of serial killings. While sewing books together I watched this and this. Then, instead of doing any number of productive activities, I made my way through all of Season 1 of this. All of these were remarkably good. They're so dark and morbid and funny and telling-- I mean, I love it when things that are so fucked up end up telling us more about ourselves and our culture and our humanity than almost anything else.

But then I moved onto movies that were less good. And let me tell you something. Anthony Stewart Head is a motherbleeping dragon.

I just watched this movie, with Paul Sorvino, Anthony Stewart Head (a la Giles from Buffy), the girl who played the daughter in Spy Kids, and a bunch of people I didn't recognize. It was so promising. A musical about organ harvesting, plus Giles who is goddamn sexy for an older man and has a phenomenal voice... usually.

I had been warned this movie wasn't as funny as it should have been, so much wasted potential. I blame, mostly, the writing. They should have hired Joss Whedon. That guy can write a musical. Snapples he is good.

Unfortunately, the music was less musical and more people talking to music. Anthony Stewart Head, as Repo Man, was less funny or campy and more... bad. But every once in a while he would roar, like a dragon, baring his teeth. That was kind of funny.

What the movie did have going for it was that, at moments, it was visually beautiful. Not all the way through--and frankly for a movie about organ harvesting could you really expect it to be?-- but at moments. In the way Pan's Labrynth got away with being gross and still kind of beautiful. Or the way The 5th Element was sort of futuristic and beautiful... The Genetic Opera was kind of gothic and beautiful.

Of course, then there was the guy with face flesh safety pinned to his face that was a little too reminiscent of this guy.

Tonight, instead of reveling in all of this horror I shall go see this with my fellow dragon blogger. Goodbye blood. Hello childhood.

No matter how good tonight is, it will never compare to watching this. Which hopefully I'll get to re-experience soon.

Dragon Reign

Check out that mullet and gap-tooth. Hello 1983.

Seattle is the Pesto of Cities!

Ah Seinfeld... how you know the way to my heart...

You'd think, these end of semester days, that I'd be wiling my time away in some dark corner, working my pencils down to little nubs as I prepare to face the final... whatever... of each of my courses. But I don't know... I guess I did something right 'cause pretty much everything that I need to do, I've done. I've finished. Ta-da!

But everyone I know is busy working their pencils to little nubs and as such, I've been spending a whole lot of time in my living room, with my catdragon Frankie.

The last two days? Seinfeld. Brilliant. Last night, as George goes on a tirade about always ordering Pesto, even though he doesn't like it, because he feels like he ought to like it... and Elaine's one time fling is flying in from Seattle... Seinfeld tells me that Seattle is the Pesto of cities.

I like pesto. But I love Seattle. No, it isn't as big as other cities. I kind of don't mind. It has the Sound. And the market. And so much good food. And Open Books. And so much literary culture, generally.

I'm going home for 3 weeks here shortly, and as I look at Boise with it's negative 3 degrees, snow covered pavement, etc-- I am counting down the days. I will go to Open Books. I will eat so many good meals and drink coffee that doesn't come from Starbucks or Tully's. I will see my family. We will watch True Blood. I will go see NEW MOON with my mother. (Don't mock! Bad vampire movies have always been a pastime between us... Edward Cullen probably has nothing to do with it!) I will miss my catdragon Frankie. Even as I go to a couple poetry readings and even as I drink whiskey with my best friend from Kindergarten and even as I drive to Portland and get lost among the stacks of Powells. (So. Many. Books.)

In the interim? I'm hoping to make it to at least one cheap movie Tuesday, which will hopefully result in the "World's Most Engaging Dragon Post EVER." I plan to walk the Boise streets and yell "Dragon" to everyone I meet. I plan to philosophize on why, at the bottom of my blogger post field, the suggestions for "Labels for this post:" include the following "scooters, vacation, fall." Perhaps I will sleep in. I will most likely drink copious amounts of alcohol. I will probably do so while watching the Seahawks lose to the Texans.

At some point I should probably also buy Christmas presents for my parents and brother. For some reason this year, I can't think of a single thing that they could want. Ideas? Anyone? Anyone? Because I am at a loss.

...
These musings are brought to you by my employer, the ones who pay me to sit at this desk, though they don't know that they are paying me to write these posts.

These musings are also brought to you from the Aflac stuffed quacking duck that sits on my desk. And only god knows why.

zhu-zhu and you you

These posts generally revolve around movies and us in the glorious-stunned aftermath. And dragons. The linkage between dragons and movies--um, well, it's obvious.

Alas, I don't have much material. I saw an An Education. I'm working my way through Mad Men. None of this provides me with any new material. The Red Box has also been devoid of any new material.
*Except that I just remembered that I found this gem called "An American Virgin" or maybe it's "The American Virgin" [except I thought that was Donna from 90210?] or maybe it's "American Virgins" [but I thought those were nuns?]) In any case, the plot: a girl (some actress destined for fame), winner of some sort of scholarship for celibacy, goes off to college, where she encounters her slutty 24 year old roommate (who looks like she is 45). Her roommate engages in things, things like orgies, and feeding our heroine jello laced with booze. One jello shot later and insert ROB SCHNEIDER (his daughter is also in the movie. so. good.), as essentially the guy behind what is the fictional equivalent of Girls Gone Wild. Our girl gets drunk, he gets some footage. The girl, along with her roommate, her love interest (who is secretly ALSO a virgin. TWIST!) and some other dude set off to find the tape. She loses her virginity and we all learn some lessons in the end. Whatever.


The reason why I haven't seen any movies might be because I've been working so much at Target. (And you know, my thesis.) As our loyal reader(s?) know, I am a proud employee of The Targ. As you also might know, yesterday was Black Friday, when hordes of shoppers trample hordes of smaller, weaker, older shoppers, in order to get items entitled "doorbusters." I don't know. Stores say, each year, that they are doing all they can to ensure safety, by doing things like calling these coveted items "doorbusters."

Every year there's a hot item. The one that all the kids want so that they can have real friends instead of imaginary ones. There was Tickle Me Elmo, Furbies, and that's all I can really think of. This year it's a 7.99 fake hamster called a Zhu-Zhu pet. And to this I say: What. The. Fuck.

