Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Flying like a dragon g6
I'm really lazy about charging my Ipod (plus I like to be in on what the kids are listening to), so I often find myself tuning in (like, literally) to the radio on assorted car voyages. I love Delilah, and how I'm pretty sure we live on different planets--mine has dragons, hers a steady stream of Kenny G. I love 24/7 Christmas music. I love, for example, the angst of today's decision between TLC's Waterfalls and Ja-Rule's Holla Holla. I love that there seems to be a series of five songs on pop stations that are played with an overwhelming frequency; fast forward to a month later, and these songs are never played again. Most of all, I find myself trying to riddle out lyrics. I'm often confused by pop songs, as the lyrical trickery and ambiguity often seem beyond the scope of my intellect.
See, for example, Bruno Mars. I believe the song is named Grenade. He means an actual explosive device, not the Jersey Shore term for an ugly fat girl. The gist of the song is that he would do anything for this girl, even though he realizes that she is terrible and won't do anything for him. He would catch a grenade for her. He would throw his hand on a blade for her. He would jump in front of a train for her. I don't know. It just seems like he is asking to be in the next Saw movie.
See also Katy Perry's Firework, in which a person (you) becomes a metaphor for a firework. You are supposed to show them what you are worth. You are supposed to let your colors burst. So far, I get it. You're supposed to shoot across the sky. Wait...what? Unless you are a dragon, I just don't understand.
The song that currently most puzzles me, however, is Far East Movement's G6. When I first heard the song, all I could riddle out was that people were getting drunk on cold beverages. I assumed that I just wasn't hip, until my little sister, who just knows these things (usually) also expressed her confusion. We spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out just the chorus, and we didn't get much of anywhere, though we gave it a pretty valiant effort. I'm hoping that Amber Nelson, as a poet in the know, could help me through some of these lyrics.
Here is the chorus:
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Okay. Here is where I'm at. So I'm assuming they are opening bottles on ice. I get that blizzards are cold, and I guess that are of that bottle opening that would almost be blizzard-like (in the sweaty club). I'm assuming that when they drink they do it right getting slizzard means that when you drink you should get really drunk aka slizzard (sort of like a drunk lizard, perhaps). I don't know what sizzurp is (alcoholic syrup?) or how they manage to drink it in their rides. I had no idea what Three 6 means until my sister told me that it was a reference to Three 6 mafia, who you might remember from their Oscar win for "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" from Hustle and Flow. Then there is the feelingof being so fly like a g6. I thought I had this one--a g6 is a plane, no? BUT WAIT, it's not! So what does it all MEAN? I need help!
See, for example, Bruno Mars. I believe the song is named Grenade. He means an actual explosive device, not the Jersey Shore term for an ugly fat girl. The gist of the song is that he would do anything for this girl, even though he realizes that she is terrible and won't do anything for him. He would catch a grenade for her. He would throw his hand on a blade for her. He would jump in front of a train for her. I don't know. It just seems like he is asking to be in the next Saw movie.
See also Katy Perry's Firework, in which a person (you) becomes a metaphor for a firework. You are supposed to show them what you are worth. You are supposed to let your colors burst. So far, I get it. You're supposed to shoot across the sky. Wait...what? Unless you are a dragon, I just don't understand.
The song that currently most puzzles me, however, is Far East Movement's G6. When I first heard the song, all I could riddle out was that people were getting drunk on cold beverages. I assumed that I just wasn't hip, until my little sister, who just knows these things (usually) also expressed her confusion. We spent quite a bit of time trying to figure out just the chorus, and we didn't get much of anywhere, though we gave it a pretty valiant effort. I'm hoping that Amber Nelson, as a poet in the know, could help me through some of these lyrics.
Here is the chorus:
Poppin bottles in the ice, like a blizzard
When we drink we do it right gettin slizzard
Sippin sizzurp in my ride, like Three 6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Like a G6, Like a G6
Now I’m feelin so fly like a G6
Okay. Here is where I'm at. So I'm assuming they are opening bottles on ice. I get that blizzards are cold, and I guess that are of that bottle opening that would almost be blizzard-like (in the sweaty club). I'm assuming that when they drink they do it right getting slizzard means that when you drink you should get really drunk aka slizzard (sort of like a drunk lizard, perhaps). I don't know what sizzurp is (alcoholic syrup?) or how they manage to drink it in their rides. I had no idea what Three 6 means until my sister told me that it was a reference to Three 6 mafia, who you might remember from their Oscar win for "It's Hard Out There for a Pimp" from Hustle and Flow. Then there is the feelingof being so fly like a g6. I thought I had this one--a g6 is a plane, no? BUT WAIT, it's not! So what does it all MEAN? I need help!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Jennifer's Body, or The Dragon's Demotion
O, how the mighty have fallen! Woe is the day when we see two great Dragon Queens put on such mighty displays of epic failure-tude.
Since moving to
And, as it turns out, the program directors were perfectly generous, merciful, and are going to allow me back.
But wait! There’s more. A parent complaint at work for my “mishandling” of their “not picking up their kid from school and so the kid was crying at my desk but couldn’t tell me the last name or phone number of the person who was supposed to pick them up” situation at work the other day.
Oh well, I say! I will not fail alone!
I’ve been meaning to write about this “film” for a while. I watched it this summer, with my mom, because it was for free on OnDemand. (O! How I miss my parent’s free HBO and very, very big TV!). This film, you might have gotten from the title, was the MEGHAN FOX vehicle, Jennifer’s Body. I had sort of seen this in the periphery and knew it only by the sort of slutty and also sort of gross picture of Meghan Fox (pictured below). Between the advertising the movie title, I assumed this was a movie centered entirely around a hot chic’s body. Which, considering today’s movies and Meghan Fox’s particular move choices, wouldn’t be too surprising (see Transformer and Transformer 2, plus her one time stint on Two and a Half Men (don’t ask me why I know this…)). (Woo! Parentheses party!)
So anyway, we are watching this movie and I am stunned… STUNNED… by the dialogue. It is sooo bad. And also… soo gooood. And also… not working, for some reason. Is it Meghan Fox? Perhaps she can’t act?! (gasp!) Or Amanda Segfried? Star of such gems as Dear John and Veronica Mars and that Abba movie? Or maybe it’s that guy from The OC? Is my sarcasm not simply DRIPPING…
But it wasn’t just the performances. In fact, I nearly enjoyed Meghan Fox , was almost charmed when she talked about “poo.”
And yet, and yet… this film fell short. And the whole time, as each line of dialogue cascaded into the open living room, I kept thinking that this movie should be so much better.
Witness the following:
Jennifer Check: I think the singer wants me.
Needy Lesnicky: Only because he thinks you're a virgin. I heard them talking.
Jennifer Check: Yeah, right. I'm not even a backdoor-virgin anymore, thanks to Roman. By the way, that hurts. I couldn't even go to flags the next day. I had to stay home and sit on a bag of frozen peas.
and then…
Needy Lesnicky: Jennifer's evil.
Chip Dove: I know.
Needy Lesnicky: No. I mean, she's actually evil. Not high school evil.
I still don’t know why it flopped.
But at the end I learned why the dialogue kept leaking the faintest stench of brilliance, the overwhelming sense of unfulfilled potential: “Written by Diablo Cody”
Some of you may remember her as the writer of the oh-so-clever dialogue of Juno.
And so I repeat, O! how these dragons have fallen from the sky like fiery meteors.