Allow me to start from the beginning. My relationship with the zhu-zhu wasn't always so complicated. In fact, I was even contemplating letting it take me to the Sock Hop, but only after it let me wear its Varsity letter jacket. I mean, the toy is affordable. It doesn't have guns attached. And while it doesn't have the potential to swear (minus) it also cannot speak in jibberish like a Furby (plus). I even like the way clueless parents refer to them as Ju-Jubes, after that candy that fucks with your teeth. They say it's not the gun, but the person owning the gun that's the problem. What they should have said: it's not the zhu-zhu but the crazy soccer moms/shadesters who want to resell the things on Craigslist that's the problem.

Usually I roam the aisles of Target, lovingly placing gray dots on out of stock items. But now. Suddenly, circa 8:01 a.m., I'm stranded in toys, being berated by really fit moms with blonde highlights in athletic gear (the worst kind of people, asides from the elderly. I'm just sayin.) wondering WHY we didn't get any zhu-zhus, why we limit them when we have them, how it's not fair, how they had to get up and drive for like FIFTEEN! (FIFTEEN!) minutes to come in and check, because the person on the phone said that we might have them. And so on. Basically: why I personally took all of the zhu-zhu pets from these nice consumers who are just trying to please their children and horded them all for my very own personal zhu zhu hamster army.

Sometimes I wish to tell these people to buy their child a real hamster. A real hamster might not last as long, but I'm pretty sure a kid might find a zhu-zhu pet interesting for fifteen minutes max anyway. Or, I wish to say to these zhu zhu seekers, go make your child play outside, because your child is fat. Or, I wish to say, maybe you should give him some wrapping paper to play with. (I will not say plastic bag. I will not say plastic bag.)
I get it: the kid wants a zhu-zhu pet and parents want to make sure their children are happy/get what they want. Fine. Maybe even commendable. Maybe I don't understand it because it's love and I wasn't hugged enough as a child. Or perhaps I don't understand it because it's idiocy. I emblazoned Puppy at the top of my Christmas wish list every year, and I never got one. And as you can totally see, I didn't turn out bitter. (Though I just was asking for a PUPPY. Not a Dragon) Not getting what you want may or may not be healthy, but it's totally screwy to want something because it's something that is wanted.
I've had my fair share of magic moments at The Targ. A woman who enlisted my help for half an hour(!) so she could find the right shade of lipstick for her octomom halloween costume. People who wink at you and say You bet I will when you say have a good night and they are buying condoms, which you know they are really going to be using to make balloon animals. Men who say save one for me when you are on your knees checking a price/counting stock. People who can't remember the name of something and only have words like "big" in their detail toolbox and hand gestures that strike you as unintentionally dirty. When these people get mad at you for not being Miss Cleo for knowing they are talking about some sort of power tool. Do I look like Bob Villa? ( don't answer that.)

My point: if you added all of these magic moments up, they still pale in comparison to my rage over zhu zhu pets (or conversely, to my love of dragons).

And what in the world is a "zhu-zhu"? What?!

There are still JOES in harm's way!

So AmandaB and I have been on many dragon adventures, resulting in many dragon Ta(i)l(e)s for us to share with you. Mostly, though, we've watched bad movies at our local dollar theater, or acquired from our local (and exceptionally convenient) REDBOX (teehee...).

Upon telling our friends that we are going to see, say, Hannah Montana or maybe Leatherheads or Twilight, we've received raised eyebrows and skepticism. Amazingly, though, it was when mentioning our intent to see GI JOES that I received the most scorn and mocking. Really? Of all the movies? Even Hannah Montana?

That said, it does have the all-star cast meant to induce scorn: Channing Tatum (Or is it Tatum Channing??? What the hell is his name?), Sienna Miller (somehow managing to be in several good movies, and still be awful in all of them-- I should marry and divorce a celebrity so I can be famous too!), and one of the Wayans (I think Marlon? Best known for his screaming like a woman, probably, in all of the mock movies (see Scary Movie or Dance Flick or whatever other stupid-I-have-no-original-ideas-of-my-own mock films they made), and of course Dennis Quaid (who I have since come to the realization is like Nick Cage in that if I see his name on the Marquee I can pretty much assume disaster is in the distance). But is that all? Oh no. Then we have strange cameos from the usually delightful Joseph Gordon-Levitt, and the always awful (well, post Encino Man) Brendan Fraser (who has about 5 minutes in the movie-- his best line? They're Joes guys...).

There were, of course, other folks too-- a cute but evil asian guy. That one white guy with the big nose and the accent. Some redheaded chic.

I was really looking forward to the laugh riot meant to occur during this movie. It did not, however, happen. This movie was bad, no doubt. And the dialogue, just terrible. (Sienna Miller "Nice shoes" and CT/TC "I'm getting YOU out of here" and Wayans "Suddenly not one memorable moment of dialogue because my character is so stock/cliche that I couldn't even have one moment of memorable dialogue cliche.") The thing is, that even as I sit to write this, there is very little I can remember about the movie. It was non-memorable. What I remember most is that every time someone said "Joes" (because they weren't referred to as GI Joes in the movie) I thought of those joes potatoes you can get in the deli of your local grocery. Every time. So when they say "Lets get those Joes out of there" I see someone scooping fried potatoes. When they say "There are still Joes in Harm's way!" I know that ketchup is near and death by digestion nigh.

And what is the deal with all of the black leather outfits on ladies in movies. I mean, why couldn't we leave it at catwoman. She was always supposed to be in black leather. Everyone else is thieving. Bad copies.

All of this to say I'm sad that I can't relate more of the joys of this little flick. That I didn't leave in riotous laughter which I can now relate to you. I did, however, participate in 2 hours of complete and total braindeaded-ness which, considering that last several weeks, seemed about right.

In other DRAGON news...

PBR is definitely the nectar of dragons. It's gone to the committee for review and been approved.

Also Swedish Fish.

I Guess Things Are Gettin Pretty Serious

After a series of cancellations, I find myself with a mostly free Saturday. I sit in my dragon office, pretentiously sipping my shortbread latte, and pondering how in the earth I am going to pry my contacts--which have not been removed for going on 30 hours now--from my eyes.

Amber Nelson and I decided to have a Time last night. After cruisin (aka getting horribly lost in the clusterfuck layout) the mallz of Boise, looking for 18 year old fly honeys, purple peacoats, elusive jeans, and the Right Thing from our favorite store, The Icing, we trolled the shady back alleys of David's Bridal. One thing led to another and then all of a sudden there was Casey "I Will Sing I'm A Little Teapot Sexier Than You, Bitch," Jenga with absurd commands on it, neighbors from Eastern European countries, hordes of cats, and puddle stomping. And weird hats. Lots of those.

Time accomplished. What I really wanted to talk about is how much of a moron I am. To some degree, shotgunning a PBR is justification for one's penchant for saying and doing moronic things. Alas, I find myself sober most of the time. Especially lately.
Things that have happened over the course of my (recent) life:

1.) I'm playing online Scrabble and I really think I can get a bingo. I like bingos. I have the letters E,G,E,Y,S,U, and W. There's an open A. I spell out S-E-G-U-E-W-A-Y and click play. Invalid word. I ask my officemate if segueway is one word or two and he is confused. In spite of my refusal to believe that it is true, especially since I am fond of using the word in my stuent feedback, I eventually admit that "segueway" is actually just "segue."

2.) One of my favorite things ever is re-watching taped Christmas Specials from late 80's/early 90's with my siblings. Preferably when my eyeliner happy superhero sister makes wassail. The thing that brings me the greatest joy are the commercials--Burger King Fish Sticks, crimped hair, a prancing Grimace telling Ronald McDonald to put the effing fallen star back into the sky, Alf. We see a Kay commercial, which I'm almost certain is the same one they are still using. I tell my sister something along the lines of, Every Kiss Begins with Kay is a terrible slogan, doesn't make any sense, and is factually inaccurate. She then pointed out that they were cleverly referring to the Letter "K." ....Oh.

3.) It was less than two years ago, I believe, that I realized that The Count from Sesame Street was called the Count because he, well, counted.

When you type "bad ass dragon" into Google Images, this is the first dragon that comes up.

Hey now! Even dragons have to nap sometimes.

Ok, ok. I know, I've been slow to post and what I posted last, even, was wimpy. I get it.

BUT, while I have a moment of your (my) time to spare, I thought I'd divulge a few things.

1) I breathe fire (in the form of two public readings-- which is, come on... you can admit it... pretty bad. ass.

2) I have a kitten. She, too, is a dragon. Watch her slay my basil and arugula! The cord to my ancient mac laptop! The cords on my blinds! And be oh-so-adorable while doing it. Also, she roars. Like, really.

3) In pop culture, I have had fewer dragons of late. I miss (oh how I miss!) cheap movie tuesday. However, I did go see The Hangover and let me tell you-- surprisingly funny. I actually laughed! It was amazing. That Bradley Cooper guy-- he is NOT a dragon, rather a bronzed duesch bag. HOWEVER, This Guy: Zach Galifianakis : is. Major dragon. He also breathes fire.

Also, the following bands definitely play music from the perspective of a dragon: them, these, and those. Dominating my pandora, my itunes, my ipod.

When Students are Dragons and Dragons Play Football

So for the second week in a row I have followed Boise State Football-- I have watched them fight like dragons. And it's weird to watch ESPN and remember when the Safety, who just about ripped some other guys head off, sat in your class and wrote poems about their grandma. And now they are dragons on blue turf. Bedroom eyes and in the post-game interview. Burning enemy villages and taking no prisoners.

The best part though? 5 friends in my living room drinking wine and eating my food.

Now, today, the full-grown dragons. Lofa Tatupu. Patrick Kearney. Woo.

Drag Queen Dragon Queens

I've been "teaching" dialogue for my fiction workshop (oops... fiction nonworkshop) this week. I don't really teach anything so much as poorly construct diagrams on the whiteboard and hope that I get little high off the dry erase marker while doing so. But I wanted to make the point that realistic dialogue in writing is good, but that's a lot different than real-life dialogue (which is often mundane and cyclical), because writing dialogue has to do other things. You know, like tell a story or advance the narrative or characterize a dragon. And a lot of times, "realistic" dialogue in 206 shows up with a lot of "Ums," and "What's ups?" in phone conversation, and just things that probably aren't necessary for telling a dragon story. So I was thinking about recording conversations and talking about how they would be useless in stories for the most part. And suddenly I started to become hyper conscious of whether anything that I said would be useful in a story, which is tricky because I'm already hyper conscious of how 10% of things I say are actively dirty and probably another 50% could be construed as dirty. It was overwhelming, so naturally I passed this concern onto Amber N. on our excursion to Target, aka TheTarg, and to see Funny People on the first ever Cheap Movie Friday.

Alas, my teaching strategy backfired. Here are some lines of dialogue that would be useful for any writers of fiction, from James Joyce to John Grisham.

"You know what I did today? ....Watch My Fair Lady."

Amanda: "Here are those Junior Mints I mentioned."
Amber, in response: "Our lives are better than most other people's."

"There's a man smoking in the dumpster at the Big Bun."

And imagine if there was exposition! and crafty detail! Ah jeez! Such narrative excitement!

Drunk Dragons & Other Dragon Tails. Oops! I mean Tales...

Drunk dragons like to do feats of strength to prove their virility, including but not limited to:

a) punching perfectly lovely human beings in the ear and neck;
b) attempting the yoga frog stance to go into a full-fledged head stand, only to land into a back bend, and on a second attempt, strain the neck & spine;
c) attempt to teach friends tai chi when said dragon is too drunk to perform these functions themselves;
d) run around the block;
e) pass out spooning with a pretty girl;
f) wake up sore and ashamed.


Recovery from said sport, for Dragons, includes much needed coffee, water, and heavy foods to saturate the morning alcohol burn. Friendly conversation and later forced social-isolation helps incline one dragon away from more alcohol induced embarrassments.

Now, Dragons watch Jonathan Rhys Meyers pretend to be Henry the 8th and get laid. A lot. It's a good thing he's sorta pretty. Something has to make up for his performance. I mean, aside from all of the fabulous outfits.

BSU football lands Thursday. Go former students! (...and all of their teammates of course...)

Atlanta is a beautiful, hazy thing in the distance. With fried foods and collard greens and cornbread. Dragon sustenance.