Or at least disappointing people a little bit.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
How Mandy Got her Groove Back
Over the past couple of months, I've totally lost my swagger. It would probably be best to acknowledge that I never really had any real swagger, but whatever pizazz/oomph/zing/shazam I had has been sucked out of me for an assortment of reasons that I'm just going to call--for simplicity's sake--Composition. Now. I have a pretty sweet life. (And by that I mostly mean my fantasy football team is KILLING it.) I should be jolly. But just as Gollum cannot be without his Precious, I cannot be happy without my swagger. I woke to my alarm (Boston's "Amanda." Duh.) at 4:15am one Monday morning and discovered that my bathtub hadn't drained from my last shower. I seriously thought something along the lines of, "Screw you, shower. I'm getting my swagger back." Then I did some Mark Wahlberg moves courtesy of Boogie Nights. And by moves I mean Karate moves, sickos.
The best way to get one's swagger back? Make out with a vaguely attractive filmmaker over a vent while drinking slurpees. This should be done in 3d. If that doesn't work for you, you can always watch the cinematic masterpiece that is Step Up 3d. It will give you an admittedly false optimism about how life works (just like how the Mighty Ducks made me believe that the flying V was really the best idea ever during hockey games), but I eat that stuff up like Harry's green-flecked French Fries.
While it's true that watching dance movies can restore swagger, not all dance movies are created equal. I recently watched Stomp the Yard : Homecoming, and I was so disappointed. A dance movie can have a transparent narrative arc, bad dialogue, and lots of bad voiceover about the Power of Dance, but it needs to have super awesome dancing, preferably involving water or fire at some point. In the opening sequence of StYH, the hero gets involved in a dance battle in hopes of paying his way through college. (Like all strippers.) Here's the thing. The guy he's dancing off against is obviously a better dancer. At least to me, and I'd say a solid 100% of dance movie afficionados. But everyone in the movie world is cheering on our hero like his moves are the best thing since Michael Jackson. Our hero ends up "winning" the battle but gets swindled out of the money. The movie wasn't a complete failure, however.
Observe the movie cover.
EVERY TIME I see the cover, I HAVE to put my hands up in that pose. Have to. I'm doing it now at the smoothie shop. If that pose doesn't say SWAGGER, then I don't know what does.
The best way to get one's swagger back? Make out with a vaguely attractive filmmaker over a vent while drinking slurpees. This should be done in 3d. If that doesn't work for you, you can always watch the cinematic masterpiece that is Step Up 3d. It will give you an admittedly false optimism about how life works (just like how the Mighty Ducks made me believe that the flying V was really the best idea ever during hockey games), but I eat that stuff up like Harry's green-flecked French Fries.
While it's true that watching dance movies can restore swagger, not all dance movies are created equal. I recently watched Stomp the Yard : Homecoming, and I was so disappointed. A dance movie can have a transparent narrative arc, bad dialogue, and lots of bad voiceover about the Power of Dance, but it needs to have super awesome dancing, preferably involving water or fire at some point. In the opening sequence of StYH, the hero gets involved in a dance battle in hopes of paying his way through college. (Like all strippers.) Here's the thing. The guy he's dancing off against is obviously a better dancer. At least to me, and I'd say a solid 100% of dance movie afficionados. But everyone in the movie world is cheering on our hero like his moves are the best thing since Michael Jackson. Our hero ends up "winning" the battle but gets swindled out of the money. The movie wasn't a complete failure, however.
Observe the movie cover.
EVERY TIME I see the cover, I HAVE to put my hands up in that pose. Have to. I'm doing it now at the smoothie shop. If that pose doesn't say SWAGGER, then I don't know what does.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Like, woah...
2010 Open Reading
We’re thrilled to announce that we have chosen Amber Nelson and Harold Abramowitz for publication in the upcoming year. Nelson’s Diary of When Being With Friends Feels Like Watching TV and Aramowitz’s A House on a Hill will appear in late 2010 or early 2011 much to our delight.
We’d also like to congratulate our finalists whose work we read with great excitement and debate:
- The Hawk You See May Be Your Own by
- A Practical Guide to Contemporary Economics by Joshua Ware
- Late Sermons of the Ego by Ricardo Alberto Maldonado
- Grimm Realities by Ellen LaFleche
- Midnight’s Marsupium by Michael Leong
- Folding In by Renee Emerson
- (aviary) by Genevieve Kaplan
- A Portable Model of How Memory Works by Joseph Mains
- Seven Pictures by Ben Berman
- Heaven as Nothing but Distance by Joshua Robbins
- :Odyssey & Oracle:by Jenn McCreary
Thanks to everyone who submitted a manuscript for consideration. Without the range of wonderful work to choose from, there would be no press and no one to wow our socks off. The following titles are the finalist manuscripts. Unfortunately, we had to pass on many good manuscripts. But please, as always, consider sending a new or revised manuscript during our next reading period in 2011.
Best,
Slash Pine Editors
Monday, August 2, 2010
Guerilla Dancing
There’s this thing—I’m riding public transit for 4 hours a day. I think it’s going to my head. Like, making me a little nutso (er). I love riding public transit. I love listening to the asinine conversations, the wicked drunks and crazies, the occasional too-sassy-for-their-own-good bus driver. But more often than not, I ride with my ear buds in, the tunes blasting at a low level so I can read, or just blasting blasting blasting to keep me from passing out and missing my stop. (Did I mention the 4 hours a day bit… thems be long days).
I blame what I’m about to confess on my not having watched a single episode of So You Think You Can Dance this season, and the requisite withdrawl that such a feat would impress upon me.
I wanna dance! Every once in a while a song comes on my shuffled ipod that has me sort of… resisting the impulse to get up and dance through the bus aisles, rifling through the aisles of people on the commuter rail in their business suits, with their newspapers or trashy romance novels. I want to dance like something out a movie… choreographed, random, people watching with mouths gaping wide.
The problem with this, of course, is that I can’t dance. At least not like that. And I’m sure that train security would be called and I would be forcibly removed from the public transportation system, potentially going before a supreme court judge with several shrinks on the stand vying for my sanity (or lack there of… I told you I’m going nutso (er)).
So yes, withdrawls.
But I saw, recently, two movie trailers that bring me some semblance of hope. Stomp the Yard 2 (featuring Twitch, from So You Think You Can Dance fame), and Step Up 3D (featuring both Twitch and Joshua!). Witness:
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Jam Bands, My new favorite bad TV, and Living life on the commuter rail
So this Friday, I had just had a pie & a pint at Pies & Pints with a friend, decided to get in touch with another friend and see what her plans were for the weekend. She just happened to be headed my direction to go see her boyfriend's friend's band and invited me to join. I had no idea what I was getting myself into but figured I'd get a chance to see a friend and have yet another pint.
Man-oh-man. I mean... wow. So we drive way up north, past Seattle, to a tiny little bar called Darrel's, next to a Fred Meyers and a Jack in the Box. From inside I hear it... the beginning cords of my new jam band experience. I walk in and, on the left hand side of the stage is a Jamiroquai looking guy... white, facial hair, big stupid hat filled with dread locks. And then the horrible assault on my ears known as jam banding. This first band wasn't my friend's friend's friend's band... that came later. The cause for our foray into Darrel's was far less assaulting, though still the kind of music that leaves me slightly embarrassed to be listening. The guys on the saxophones, however, were skillful with their instruments, and one of them could sing like a champ. During their set, I spent most of my time observing the crowd. Two heavyset, older women (late 40's, early 50's) seriously "grooving" on the dance floor between breathless sets of tonsel hockey with the two construction workers at the pool table. Then there was the lady who came with the band... tie dye shirt with long, long, long flowing bell sleeves "grooving" even groovier, all by herself, near the stage. I played Big Buck Hunter. Like 3 times. I spent most of the evening in awe.