Dragon Rumpus

When AmberN told me that she was taking me to see a movie entitled "I Love You, Beth Cooper," I had no idea that I would end up doing some dragon high-speed flying to the nearest computer so Amber could not snipe my Beth Cooper thunder. The movie truly offered so, so much, and yet now, I sit here, and I simply cannot do this movie--nay, film--justice. I know Amber was taking some serious mental notes during the viewing--especially the parts involving racoons and magnum condoms (um, those are two different scenes) --so I will graciously back off and let Beth Cooper be all hers.

What I wanted to write about: life choices and my career path. I just watched Miller's Crossing and now I pretty much have decided to be a gangster.

(I should say that I get really nervous about the Coen brothers, because they are constantly tugging at my emotional heartstrings by not giving a shit about my emotional heartstrings. They aren't afraid to make mockeries out of their characters, nor are they afraid to kill them off, to the point where it's hard for me to watch some of their films. I realize this is probably my fault and not some sort of shortcoming on their part. But one time they made me believe that some dude with a haircut like a triangle was probably going to kill me with a blow gun, and that's something one can't really easily let go.)

I realize that getting sad when characters die is probably not a good sign if I am to embark on a career as a real gangster. Also, all of my gun knowledge comes from video games, specifically, GoldenEye and Perfect Dark. It's awkward with Perfect Dark because apparently half of the guns are alien guns and thus not real. I'd be in my trenchcoat and sporting my sweet hat and saying things like, "Whack him with your mauler," and maybe it just wouldn't work out. Back to the drawing board.

In any case, I think Gabriel Byrne joins my list of Hollywood boyfriends, along with Wall-E, Ron Weasley, and Paul Newman circa Hud and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. It was when Gabriel Byrne talks about nobody really knowing anybody, that I knew for sure that he was a dragon.

Life as Bad Movie-- like D-Wars

This weekend, for the briefest of moments (as in, the whole weekend) my life resembled a bad teen movie in the grand tradition of American Graffiti, Dazed & Confused, and Can't Hardly Wait... the party movie of the century to follow one dragon hero(ine) (moi) through her every hi-jinks.

Which started pretty early on this last, cool, Friday night. Happy hour with a mother-figure. Met a boy who won the lottery after calling him out on listening in on a conversation. Proceeded to be jovial and hyperbolic and ended up at a frat style party where I watched boys in button-ups and puka shell necklaces throw ping pong balls in cups, where drunk boys cried in my lap, where friends told me "Oh yeah, you're fine" while stroking my arm with their fingertips and they lean into a doorjam b/c they have had so many shots they can no longer stand up on their own.

You'd think a Friday night like that would be enough to keep a dragon in... but no. Dragons cannot be stopped!

Mostly, however, I remain concerned with Friday Night Lights and Tim Riggins. He has Dragon Eyes. They burn.

Oh. It's Just Brian.

I was thinking about how fantastic it would be if every time I walked into a room people would say, "Oh. It's just Amanda." This happens to poor Brian Krakow in My So Called Life, except, you know, they say Brian instead of Amanda. Poor Brian cannot compete with the one and only Jordan Catalano, even though Jordan cannot read (!) and occasionally wears eyeliner and contracts gout. I think I am confusing Jordan with Jared Leto in real life and I don't even know if contract is the right word for what happens when you get gout, but the point is still the same: Angela thinks her life is, like, so, HARD, and she's always sprawling out on her bed in an angsty fashion, but really she is is stealing Brian's thunder. He is the real hero of MSCL. And he has sweet hair.

I wonder if referees and umpires have low self esteem because they face a constant barrage of insults. But then I think about how I feel like I know referees/umpires from professional sports without really even knowing any of them. In my mind they are all in their fifties and either wiry or with a growing beer belly and all are pretty much balding. They are also all making the strike sign in unison and it looks like a sweet dance. And they are all making the same bad joke in response to my inquiry about their low self esteem, that their wives deliver the constant barrage of insults, and that the crowds are nothing in comparison. And so I guess I don't really care about umpires like I care about Brian K.

I'm glad that I worked that out.

So. I have a new cell phone. I was going through my ring tones--because the ring tone selection is of the utmost importance--and I discovered something exciting! Amongst Chamber Ensemble and Baroque Dream and Spring Sonate I found....Push It! Perfect! I love the person who made that happen.

That's all I have. Back to school in a week. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. I have been preparing by doing comforting things, such as watching Spirited Away, reading the His Dark Material series, and baking with rhubarb.

I forgot to write about dragons. Brian Krakow was a dragon. Bianca, the sex doll from Lars and the Real Girl, was a dragon. Salt N Peppa were dragons, and maybe even Spinderella.

X-Men & the Rise of Gambit Kicking My Ass & Making Me Like It

So... first let me apologize to my fellow dragon poster-- I went without you, but, I will see it again in the upcoming week in apology.

That said... amidst the bad movie rage, let me say... this one very well might have taken the cake (if it wasn't for Hannah Montana, perhaps). The first 30 minutes were spent in the heat of confusion, trying to understand why a character whose name should be Logan is being called Jimmy (whether this is true to comic book form, I don't know, but also doubt). Eventually, things start making a sort of sense... but the whole movie is so full of kitchy die hard explosions that it's hard to take anything seriously-- even for a comic book movie.

The one saving grace? Well... it wasn't Hugh Jackman's performance... but rather the lonely 5 minutes in which Taylor Kitsch (a la Tim Riggins from Friday Night Lights) appears as a sexy, swaggering, and all the right kind of sexy Gambit. With some beefed up powers from what I remember. I mean, that boy (for his short time on board) kicked some serious bad guy ass. And he looked oh-so-good doing it.

Otherwise, it was the nonstop laughter shared by my dear friend from out of state. We may have spent half the movie looking at each other, eyebrows a-raised.

Harry Potter followed this XMen escapade-- I have my questions about this (like, how I really did get sleazy for Ron Weasley-- and also mildly uncomfortable with all of the necking scenes.)But hey, there was one scene with a tiny dragon! It made the popcorn pop. Dragons have all kinds of skills.

School starts soon. Dragon sighs.

Dragons, Hot Whiskey Breath, & the Dangerous Lives of Hot Girls in America

So, lately… I just haven’t been so much at the bar. Why? You might be thinking. You’re a poet, poets are drinkers. That’s what they do.

Well, yes. I am. And I do like to grab an adult bevy every once in a while but I have spent this summer living drastically under the poverty line and so… funding for whiskey? Less of a priority.

But times, they are a-changing. The semester starts in two weeks (which means a second string of income that will promptly go to my credit card bill), and more importantly, my chapbook manuscript that I’ve been trying to convince publishers to pinch for a while now, well it finally got picked up.

To celebrate, I met my lady A (and second half to this book publishing venture) downtown and we continued through the streets of Boise, following our most poetic whiskey impulses (or in her case, light heffs), playing pool with would-be date rapists, and high fiving to our successes.

The result of so much festive fun? Still drunk in the morning. And almost an hour late for work. And wiped out.

Still—a book forthcoming. Check it Spring/Summer 2010. Who rules? Oh yeah. Me.

Dragons forever!

maybe i'll also talk about date rape and the missed connection

-Amber, pondering the contents of her next blog entry. Stay tuned.

Pretty much every person who has killed a dragon, in addition to going straight to hell, knows that you have to go for the soft part of the belly with your rapier or cleaver. What some people do not know is that dragons also have sensitive tummys ON THE INSIDE. Example: Beerfest.

This dragon made her way through the stupidity of the disconnected Ann Morrison parking lot, with the Bud Light semi truck, akin to the North Star, beckoning in the distance as her guide. While I was dubious about Bud Light being included amongst the alleged 110 microbrews, I did think maybe this meant that there would be PBR (every drag's fav beer) and perhaps new kinds of PBR, like PBR lighter and PHMR (Pabst Honorable Mention Ribbon! Imagine the bedazzled cans!). Upon completing the pilgrimage, I discovered that I was wrong about the PBR, but my mass of wooden tokens and plastic beer mug soon distracted me. We headed to the beer tent, which was past the notorious "Nancy's Cookies," past the age discriminatory bouncy houses, past the taco cart (that was also at soul food...ponder). So we drank some beer. But then what? The only thing to do seemed to be to drink more beer, or go to listen to the easy listening plaid-clad people singing about Ireland. So we drank more beer, in spite of our stomachs' feeling like we had just accidentally ate awkwardly shaped plundered dragon jewels, and still: so many tokens left.

And then, something silver caught our eye! Was it a superhero? The Silver Fox? A space ship? A silver snuggie? Even better: it was a Freaking Sweet Curly Fry Saw! a deceptively academic looking man punctured each Idaho Russet with his sweet saw (dirty!), leading to magic hordes of curly potato which are then stuck in a vat of oil. Delicious. Of course, these did nothing to offset the pain in our dragon tummies. And yet, there is only so long one can listen to easy listening before feeling like one is at the dentist, so we were faced with the epic task of drinking more beer. The well meaning beer pourers were supposed to pour to a certain line, but they more often than not would fill past the line, and the beer above the line was just another cross to bear. But then we were distracted from our task. Because. of. MURDER:

The ground was kind of muddy, because you know, Boise--land of the drags--is a rainforest and not a desert. As a result, a sad yet alive earthworm had surfaced amongst the slop--in the middle of one of the beer tents, right in a heavily trafficked area. I thought about intervening, but then I thought about Whale Wars and nature taking its course. Also my hands were full. At first the earthworm seemed to be coated with a magic force field--people were hitting everywhere but worm, as we, five feet away and helpless, yelled "Go Under Ground." And then a birkenstock delivered a crushing blow. The worm--cut in half. But wait: half of it was still alive, though separated from its body. We turned away in horror, but then turned back. We had come this far. We had to see how it all played out. Alas, the worm was eventually squished as some dbag STOPPED while stepping on the remaining alive portion. While tragic, this gave us drive to polish off all of our tokens and to complete our quest.

Take away moral: do not go to Beer Fest if you usually drink PBR.

Other advice: Do not get hit by lighting.
Do not go running when it's hailing even if you think it's funny.
Do not try to utilize a converter box, fail, and then realize you also don't remember how to set up your Dvd player/Xbox, rendering you, essentially, Amish.

Dragon Goodbye!

Nash out!

When I like to think about epic inventions, I think about the zipper, the wheel, the snuggie, and of course, the red box. Without the red box, I'm not sure I would be as versed as I am in what Hollywood has to offer, which in case you were wondering, is, um, a lot. Some people swear by the red box, while some people have no clue as to the joy it contains. (I liken it to quinoa in that way: a staple to some, a mystery to some.) In case you are one of the latter, the red box is essentially a vending machine for movies found at assorted grocery stores, McDonald's, and gas stations. You can get new releases for a dollar. Also, the red box is a large red box.

In any case, the red box has recently provided me with Steet Fighter: The Rise of Chun Li, and also Dragonball Evolution. These two movies left theaters before I had a chance to view them on the big screen, but I made sure to note in my trusty planner when they would be inserted into the red box and ready to fall into my clutches. These movies are alike in several key ways: a) they both connect back to my days of yore, b) they both contain ridiculous fight scenes, c) they both contain wise teachers who dispense wisdom about the fight coming from within, d) they are both really awesomely bad.

First, Street Fighter II. I have to start by saying that we played a lot of video games growing up. Street Fighter 2 Super was one of the games of my youth and Chun Li was my character. She was the less slutty of the two girls, had sweet buns, a magic rapid leg, and could throw fireballs. Also, her father was killed by M. Bison and she is trying to avenge his death. Pretty noble, right? Anyway, I was pretty unstoppable. It's always been a pet peeve of mine when girls say that they are good at video games (put that in your feminist pipe and smoke it) when they are usually terrible, but I'm telling you, I rarely lose with Chun Li. I spinning bird kicked my way through my brother who generally played with Ken (um, man crush, Kelly?) , through the dorms of Hamilton College and onward.