Much the way I feel about my new favorite bad tv obsession (which apparently won't last long with all of its 2 seasons, 1 of which I've already finished). The name of this little gem? JERICHO. Skeet Ulrich, with all of his magical cheekbones, stars in this post apocalyptic series (meaning nuclear bombing of 15 major cities in the US, which resulted in turning America into some sort of Mad Maxian world-- everywhere except the small town of Jericho, which ends up like something out of a Wendell Berry essay). They plant crops and share food and everybody loves each other. A little mini utopia. Living in the stone age did nothing to prevent their little mini dramas about cheating on wives and still loving old flames who were engaged to new people, yadda, yadda, yadda. The performances are... well... laughable often. And yet I can't wait to start in on season 2. Why? I'm not sure. But after 8 hours of work, and 4 hours of commuting each day, I pretty much get home wanting nothing but a glass of wine and an episode of this show.
Soon, though, I'll have a little garden of my own. Since I've returned, during the 4 hours a day I get to commute, I've been reading a lot of about food, cooking, farming. I have intense farming fantasies... having a garden that leads to canning and cooking everything from scratch. Anybody reading this have a lot of money that wants to support me? I'll cook for you! Seriously. These days it's seems like an ideal life. Cooking, cleaning, reading. I could be happy.
Not that I'm not happy now. I totally am. Really good job with really good people. Occasional trips to Portland to see friends. Occasional happy hours in Seattle at places like Pies & Pints (which I missed dearly-- damned good pies and sweet potato fries). Time to watch shows like Jericho and go to the farmer's market on Saturday ... oh yeah... Life is good.
Man-oh-man. I mean... wow. So we drive way up north, past Seattle, to a tiny little bar called Darrel's, next to a Fred Meyers and a Jack in the Box. From inside I hear it... the beginning cords of my new jam band experience. I walk in and, on the left hand side of the stage is a Jamiroquai looking guy... white, facial hair, big stupid hat filled with dread locks. And then the horrible assault on my ears known as jam banding. This first band wasn't my friend's friend's friend's band... that came later. The cause for our foray into Darrel's was far less assaulting, though still the kind of music that leaves me slightly embarrassed to be listening. The guys on the saxophones, however, were skillful with their instruments, and one of them could sing like a champ. During their set, I spent most of my time observing the crowd. Two heavyset, older women (late 40's, early 50's) seriously "grooving" on the dance floor between breathless sets of tonsel hockey with the two construction workers at the pool table. Then there was the lady who came with the band... tie dye shirt with long, long, long flowing bell sleeves "grooving" even groovier, all by herself, near the stage. I played Big Buck Hunter. Like 3 times. I spent most of the evening in awe.
Much the way I feel about my new favorite bad tv obsession (which apparently won't last long with all of its 2 seasons, 1 of which I've already finished). The name of this little gem? JERICHO. Skeet Ulrich, with all of his magical cheekbones, stars in this post apocalyptic series (meaning nuclear bombing of 15 major cities in the US, which resulted in turning America into some sort of Mad Maxian world-- everywhere except the small town of Jericho, which ends up like something out of a Wendell Berry essay). They plant crops and share food and everybody loves each other. A little mini utopia. Living in the stone age did nothing to prevent their little mini dramas about cheating on wives and still loving old flames who were engaged to new people, yadda, yadda, yadda. The performances are... well... laughable often. And yet I can't wait to start in on season 2. Why? I'm not sure. But after 8 hours of work, and 4 hours of commuting each day, I pretty much get home wanting nothing but a glass of wine and an episode of this show.
Soon, though, I'll have a little garden of my own. Since I've returned, during the 4 hours a day I get to commute, I've been reading a lot of about food, cooking, farming. I have intense farming fantasies... having a garden that leads to canning and cooking everything from scratch. Anybody reading this have a lot of money that wants to support me? I'll cook for you! Seriously. These days it's seems like an ideal life. Cooking, cleaning, reading. I could be happy.
Not that I'm not happy now. I totally am. Really good job with really good people. Occasional trips to Portland to see friends. Occasional happy hours in Seattle at places like Pies & Pints (which I missed dearly-- damned good pies and sweet potato fries). Time to watch shows like Jericho and go to the farmer's market on Saturday ... oh yeah... Life is good.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Notes from the Other Coast: My Relationship with the Founding Fathers
So. Things are older on the East Coast. It took me living NOT in New England to fully realize this. I suppose our whole country has a relatively short history (I know, I know...there were people here before Europe scampered in with their diseases and guns and written words). But we've got all these years of history on the West Coast--like giving the Redcoats a hawaiian punch in the face, for example, which might, in part, explain New England snobbery, while Idaho was sort of...land West of the Mississippi. I now notice the inevitable old school white church in every town, the random stars people affix to their houses, the porches, and obviously, the Dunkin Donuts (cultural artifacts, each and every one!). Even my hometown, a town you could find in any state--all chain restaurants and vinyl siding--has 18th century backstory. "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," the sermon by Johnny Edwards, often found in American Lit anthologies, was preached in my hometown. Edwards went on a tear about how the Enfield parishioners were pretty much the suck, and were going to be smited (smote?) down pretty soon. OH YEAH. Apparently Edwards was PMSing, because he was usually more of a gentle hippie-like figure. I remember a professor in college telling me that SITHOAAG being what Edwards is remembered for is like when a band you really like all of a sudden gets famous for a song that's atypical for them..and one you don't really like.
ANYWAY, all of this history has got me thinking about American Independence. After all, it was just the Fourth of July. (Fun Fact: Jefferson AND Adams died on the same day. July Fourth.)I wish to share my very own mini-history with the Founding Fathers.
I'm not sure whether it's the way the books were written, or some strange personal bias, but I was always on Team Federalist when reading textbooks in grade school and beyond. I was not cool with Thomas Jefferson. My favorite founding father was Alexander Hamilton. I mean, kind of a no brainer. He was young when he was killed in a duel (badassly tragic), he was a genius, and he laid the framework for a national bank. I even went to Hamilton College. Of course AHam was my favorite. I have drunkenly groped a statue of him.
THEN, I started reading more. And watching more miniseries. And my world was shattered. I think Hamilton may or may not have been like Brain in Pinky and the Brain. Who knows if he really would have taken over the world, but it seems like it might have been an option. John Adams emerged as really honest and earnest, almost to the point where I didn't like him. Like Desdemona. (Though Abigail was a total BAMF.) I was even sympathetic to Jefferson, in spite of him being kind of a dandy, because he wrote good sentences. And I even found BFrank, so infuriating to Adams at times, to be so charming in his ability to mack it with the French ladies when he was way old. So I was torn. Who really deserves to be my favorite founding father? I was tempted to just say someone like John Jay, a dark horse candidate...
And then I saw this commercial.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezk0e1VL80o
And then I thought about this youtube video.
And then I went to Mount Washington in New Hampshire. The evidence was overwhelming.
It's sort of an obvious choice--first president, army hero. But George Washington is the ultimate badass. Even if he drives a dodge.
ANYWAY, all of this history has got me thinking about American Independence. After all, it was just the Fourth of July. (Fun Fact: Jefferson AND Adams died on the same day. July Fourth.)I wish to share my very own mini-history with the Founding Fathers.
I'm not sure whether it's the way the books were written, or some strange personal bias, but I was always on Team Federalist when reading textbooks in grade school and beyond. I was not cool with Thomas Jefferson. My favorite founding father was Alexander Hamilton. I mean, kind of a no brainer. He was young when he was killed in a duel (badassly tragic), he was a genius, and he laid the framework for a national bank. I even went to Hamilton College. Of course AHam was my favorite. I have drunkenly groped a statue of him.
THEN, I started reading more. And watching more miniseries. And my world was shattered. I think Hamilton may or may not have been like Brain in Pinky and the Brain. Who knows if he really would have taken over the world, but it seems like it might have been an option. John Adams emerged as really honest and earnest, almost to the point where I didn't like him. Like Desdemona. (Though Abigail was a total BAMF.) I was even sympathetic to Jefferson, in spite of him being kind of a dandy, because he wrote good sentences. And I even found BFrank, so infuriating to Adams at times, to be so charming in his ability to mack it with the French ladies when he was way old. So I was torn. Who really deserves to be my favorite founding father? I was tempted to just say someone like John Jay, a dark horse candidate...
And then I saw this commercial.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezk0e1VL80o
And then I thought about this youtube video.
And then I went to Mount Washington in New Hampshire. The evidence was overwhelming.
It's sort of an obvious choice--first president, army hero. But George Washington is the ultimate badass. Even if he drives a dodge.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Notes from the Coast
Watching bad movies just isn't the same. But I've given it my all.
Bad movies I've seen in the last month include:
Dear John
Valentines Day
Remember Me
Ok. It's true. I've been choosing the romantic comedy. But, to be honest, listening to my parents enjoy a movie like From Paris With Love and genuinely enjoy it and believe it to be good... well, it kind of spoils the fun. My parents don't understand why I'm laughing.
With some bad movies, they'll enjoy themselves. But, you know, those tend to be direct to video B kung fu flicks.
This is what I want to say though.
Dear John was basically A Walk to Remember, but with the guy going to war instead of the girl dying.
Valentines Day was basically Love, Actually, but at Valentines Day instead of Christmas.
Remember Me was basically every romantic comedy, but with the most random attachment to September 11 tacked onto the end, using the twin tower fall to kill a character in the most asinine way, completely unrelated to the plot. Was it necessary? Not so much.
Other funny things I've seen: dog people. So many dog people! They form temporary bonds at the farmer's market, like old friends, to never meet again. Hipster bike culture at it's most advanced: ie Portland. USA advancing to the second round of World Cup. (Was that awesome? Yes. But still surprising to the point of hilarity.)
All in all, life is good. Life progresses. Bad movies continue to be made and I continue to watch them.
Until next time...
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Hot Tubs, Babies, and Sailing to the Moon
I am on page nine of a 12-15 page paper, the very last thing I have to do for grad school EVER. It's due tomorrow and I can't make myself look at it, even if it is about some dude from the 16th century flying to the moon via gansas. OH yes, Spanish geese. (Second best mode of transportation besides seg-ways in the shape of a dragon-swan.) The moral of this story is that I am free to do things like buy myself a bottle of Andre, drive home, and blog in the dark surrounded by old papers, books, and a large old bottle of Simply Orange, which has at least 1/2 cup of orange juice left in it. I am well aware that these things stand in for later versions of cats, cobbler recipes, Ensure, and coupons. All of which I'm cool with now. I'm just...not surrounded by them.
I am feeling dfhoeddfesdareh right now. These random letters indicate my current state of melancholy/relief/reflection. This probably has something to do with the aforementioned Hot Tub Time Machine, which I'm almost certain could be distilled down into the following: The only way to undo being a loser is to find a hot tub time machine, time travel, predict the future, sing the black eyed peas, and become rich.
My current state is probably MORE linked to this being the end of the grad school road. Grad school, at least for me, and I feel for most of the people I know, was a glorious train wreck. Maybe it's obvious to say that where you start is generally not where you end up, but I feel like our program dramatic arcs probably out-dramaed Mad Men, and maybe even Friday Night Lights. Not Weeds though. And definitely not Beast Wars. Mostly I'm just sad that so many people (like of course, my fellow blogger AmberN) are leaving. It's the end of an era, if an era is defined by three years. Insert me warbling about everyone I know going away in the end. (Or dancing on a pole while singing Ace of Base, or doing the rap parts of TLC's "Waterfalls.")
SUMMER PLANS ONCE PEOPLE ABANDON ME FOR GREENER PASTURES
My first order of business is to make my sister a youtube sensation. Video coming soon.
My second order of business is to find a Mongolian baby to steal. As AmberN predicted, seeing "Babies" only increased baby fever.
My third order of business is to learn how to use chopsticks. I embarrass people in sushi restaurants.
My fourth order of business involves me finding out, just several moments ago, that Power Rangers is being revived. I think you know where this is going. I want to be a ranger.
I think these are lofty enough goals for now.
I am feeling dfhoeddfesdareh right now. These random letters indicate my current state of melancholy/relief/reflection. This probably has something to do with the aforementioned Hot Tub Time Machine, which I'm almost certain could be distilled down into the following: The only way to undo being a loser is to find a hot tub time machine, time travel, predict the future, sing the black eyed peas, and become rich.
My current state is probably MORE linked to this being the end of the grad school road. Grad school, at least for me, and I feel for most of the people I know, was a glorious train wreck. Maybe it's obvious to say that where you start is generally not where you end up, but I feel like our program dramatic arcs probably out-dramaed Mad Men, and maybe even Friday Night Lights. Not Weeds though. And definitely not Beast Wars. Mostly I'm just sad that so many people (like of course, my fellow blogger AmberN) are leaving. It's the end of an era, if an era is defined by three years. Insert me warbling about everyone I know going away in the end. (Or dancing on a pole while singing Ace of Base, or doing the rap parts of TLC's "Waterfalls.")
SUMMER PLANS ONCE PEOPLE ABANDON ME FOR GREENER PASTURES
My first order of business is to make my sister a youtube sensation. Video coming soon.
My second order of business is to find a Mongolian baby to steal. As AmberN predicted, seeing "Babies" only increased baby fever.
My third order of business is to learn how to use chopsticks. I embarrass people in sushi restaurants.
My fourth order of business involves me finding out, just several moments ago, that Power Rangers is being revived. I think you know where this is going. I want to be a ranger.
I think these are lofty enough goals for now.
Hot Tub Time Machine
So yesterday, AmandaB and I went to our much loved and adored dollar theater for what promised to be an exciting romp through time-- three old dudes and a 20 yr old sit in a hot tub and are transported. Which has so much promise. I mean, I was expecting The Hangover meets Bill & Ted's Excellent adventure. Instead I got Old School meets 16 Again. Inferior in all respects. We were just bored. And that's a problem. I mean, we didn't even have enough material to make fun of it. It was no Hannah Montana, I'll tell you that.
So I don't really have a lot to say about it-- but i wanted to commemorate the advancement of tasks on ye old Bucket List.
Things that seem impossible at this point to complete: The Segue (segue dealer shut down, sadness), Laser Tag (because it's far away), and an all day Harry's excursion (which seems sinful-- but really... I have no weekends left in Boise that haven't already been claimed by some god or another-- meaning I only have one Sunday left in Boise and I have obligations that aren't juggleable).
That said-- maybe we can make it an evening at Harrys? Like... a Wednesday night? Sorry Dead Acorn. We are as sad as you are.
So I don't really have a lot to say about it-- but i wanted to commemorate the advancement of tasks on ye old Bucket List.
Things that seem impossible at this point to complete: The Segue (segue dealer shut down, sadness), Laser Tag (because it's far away), and an all day Harry's excursion (which seems sinful-- but really... I have no weekends left in Boise that haven't already been claimed by some god or another-- meaning I only have one Sunday left in Boise and I have obligations that aren't juggleable).