Now, the movie. There was Street Fighter One, which featured the OTHER V.D...... that would be J.C.V.D., so I mean, it's almost impossible to top that. I think he was Guile. In any case, Street Fighter Two focuses pretty much solely on Chun Li! My character!Perfect! Anyway, Chun Li is a concert pianist turned bad ass when M. Bison and Balrog (and Vega is thrown in there too) kidnap her father as part of their plans to take over the world. They eventually kill her father in front of her, but she has no time to be sad about that, even though it's the impetus for her mission, because there are always more asses to kick. The best part of this movie, however: Chris Klein. I always suspected that in Election he was essentially playing himself: sort of a doofus. But in Street Fighter, he is supposed to be a bad ass cop lady killer. It's like trying to ask dragons to not be bad ass. It's just not possible. The result: comedy gold. Although I saw this movie about a month ago, it is on my heart (just like a tattoo) now and forever thanks to Chris Klein.

Dragon Ball Evolution. Dragon Ball Z, the television show, has been on forever. I think it's one of those shows that gave kids seizures. Anyway, my brother used to watch it all the time, and by default, I had to do. Most of the time, people would fight by glowing and hurling glowingness at each other. Then there would be a lot of dust, the episode would end, and then the next episode you would find out what happened. What usually happened: some one died. But here is the thing: they always came back to life thanks to the freaking dragon balls. the dragon balls, like quantum physics, are beyond the scope of my intellect, but from what I understand, they bring people back to life occasionally. So the characters would constantly be killing each other, but most of the time it was all good because they always came back to life. In this movie, the evil Piccolo (who was good in the TV show, at least when I watched) is trying to collect the seven Dragon Balls to take over the world, while Goku (also, incidentally, upon the death of his wise and instructive grandfather at the hand of Piccolo) and his posse is trying to collect them as well, so they can save the world. This movie is a gem because a) Goku is foxy. FOXY!, b) Spike from Buffy is Piccolo, and c)because I don't know how the movie ends. I watch movies on an XBox 360 and it froze right before the big show down. The fact that I don't know whether the world has been saved only adds to my love of this film. Also, Piccolo is green and Piccolo sounds like Pickle, so there's that.

All I need now is a Chrono Trigger movie and another Mario movie.

English 101: I want your badge, I want your weapon, & I want your ass.

So I’m going to admit something embarrassing…but I figure that’s sort of what this blog is for. Growing up, when I was four, five, six, seven years old, I had crushes on major actions stars. Many, many action stars. But in this case I’m going to discuss two in particular: Kurt Russell & Sylvester Stalone.

As far as these youthful loves were concerned, it was Kurt Russell in Overboard wearing a freakishly nipple bearing tank top &, even more prominently was Rambo who made regular appearances in my pre-tween dreams. (A re-occuring dream, in fact, where I climbed big, big cliffs from which I inevitably fell… into muscular & somewhat sweaty Rambo’s arms.)

In honor of these once upon a time crushes, I whimsically checked out Tango & Cash from the library. I was actually there to return books & checked the movie aisles while I was there. It felt… I don’t know… right. Nostalgic. Sure, I’m smart enough to know it’s not good, but I’m also young enough to feel affection for it. For the times when I was a young little girl, sitting on what was then my parent’s sectional sofa (they’ve since upgraded to a classy leather number), watching these two studlies go all shoot-em-up with my father. (He probably wouldn’t have called them studlies.)

So, I have this movie sitting by my television. I make a nice dinner, sit down, pour a glass of pinot noir. What to do next? I decide it’s laugh riot extravaganza time.

And the movie definitely delivers—everything from the exceptionally bad dialogue to Kurt Russell’s most hilariously large & funny shaped gun—but something is wrong. Dear Readers, please forgive me. This movie…ugh… I feel sick just saying this… somehow reminds me of why I was attracted to Kurt Russell. Sure, he still has the mullet & the too tight jeans & the awkwardly cut-up tee shirts. But there’s something—the jib of his chiseled jaw, his gristled facial hair, his squinty blue eyes. Something absurdly sexy about him. Sylvester too, somehow even better in a suit.

In neither case does it last. Their charms wear off in about three minutes. But the movie? Well that continues to be charming.

Sylvester plays Tango, the bourgoise, stock-broking copper with over-sized biceps & a tailored suit—not in it for the dough, but the justice. Kurt plays Cash, your regular, blue-collar dick, the kind who likes his mirror image & has a chip on his shoulder.

They’re framed for murder by the Asian drug-lord they’ve both been catching in the swindle. They plea bargain & go to prison, supposedly minimum security, but instead they’re sent to general population. They both glisten like angels as, in the grand tradition of prison movies, they are attacked by their fellow inmates (dipped in electrified pools of water) & then escape (sliding down electric cables hanging onto their belts for dear life-- this movie is, shall we say, electric?) on a mission to prove their innocence. Which, after many explosions, they do.

Notable dialogue:

“When this is over remind me to rip this guy’s throat out.” ~Cash
“With a tow truck.” ~Tango

“When this is over we have to pay Java the Hut here a visit.” ~Tango
“I’ll bring the chainsaw.” ~Cash
“I’ll bring the beer.” ~Tango

“Can I be frank? I think you’re looking terribly anemic. I think what you need (sound of gun cocking) is a little iron in your diet.” ~Tango



Dragon News:

Thomas Edison was definitely a dragon.
Nikola Tesla was definitely a dragon.

I’m pretty sure their electrical battles were Dragon Wars!


PS. This post was sponsored by Steven Seagall, General Electric, & D-Wars (the movie).

Much love!

you have to straddle the ball, mandy!

Post title courtesy of my mother.

While playing mini golf. That seems important.

This drag is about to fly away to Idaho after a long hiatus.

Things that I have done over the course of the break: drank about 15 iced coffees from Dunkin Donuts, adopted a moose (Wubbie), purchased a zebra print snuggie, used the weirdest toilet ever, drank a lot of Sam Adams, and pondered my future while watching assorted movies on the lifetime movie channel. What a gem of a station! A GEM! Career options brainstormed:

1)snuggie maker for drags.
2) Make Target establish a "greeter" position ala Walmart and pretty much push anyone down the stairs ala showgirls who attempted to vie for the position.
3.) romance novel authoress. I was at Target with my brother (who is trying to take over my blog) buying a snuggie, which apparently was embarressing for him (i guess it's weird to vana white the snuggie in the parking lot and ask assorted dunkin donuts [iced coffee!] employees and pedestrians if they liked my purchase). But I made us walk down the book aisle (okay. aisles. sort of.) so I could get self-righteous about twilight or tori spelling or anita shreve, and I saw a romance novel entitled: Your Ranch or Mine?