That said-- maybe we can make it an evening at Harrys? Like... a Wednesday night? Sorry Dead Acorn. We are as sad as you are.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Dragons and Babies
Many times over the course of my quarter-century, I have uttered the phrase "I want one." When I was little it was probably about cookies, or an easy bake oven (still bitter about that, btw), or fire. Yeah, fire. Now when I utter the phrase, it's usually still about cookies, but also might be in reference to: clothing featuring pokemon, fish sticks, an alcoholic beverage, or ron weasley.
So pretty much anything. I can distill the wanting of one into two major overarching categories: dragons and babies. (Fish sticks goes under dragons, in case you were wondering. And Ron Weasley does too, IN SPITE OF WHAT ANYONE MIGHT SAY about our age gap.) There are many things I want, but it's safe to safe to say that when I see most any baby or anything featuring a dragon--or just a straight-up dragon--I want it.
Recently, Amber and I ventured to see "How to Train Your Dragon." Did you know that Boise houses the Coliseum? Neither did we! We, clad in our 3d specs, wandered around the strangely deserted cluster of shops designed solely for the movie theater. I copped a feel on a golden man statue, and we pondered the strange decision of the golden family to fly their kite in a fountain of water. Then it was dragon i-max time. I have often told AmberN to not audibly weep in movies, but inevitably, I am the one who ends up weeping. And like a 12 year old girl, I wept. BUT THE DRAGON IS LIKE THE MOST ADORBS THING EVAH!!!!!!! It has the most expressive eyes, it spoons, and it is so freaking sassy. I can't even deal.
I was just typing "How to train your dragon" into google, and "how to get pregnant" came up as a suggestion. I don't ever feel obligated to use segues or transitions (considering how some people assume that I'm generally drunk when I blog), but I can't really ask for much better of a transition than that. My next want: babies. My inexplicable desire to fawn over every baby ever, in light of the fact that my general trainwreck of a life (one time I put chewed gum on my bedroom wall and left it there until someone pointed it out) is in no way compatible with the rearing of any sort of baby. I'm not sure there are sorts of babies. ANYWAY, Big Ben(nett), my biological clock, has been well documented. It's all sad and puzzling. But imagine my excitement when I found out that there was a new documentary coming out called..... Babies. This guy follows the (cute little) steps of four babies from all over the world. I realize this is just a cheap fix for my problem, but I will so take it.
So pretty much anything. I can distill the wanting of one into two major overarching categories: dragons and babies. (Fish sticks goes under dragons, in case you were wondering. And Ron Weasley does too, IN SPITE OF WHAT ANYONE MIGHT SAY about our age gap.) There are many things I want, but it's safe to safe to say that when I see most any baby or anything featuring a dragon--or just a straight-up dragon--I want it.
Recently, Amber and I ventured to see "How to Train Your Dragon." Did you know that Boise houses the Coliseum? Neither did we! We, clad in our 3d specs, wandered around the strangely deserted cluster of shops designed solely for the movie theater. I copped a feel on a golden man statue, and we pondered the strange decision of the golden family to fly their kite in a fountain of water. Then it was dragon i-max time. I have often told AmberN to not audibly weep in movies, but inevitably, I am the one who ends up weeping. And like a 12 year old girl, I wept. BUT THE DRAGON IS LIKE THE MOST ADORBS THING EVAH!!!!!!! It has the most expressive eyes, it spoons, and it is so freaking sassy. I can't even deal.
I was just typing "How to train your dragon" into google, and "how to get pregnant" came up as a suggestion. I don't ever feel obligated to use segues or transitions (considering how some people assume that I'm generally drunk when I blog), but I can't really ask for much better of a transition than that. My next want: babies. My inexplicable desire to fawn over every baby ever, in light of the fact that my general trainwreck of a life (one time I put chewed gum on my bedroom wall and left it there until someone pointed it out) is in no way compatible with the rearing of any sort of baby. I'm not sure there are sorts of babies. ANYWAY, Big Ben(nett), my biological clock, has been well documented. It's all sad and puzzling. But imagine my excitement when I found out that there was a new documentary coming out called..... Babies. This guy follows the (cute little) steps of four babies from all over the world. I realize this is just a cheap fix for my problem, but I will so take it.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Bitch Slap and other non-euphemisms
So, AmandaB and I were super excited to venture into Bitch Slap, a sundance film with a hilarious title that claimed to be an homage to B films of the past. And I suppose in some ways it was. But in more ways it was like watching a trashier version of Tarentino's Death Proof. With worse acting.
In the opening scene...a half naked hot chic with unnaturally large breasts breathes heavily on screen, dirty in the sand, (are we sure we're not talking a porn here... well, not so far from the truth as it turns out)... her lips parted... AmandaB and I in unison: "Is she orgasming?!?"
As it turns out, no. Camera pans to destruction about her. Flaming cars and trailers in the desert. Weapons and bodies strewn about. I mean, what's a girl to do?
The movie then flip flops through time, steadily working it's way further into the past where we get to meet Kevin Sorbo! (codename Phoenix) in dark sunglasses touting big guns. It's been decided that Kevin Sorbo is the most dragoniest dragon yet... except his time in the movie was limited and that remains (among many) a major flaw of the film. As we flip flop back and forth, the dialogue and story lines in the past gets better and better and the storylines in the present get more and more absurd. For example, the random water fight that goes on for no less than 5 minutes! To what end? I say libido. (See: Porn comment above.) Also, the random romantic interlude in the trailer (obviously before it's blown up). In the past? The book Slutty Bitches in Post Feminist America. A cameo with Lucy Lawless (read: Xena Warrior Princess) as a nun. Kevin Sorbo. The freaky, freaky motorcycle death seen that you have to see to believe. Who knew castration could be so gruesome?
All in all I'd say it took a good 15-20 minutes to get a hold on what was going on, besides T&A. But there was a whole lot of T&A.
(Go on Dead Acorn, Rejoice! Put it on your netflix queue. You know you want to.)
And so you know:
What does any of this have to do with dragons? Well, even dragons have to cover their eyes sometimes.
However, the accompanying Truffle fries from Boise Fry Company were delightful. Though perhaps not worth the $8 asking price.
In the opening scene...a half naked hot chic with unnaturally large breasts breathes heavily on screen, dirty in the sand, (are we sure we're not talking a porn here... well, not so far from the truth as it turns out)... her lips parted... AmandaB and I in unison: "Is she orgasming?!?"
As it turns out, no. Camera pans to destruction about her. Flaming cars and trailers in the desert. Weapons and bodies strewn about. I mean, what's a girl to do?
The movie then flip flops through time, steadily working it's way further into the past where we get to meet Kevin Sorbo! (codename Phoenix) in dark sunglasses touting big guns. It's been decided that Kevin Sorbo is the most dragoniest dragon yet... except his time in the movie was limited and that remains (among many) a major flaw of the film. As we flip flop back and forth, the dialogue and story lines in the past gets better and better and the storylines in the present get more and more absurd. For example, the random water fight that goes on for no less than 5 minutes! To what end? I say libido. (See: Porn comment above.) Also, the random romantic interlude in the trailer (obviously before it's blown up). In the past? The book Slutty Bitches in Post Feminist America. A cameo with Lucy Lawless (read: Xena Warrior Princess) as a nun. Kevin Sorbo. The freaky, freaky motorcycle death seen that you have to see to believe. Who knew castration could be so gruesome?
All in all I'd say it took a good 15-20 minutes to get a hold on what was going on, besides T&A. But there was a whole lot of T&A.
(Go on Dead Acorn, Rejoice! Put it on your netflix queue. You know you want to.)
And so you know:
What does any of this have to do with dragons? Well, even dragons have to cover their eyes sometimes.
However, the accompanying Truffle fries from Boise Fry Company were delightful. Though perhaps not worth the $8 asking price.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
AWP, the nature documentary
Pan to a vertical forest, glass and rafters. Different pack animals congregate, traverse the hills, the escalators, elevators. I am a lone dragon here. To travel solitary means having the opportunity to observe others. I wander.In one level, tiny woodlands. Little pockets to hide. To meet others. To graze. On another, open views. You can see the sky. In another, dense forest. Creatures prowl, attack, bandy their products, shit on one another, in one another's territory, piss on their own territory, rub up against each other, mark trees and booths and other's bodies. "See this bear. I'm going home with this bear. It's my bear. Step off my bear." I try to tell them, though: "I didn't want to go home with your bear. I just liked your bear's poems and wanted to tell him." Girl bears spend a lot of time preening and a lot of time growling. Boy bears spend a lot of time rubbing their backs up against the girl bears, tongues lolling out, begging for relief.
"People won't mess with you. You look tough, scary," one gazelle tells me. "You're a dragon." I want to make friends and the animal kingdom shys away. When I dare approach them, they ruffle their feathers. "See. Look. I'm tough too. I'm scary. Look at my glorious mane. You don't scare me. I'll eat you alive." Or, "My feathers are so much prettier, more glorious than your measley scales, your spiney wings."
Some who know me don't remember me, or forget me, or pretend that I am scary or ugly even when they know better. Some, however, venture beyond. Some brave my sharp, sharp teeth. Some hold their hands out. I make temporary friends, little pockets of time, we graze together. I fly coops and drink at different ponds. I look for my own pack and cannot find one. Cannot hold on to the people I know as they travel with their own groups. Nobody seems to be able to hold on to a whole group for long but everyone seems happy prancing through the meadow, the sunlight shining on their backs, their faces gleaming in a wonderous daze, absorbing the bliss of this little eden in its fall.
"People won't mess with you. You look tough, scary," one gazelle tells me. "You're a dragon." I want to make friends and the animal kingdom shys away. When I dare approach them, they ruffle their feathers. "See. Look. I'm tough too. I'm scary. Look at my glorious mane. You don't scare me. I'll eat you alive." Or, "My feathers are so much prettier, more glorious than your measley scales, your spiney wings."
Some who know me don't remember me, or forget me, or pretend that I am scary or ugly even when they know better. Some, however, venture beyond. Some brave my sharp, sharp teeth. Some hold their hands out. I make temporary friends, little pockets of time, we graze together. I fly coops and drink at different ponds. I look for my own pack and cannot find one. Cannot hold on to the people I know as they travel with their own groups. Nobody seems to be able to hold on to a whole group for long but everyone seems happy prancing through the meadow, the sunlight shining on their backs, their faces gleaming in a wonderous daze, absorbing the bliss of this little eden in its fall.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Tim McGraw was Robbed, Bitches.
I am not sure why I called shotgun on the right/honor to write about The Blind Side, but I'm pretty certain that it has something to do with Tim McGraw. Before I begin, I should probably divulge my past relationship with Tim.
...So maybe I went to his concert one time. It wasn't my fault. My bff in high school was obsessed with him (I mean, she also went through a J-Lo phase, so this was no big deal), to the point where one Christmas I bought her a charcoal portrait of him from a mall kiosk.
You should probably also know that Tim McGraw has his own cologne. It's called McGraw.
He is also the singer of the song "Indian Outlaw." You should also probably listen to the song on YouTube. Here are three little verses:
You can find me in my wigwam
I'll be beatin' on my tom-tom
Pull out the pipe and smoke you some
Hey and pass it around
I can kill a deer or buffalo
With just my arrow and my hickory bow
>From a hundred yards don't you know
I do it all the time
They all gather 'round my teepee
Late at night tryin' to catch a peek at me
In nothin' but my buffalo briefs
I got 'em standin' in line
The other verses probably cover any other stereotypes you might think of.
ANYWAY, picture AmandaB, AmberN, and CMcGee settling into their dollar theater seats. Insert voice over of Sandra Bullock talking about football in a Southern accent. And then, there it is--Tim McGraw's name, on the screen. Tim McGraw is in The Blind Side! We all start laughing, and by all I mean the three of us and nobody else. From there on out, I knew I had nothing to fear.
I kept waiting for his appearance, with his mustachio and cowboy hat, and then I realized that I had been looking at him all along. He is Sandy's bitch (I mean husband) in the film. I CANT EVEN DEAL. I never thought I would be one for a cowboy hat, but he looks so much better with his cowboy hat on. On, Tim, ON! Every time Sandy and Tim had to act affectionate, I'm pretty sure I covered my eyes. It made me so uncomfortable. I can't even explain it. It was just weird.
The Blind Side was nominated for best picture. So, I guess I thought it would be good....and it appeared, on exiting the theater, that our fellow movie-goers were satisfied. It drives me bonkers, however, when "feel good" movies reduce people, situations, etc., to something that requires an insane amount of suspension of disbelief. It's so calculatingly sentimental. I feel like this guy's story is such a good story, but all the edges have been lopped off. And don't even get me started on the precocious little child with the teeth.
...maybe I don't get it because I've been trying to watch all of the other best picture nominees. I have a huge crush on District 9. I CRIED! Suck on that, The Blind Side. And after last night, District B13--an Oscar nom in my heart. Let us all take a moment to appreciate the joys of synchronized wall climbing, K2, and bromances.
Maybe it's because I just finished Season One of Dexter, or because I'm starting season two of Mad Men. Or because I just watched season four of It's Always Sunny. (Best spring break ever.) Apparently I like to watch programming full of terrible/conflicted people. You know what? I think this one is probably on me. I have been too hard on the Blind Side, and Tim McGraw especially. And so, I officially would like to start campaigning for Tim for next year's Oscar race. I had to choose between something called "Dirty Girl" and this http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1555064/ and I think the latter wins. (Though I would be equally uncomfortable with him being the love interest of G-Pal or the chick from Gossip Girl.)
Thesis defense on Monday! Steve Holt!
...So maybe I went to his concert one time. It wasn't my fault. My bff in high school was obsessed with him (I mean, she also went through a J-Lo phase, so this was no big deal), to the point where one Christmas I bought her a charcoal portrait of him from a mall kiosk.
You should probably also know that Tim McGraw has his own cologne. It's called McGraw.
He is also the singer of the song "Indian Outlaw." You should also probably listen to the song on YouTube. Here are three little verses:
You can find me in my wigwam
I'll be beatin' on my tom-tom
Pull out the pipe and smoke you some
Hey and pass it around
I can kill a deer or buffalo
With just my arrow and my hickory bow
>From a hundred yards don't you know
I do it all the time
They all gather 'round my teepee
Late at night tryin' to catch a peek at me
In nothin' but my buffalo briefs
I got 'em standin' in line
The other verses probably cover any other stereotypes you might think of.
ANYWAY, picture AmandaB, AmberN, and CMcGee settling into their dollar theater seats. Insert voice over of Sandra Bullock talking about football in a Southern accent. And then, there it is--Tim McGraw's name, on the screen. Tim McGraw is in The Blind Side! We all start laughing, and by all I mean the three of us and nobody else. From there on out, I knew I had nothing to fear.
I kept waiting for his appearance, with his mustachio and cowboy hat, and then I realized that I had been looking at him all along. He is Sandy's bitch (I mean husband) in the film. I CANT EVEN DEAL. I never thought I would be one for a cowboy hat, but he looks so much better with his cowboy hat on. On, Tim, ON! Every time Sandy and Tim had to act affectionate, I'm pretty sure I covered my eyes. It made me so uncomfortable. I can't even explain it. It was just weird.