.........perfect! I was thinking I could do a spin off with dragons and do Your Castle or Mine, and then Your Cave or Mine (imagine the covers on those, readers!), and things could get lucrative and I could do Your Yacht or Mine (for Connecticut residents) and Your Ice Cream Truck or Mine (for pedophiles!) And I could keep going! Forever!

I also was skulking about and found all of these awesome poems I wrote in intro poetry in college. I was so angsty! Why didn't anyone tell me? This is a line from one of the poems:

You put things into boxes and I'm caustic, caustic.

There is more where that came from. Trust me. Listen to that sweet assonance--or whatever it's called! I also found all of these papers that I wrote about Chaucer and I tricked my mom into reading them. So now she is all atwitter about the Manciple and the Squire. Backfire.

I don't even know what I'm talking about. I was going to frame this using a movie like one ms. amber nelson, but the only thing I saw besides Stella Got her Groove Back (lifetime movie channel! i am telling you! pure gold!) was Harry Pottah. This resulted in the purchase of an "I'd get sleezy for Ron Weasley shirt".

Idaho tomorrow. Dragon high five!

You Gotta Risk It to Get the Biscuit: A Dragon Post Bonanza

Hello my dear & faithful readers! I'm sure that you're all aware of my deep, eternal love of the bad teen movie genre. And on my most recent dragon venture with AmandaB we redboxed what could only be described as the greatest bad teen movie of our times: FIRED UP!

The general plot is such as this: two star football player jock types who never double dip (so to speak) with the ladies, decide to abandon football camp ship & head on over to cheer camp so they can get to bumping & grinding at the all you can eat chearleader buffet (affectionately equated with the Olive Garden's breadstick basket within the film).

Within 5 minutes, any lover of the teen movie can figure out how these two dashing dudes will develop. Mr. Brunette Smart Guy will fall for the head cheerleader of his own team. Mr. Blond Surfer Deusch will meet some older hottie cheerleader. The boys will end up helping the cheerleaders achieve a monumental victory at the end of camp cheer competition.

So much potential for failure! And yet... every moment was pitch perfect. Right down to the creepily dirty younger sister & the ever-so-tongue-in-(ahem)-cheek dialogue that bore just the right amount of meta-awareness to understand exactly what was going on: cornball comedy. I mean, as Mr. Brunette Smart Guy will tell you: You have to risk it to get the biscuit. And biscuits we have, my friends. Biscuits we have.

Some Dragon Haiku

to be a dragon
o! what funny lives we'd lead
grocery shopping.

imagine dragons
in cars, parallel parking
tearing the leather.

or walking into
the library, asking for
books on chemistry.

no bunson burner
for me, thanks! I burn for a
dragon love story.

O! Dragon lover!
Where are you? See this fire? Come
burn these villages.

O to Be a Dragon

by Marianne Moore

If I, like Solomon, . . .
could have my wish—

my wish . . . O to be a dragon,
a symbol of the power of Heaven—of silkworm
size or immense; at times invisible.
Felicitous phenomenon!

Don't Squish My Squash

Really good places I've been pretending to be a dragon: Walmart, Portland, and a dollar theater screening of The Hannah Montana movie.

Walmart: more rattail dragons, but joined by spandex dragons. not to be confused with the greeter dragon!

Portland: dragons with goatees and slightly askew hipster hats.

The Hannah Montana Movie: I feel like this requires some explanation. On one hand, slapstick requires no explanation. People pretty much fall over or hit their heads on things and it's funny. But this movie. Man. You might not know this, loyal readers, but dragons are intellectuals. They like to get meta. They like to think about how they are thinking about how they are thinking about the fact that they are, indeed, dragons. But Hannah Montana was beyond the scope of this dragon. The CHARACTER is named Miley Stewart, who in her other life is blonde superstar Hannah Montana. Her dad on the show/in the movie is Bobbie Ray. In real life, these people are known as Miley Cyrus and Billy Ray Cyrus (rattail fed miracle-grow into mullet Achey Breaky Heart Billy Ray Cyrus! the very one!). Not only do I get confused about what is real/what is commenting on what is real/ what is not real/WHY NO ONE CAN FREAKING IDENTIFY HER SIMPLY BECAUSE SHE TOSSES ON A WIG, but I begin to wonder how Miley Cyrus's real mother feels about the fact that she is dead in the tv series/movie. Maybe we should ask a picture of Brooke Shields, because that is who portrays her dead mom in the movie.

Enough of that. Here are some dragon puns:

I didn't study for my dragon exam. I guess I'm going to have to WING it!

I once dated a slutty dragon and I got BURNED!

I was trying to stop a chatty dragon, but it's just was a total DRAG ON! (you can also use cigarettes/ dragging for this)

And don't worry, brother of mine. I will flame you in an upcoming post. Unless you want to guess post? You have a lot of dragon knowledge from WoW, no?

You Never Sausage a Place!

Say it out loud!

So AmandaB somehow thinks she's the one who's all Pro-Renaissance Fair... but golly gee! While she was gallavanting across Portland's hipster streets, I was driving into the ghettos of Idaho to find myself a dashing Knight! Or Chain Mail! Or jousting! Or all three of them in some holy trinity of Renaissance Fun!

Alas, it was not so. Among the grassy knolls of Settler's Park I found "Nancy's Cookies" and balloon animals and yes... you would not think it could ever disapoint, but, Hawaiian Shaved Ice! I am almost certain that King Arthur never indulged in such sugary delights. This Renaissance Fair was nothing if not disappointing. There weren't even dragons! There weren't even painted plywood cutouts of dragons! In the immortal words of my man Chuckie... they totally "phoned it in."

But all was not lost. This was a day of festivals and somebody was bound to survive my critical eye.

Up next? Greek Food Festival. Sure, no dragons were likely to appear but there would be music and dancing and then I found myself wondering... Greek "food" Festival? Like... if there's the music and the dancing and the market and the Greek Orthodox Service... isn't it just a "Greek" Festival? Alas... no. Upon arrival you quickly learn that the point is not the music, dancing, arts & crafts, or even religion. It really, really is the food. The Greeks... well I knew this from living there... they know how to live. To eat is to live! And damn if the food wasn't to die for. Gyros with slammin' Tztiziki and dolmathes and so many delightful pastries. It more than made up for the fact that the music came from a cd player and the dancing was just a bunch of people holding hands and walking in circle... and poor kids, they even seemed confused about that!