The Blind Side was nominated for best picture. So, I guess I thought it would be good....and it appeared, on exiting the theater, that our fellow movie-goers were satisfied. It drives me bonkers, however, when "feel good" movies reduce people, situations, etc., to something that requires an insane amount of suspension of disbelief. It's so calculatingly sentimental. I feel like this guy's story is such a good story, but all the edges have been lopped off. And don't even get me started on the precocious little child with the teeth.
...maybe I don't get it because I've been trying to watch all of the other best picture nominees. I have a huge crush on District 9. I CRIED! Suck on that, The Blind Side. And after last night, District B13--an Oscar nom in my heart. Let us all take a moment to appreciate the joys of synchronized wall climbing, K2, and bromances.
Maybe it's because I just finished Season One of Dexter, or because I'm starting season two of Mad Men. Or because I just watched season four of It's Always Sunny. (Best spring break ever.) Apparently I like to watch programming full of terrible/conflicted people. You know what? I think this one is probably on me. I have been too hard on the Blind Side, and Tim McGraw especially. And so, I officially would like to start campaigning for Tim for next year's Oscar race. I had to choose between something called "Dirty Girl" and this http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1555064/ and I think the latter wins. (Though I would be equally uncomfortable with him being the love interest of G-Pal or the chick from Gossip Girl.)
Thesis defense on Monday! Steve Holt!
Thursday, April 1, 2010
The Bucket List
As the countdown begins to my permanent departure from Boise, two Dragons prepare to live out an epic flight of dragon fun! We do plan to document with pictures (that may or may not make it to the blog.)
This list was written on a napkin at the Boise Fry Company where I popped my BFC cherry with the purple curly fries. I will now carry the Bucket List in my wallet. We will add to this list as we come up with them.
ACTIVITIES
Karaoke + Fireball Whiskey Shots + Spice Girls "Two Become One": AmandaB will also dance on a pole.
Go to JC Penny & Youth Ranch to try silly outfits
Bowling
Laser Tag
RIDE SEGUES!!! (which may be cut for financial concerns, which makes me sad)
TRIPLE BLOW UP, on camera. (If you've had the experience of seeing me, AmandaB, or C Mcgee blow it up, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.)
Long day with our pals at Harry's, like how we used to do, with the many PBR's.
Epic Drinking Night Part II (with C Mcgee! and Drunk Jenga!)
Shotgun a PBR (the last two may go together)
MOVIES
Bitch Slap
Hot Tub Time Machine
How to Train Your Dragon
Dragon Wars (the 3rd appearance)
FOOD
Boise Fry Company: Truffle fries & Bison Burger
Donnie Macs: Dollar PBR's and Spaghettios in a can!
Nancy's Cookie
Bosnian Express Gyros
Hawaiian Shaved Ice (which will hopefully return by the time I leave)
A night of coconut popsicles & a bottle of Barefoot's Pinot Grigio
You got it right. Our lives are better than other people's.
This list was written on a napkin at the Boise Fry Company where I popped my BFC cherry with the purple curly fries. I will now carry the Bucket List in my wallet. We will add to this list as we come up with them.
ACTIVITIES
Karaoke + Fireball Whiskey Shots + Spice Girls "Two Become One": AmandaB will also dance on a pole.
Go to JC Penny & Youth Ranch to try silly outfits
Bowling
Laser Tag
RIDE SEGUES!!! (which may be cut for financial concerns, which makes me sad)
TRIPLE BLOW UP, on camera. (If you've had the experience of seeing me, AmandaB, or C Mcgee blow it up, you know what I'm talkin' 'bout.)
Long day with our pals at Harry's, like how we used to do, with the many PBR's.
Epic Drinking Night Part II (with C Mcgee! and Drunk Jenga!)
Shotgun a PBR (the last two may go together)
MOVIES
Hot Tub Time Machine
Dragon Wars (the 3rd appearance)
FOOD
Nancy's Cookie
Hawaiian Shaved Ice (which will hopefully return by the time I leave)
A night of coconut popsicles & a bottle of Barefoot's Pinot Grigio
You got it right. Our lives are better than other people's.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Vampire Diaries, take XXXXXX
Ok! I admit it! I love bad tv. Maybe this wasn't such a surprise to you, dearest readers.
What may surprise you is that, despite my love of bad tv, I do have standards. I do have limits. I may have loved Moonlight for it's bad, bad, bad, awfully bad dialogue (It's like killing two bats with one stone.), but Vampire Diaries, my friends, is a whole different story.
It's not something I would have picked up on my own. It's true, I have a certain affection for Buffy and Tru Blood-- because they are both really good, and both deal with the real world through this overarching metaphor. And because they are funny and smart. And I've seen Twilight, granted I saw it the first time before I even knew what Twilight mania was, and became more interested in it after I learned of Twilight mania (because that's just effing hilarious-- tweens and middle aged women... gross). But I'm not a "vampire" person. I'm clearly a "dragon" person. And yet, because I love Buffy, now people assume I will enjoy all things with vampires in them?
Or maybe I really am both a "dragon" and "vampire" person.
Either way, Vampire Diaries was recommended to me. I had no idea what I was getting into. I watched 3 episodes and marveled at the stupidity and tenacity of the worst acting, dialogue, sound, cinematography, lore, of any vampire thing I've seen to date (including Twilight). It's the Days of Our Lives for nighttime teen drama. It really makes me wonder... with all of this technology, how cheaply we can make a movie or tv show, how much faster, that production quality can actually have gone DOWN. I mean, wasn't all this fancy shit supposed to make stuff better? Not worse. And, like, sure these kids are attractive. But whatever. Almost everyone in Hollywood is. But GOD, give me someone who can at least act a little bit.
ANYWAY, that's my rant.
So...
And what about this? Plane kills Jogger? WTF?
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Acadamy Awards, Thesis Prep, & A Serious Confession
Tomorrow I defend my thesis. I sit in a room with professors and peers and I'm asked what I did, why I did it, and expected to quote philosophers and theoreticians in order to prove that I know what I'm doing.
I've spent many hours over the last year, and even more tonight, pouring through philosophy and lit crit and autobiography theory looking for magical quotations that will define my intentions succinctly and attached to a name more promising than my own (See: Derrida. See: Barthes. See: Everyone but me.)
The result of all of this extra reading? Braindeadedness. I have little mental energy left at the end of each day and so end up watching bad shows, like LOST, or, as now, watching the Acadamy Awards while reading through my thesis and making notes about appropriation and talking to Dead People. (What? You didn't know I do that?)
I've seen some of the movies nominated, and not others.
Which brings me to my confession. The first time I heard Sandra Bullock was going to be in a football movie I just said "WTF?" And then never paid it any mind. Never saw the trailer. Didn't know anything about it except Sandra Bullock + Football.
Recently, however, I have seen the trailer. Several times over the course of the Acadamy Awards.
I confess, I want to see this movie. Every time I see the trailer my whole chest wells up and I get a little teary.
This could be more a result of thesis stress rather than the trailer, but I think the trailer also has something to do with it.
I also want to see Precious. That's not a confession. That seems reasonable.
I'm still not sold on Avatar.
And I'm disappointed in Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin. Even though they wore a couple's snuggie! That was pretty great.
Tomorrow at 4pm I'm going to put on my oven mitts and talk about my poems from the perspective of a dragon. I'm a mythical creature. My poems are mythical creatures. Thesis Defense=Dragon Wars.
Food for thought: Dragons eating PB&J. Does the peanut buttered wonderbread stick to the roof of their mouth? If it's chunky, can they roast the peanuts by breathing fire?
Things just went icky. Sorry.
Dragons!