Of course, a Gyro, good as it is, is no giant leg of flesh or mug of mead. Still, the day of festivals was a success.

And it was followed by flossing in public... can you say awwwwwkward.

What new adventure can I come up with next?

I am EXTREMELY pro renaissance fairs

My little dragon sister just pointed out that none of my posts have much to do with dragons.

Here we go:

This morning, as a dragon, I was eating a breakfast burrito and thinking about how much I wanted to watch Spiceworld, a movie featuring Meatloaf (big in dragon world, like the Hoff in Germany), aliens, and dresses made out of the Union Jack.

Last night, I was watching an older man change a lightbulb and I was struck with pity (if dragons could feel such a thing) because he couldn't light his own torches like I could (if I wanted to).

Yesterday, as a dragon, I was trimming my dragon toeclaws and watching Divorced Couple Family Feud. Then Judge Judy came on and I wanted to breathe fire on her doilie collar.

Dragons know their calculus. They know that you plus me equals us.

Amber stole my rat tail thunder

I was going to write about how much pleasure it brings me to see people break concrete with their heads and kick skewered apples off of swords, but Amber beat me to it. I will say that seeing thirteen year olds whipping around bowstaffs and daggers makes me feel inadequate in several ways. Don't get me wrong--it brings me much pleasure--but I'm also reminded that I have no skills in my skill set. I am in, what, 19th grade, and working on my writing, which is something I learned how to do circa third grade. I wrote an awesome and sexy story about how tulips came to be known as tulips in the third grade. I'm not so much beyond that now. (This is probably obvious.)

And so. I am speculating on the appropriate cut off time for Things That Are Funny (...To Me).

I have vowed several times to stop buying things because they are funny when I hit 25 (twenty-five. I spelled it out for you, A.N.). However, I just found out that my parents' insurance, which is something like 34343 times better than my insurance, covers me until I'm 26. I'm thinking about extending my funny things deadline until I reach 26, as well. I suppose there isn't so much difference between a girl who is 25 wearing earrings made out of scrabble pieces, a tanuki shirt sweatshirt, and carrying a tote with a pokemon and it, and a girl who is 26 and doing these things. However, I'm not sure this would work if I was 65. But, see, in my mind, wearing a yoshi shirt only gets better with age. Conundrum!

In any case, I will never not think a road sign that says "Speed Hump" on it is funny.

I also just realized that I said VD and MR were an excellent "paring" instead of "pairing." This was an accident. But a happy one!

Those Bricks Aren't Regulation...

So what does one do when faced with the ultimate question: to have an afternoon PBR or not? Well, if one is Amber... you have the PBR and watch the USA Open Creative Breaking Championship and spend the entire time rooting for the guy with the Rat Tail. Yeah. That's right. Rat tail.

He didn't win though. WTF? How does the Rat Tail not win? I mean...in my universe, the Rat Tail practically guarantees the Gold.


In other news: Dragon Amber has been battling the Amphibion (aka her Boss) and having awkward first dates (or rather one awkward first date). Life as a dragon can be so tiresome.

Thank god for Creative Breaking... even if the guy with the Rat Tail doesn't win. At least there is a guy with a rat tail. AND a guy with a mullet and a copper (as in police man) mustache named Larry. Three hours I'm happy to never have back.

Thank you amandaB for such a glorious idea!

Making People Want to Uninvolve Themselves With Blogging Since...Two Days Ago

Over the course of my eight years of licensed driving, I've occasionally had the urge to drag race. This would happen sporadically and usually would consist of me seeing an elderly lady--usually in a buick of some sort--a lane over, stopped at a light with me. I would then proceed to rev my V4 (is that right? I'm talking about cars and not juice) and race (in my mind) to the next light. I was pretty much undefeated. The point is, the Fast and the Furious has given me, along with the genius paring of V.D. and Michelle Rodriguez, this desire ALL OF THE TIME.

I also really appreciated how realistic the movie was.

Today I drank a black and tan comprised of Guiness and PBR. And I would do it again.

Everything Vin Says is in his Dragon Voice

I will just say this: V.D.'s tenor does, in fact, seduce even the most resistant dragon ears. That's where his jurisdiction begins.

She Prepares to Watch Vin Diesel from the Perspective of a Dragon

Here I sit, surrounded by NEA grants singed by the fury with which I enter budget information. A cool wind blows through the screen door. Enemies whisper secretively in other rooms, which could bother me, but it doesn't.

One who stumbles upon this missive might ask: what is Dragon Amber thinking (since she's obviously not thinking about the NEA)? I'll tell you what: Vin Diesel (known as V.D. in some circles). Sure, I had planned to wait until I'd truly experienced the sizzling planes of his muscular chest, the way he handles the gearshift in his big, steel hot rod. But I'm also more than willing to admit to my own impatience.

It's true folks... I'm going to watch The Fast and the Furious and find myself wondering to, well, myself: Will it be worth the dollar-fifty price of admission? Will Paul Walker's piercing eyes pierce my own steely gaze? And does V.D.'s tenor seduce even the most resistant dragon ears? Only time will tell...

Gee Whiz

The first post is the deepest. (To be sung to "The First Cut is the Deepest.")

Not really. But the first installment of anything, and by anything I mean television shows, usually has to set forth the premise, or impetus, or the whatever. There are certain things that need to be established. All this, while managing to pique and then hold viewer interest. We don't have any viewers (um. yet.), so crisis adverted there, but we do have a premise. Ready, go:

Everything is funnier if you pretend a dragon is doing it.

In times of trouble, I like to pretend everything I do is from the POV of a dragon. Not really, but I should. Or I think ABOUT dragons: dragons water-skiing, dragons wearing oven mitts with the Grand Canyon embroidered on them, any sort of dragon/money accounting scenario, a lone dragon participating in a stirring duet of "Colors the Wind" with John Smith.

I'm actually almost certain that none of our following posts will revolve around dragons. But they could. And that's what matters.

I have also managed to use the word "deep" without making any sort of dirty joke. Win-win!

Amanda B