I've spent many hours over the last year, and even more tonight, pouring through philosophy and lit crit and autobiography theory looking for magical quotations that will define my intentions succinctly and attached to a name more promising than my own (See: Derrida. See: Barthes. See: Everyone but me.)
The result of all of this extra reading? Braindeadedness. I have little mental energy left at the end of each day and so end up watching bad shows, like LOST, or, as now, watching the Acadamy Awards while reading through my thesis and making notes about appropriation and talking to Dead People. (What? You didn't know I do that?)
I've seen some of the movies nominated, and not others.
Which brings me to my confession. The first time I heard Sandra Bullock was going to be in a football movie I just said "WTF?" And then never paid it any mind. Never saw the trailer. Didn't know anything about it except Sandra Bullock + Football.
Recently, however, I have seen the trailer. Several times over the course of the Acadamy Awards.
I confess, I want to see this movie. Every time I see the trailer my whole chest wells up and I get a little teary.
This could be more a result of thesis stress rather than the trailer, but I think the trailer also has something to do with it.
I also want to see Precious. That's not a confession. That seems reasonable.
I'm still not sold on Avatar.
And I'm disappointed in Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin. Even though they wore a couple's snuggie! That was pretty great.
Tomorrow at 4pm I'm going to put on my oven mitts and talk about my poems from the perspective of a dragon. I'm a mythical creature. My poems are mythical creatures. Thesis Defense=Dragon Wars.
Food for thought: Dragons eating PB&J. Does the peanut buttered wonderbread stick to the roof of their mouth? If it's chunky, can they roast the peanuts by breathing fire?
Things just went icky. Sorry.
Dragons!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Spenser and New Moon: The Thesis that I Should Have Written
AmberN was nice enough to journey with me to see NEW MOON, even though she had already seen the many fruits the tree of NM bore. That sentence doesn't make sense, but onward I will go. Throughout the course of the day, I told people that I was seeing the movie--nay, film--for "research" purposes, but I don't think they believed me.
Little did anyone know that meanwhile the Fairy Queen (I mean, they spell it all old school english-y, but no worries) is running alongside my mind the whole time.
Here's what you need to know about New Moon, most of which you can learn from the first two minutes.
1.) It's insanely literal. It's called New Moon. The first thing you see? Hint: not an old sun. Everything is explained. Everything is explicit. Except for why all of these foxy (wolfy? ...and 17. so so wrong) men are into the reticent Bella. Want some subtle foreshadowing that lovestruck Jacob is about to turn into a hot werewolf with shorn hair? See the wolf picture tacked to the wall. See the dialogue referring to them as "puppies." See the brooding looks everyone is throwing at everyone else at ALL times! Do you want to show Bella being emo and the passage of time? Have her sit in the chair in front of a window. Have the camera pan around her in circles. Then, have someone rake leaves outside. And water grass. And shovel snow. I don't even know if these are what happens, but I'm assuming so since it's the most obvious image I can milk from each season.
2.) It's all...so....heavy. So.much.passion. They.can't.be.together. There is this hilarious voiceover at the beginning that I'm assuming is an excerpt from the text which I'm assuming is excerpted from Romeo and Juliet (cause if it was Stephanie Meyer there'd be more adverbs...PWN'd). I just found it. "These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss,consume." I mean, cool, if you have a codpiece. But if your voice is monotone and you're saying words like delights, it's at once the worst and best thing EVER! OH YEAH! I talk in absolutes!
Now. Let me talk FQ. The Fairy Queen is an insanely long poem written by Spenser (E-Spens, his Jersey shore nickname) during the Elizabethian era. There are six books (though E-spens wanted to do twelve), each centering around a particular knight that represents some some sort of desirable quality or virtue. So, for example, book two is Temperance. Now, you might think that temperance wouldn't be thrilling, but there is some crazy motherfucking shit that happens in these books, which is pretty much verbatim from assorted critics. But here's the thing: the knights aren't strictly allegorical--sorta a departure for this point in time. So instead of having the character Temperance, you have a temperate man. That means he has wiggle room to screw up. Lovez it. My point, however, which I assure you I have, is that Spenser constantly pulls the rug out from under you. He's like an electron according to the uncertainty principle. You never know what he means, only what he might mean. I'm supposed to be working on my thesis, but all I can think about is how Spenser is absolutely bananas. And he pretty much invented his own rhyme scheme. WHO DOES THAT?
Here is what I'm thinking. WHAT IF you did a mash up of the two? What if some of E-Spens's ambiguity was to be passed along to Twilight? And we'll throw the rhyme scheme in as well. I want the vampire to talk in rhyme. And what if you infused the FQ with a tad less ambiguity a la Twilight along with of course, a werewolf, cliff jumping, and sparkles?!
You are welcome for saving the future of literature.
Little did anyone know that meanwhile the Fairy Queen (I mean, they spell it all old school english-y, but no worries) is running alongside my mind the whole time.
Here's what you need to know about New Moon, most of which you can learn from the first two minutes.
1.) It's insanely literal. It's called New Moon. The first thing you see? Hint: not an old sun. Everything is explained. Everything is explicit. Except for why all of these foxy (wolfy? ...and 17. so so wrong) men are into the reticent Bella. Want some subtle foreshadowing that lovestruck Jacob is about to turn into a hot werewolf with shorn hair? See the wolf picture tacked to the wall. See the dialogue referring to them as "puppies." See the brooding looks everyone is throwing at everyone else at ALL times! Do you want to show Bella being emo and the passage of time? Have her sit in the chair in front of a window. Have the camera pan around her in circles. Then, have someone rake leaves outside. And water grass. And shovel snow. I don't even know if these are what happens, but I'm assuming so since it's the most obvious image I can milk from each season.
2.) It's all...so....heavy. So.much.passion. They.can't.be.together. There is this hilarious voiceover at the beginning that I'm assuming is an excerpt from the text which I'm assuming is excerpted from Romeo and Juliet (cause if it was Stephanie Meyer there'd be more adverbs...PWN'd). I just found it. "These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss,consume." I mean, cool, if you have a codpiece. But if your voice is monotone and you're saying words like delights, it's at once the worst and best thing EVER! OH YEAH! I talk in absolutes!
Now. Let me talk FQ. The Fairy Queen is an insanely long poem written by Spenser (E-Spens, his Jersey shore nickname) during the Elizabethian era. There are six books (though E-spens wanted to do twelve), each centering around a particular knight that represents some some sort of desirable quality or virtue. So, for example, book two is Temperance. Now, you might think that temperance wouldn't be thrilling, but there is some crazy motherfucking shit that happens in these books, which is pretty much verbatim from assorted critics. But here's the thing: the knights aren't strictly allegorical--sorta a departure for this point in time. So instead of having the character Temperance, you have a temperate man. That means he has wiggle room to screw up. Lovez it. My point, however, which I assure you I have, is that Spenser constantly pulls the rug out from under you. He's like an electron according to the uncertainty principle. You never know what he means, only what he might mean. I'm supposed to be working on my thesis, but all I can think about is how Spenser is absolutely bananas. And he pretty much invented his own rhyme scheme. WHO DOES THAT?
Here is what I'm thinking. WHAT IF you did a mash up of the two? What if some of E-Spens's ambiguity was to be passed along to Twilight? And we'll throw the rhyme scheme in as well. I want the vampire to talk in rhyme. And what if you infused the FQ with a tad less ambiguity a la Twilight along with of course, a werewolf, cliff jumping, and sparkles?!
You are welcome for saving the future of literature.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
What It Is...
I've been thinking, lately, about the past. The past, past. The past that was of the long time ago. Probably because I decided to watch THE LAST DRAGON on netflix Watch Instantly-- & promptly drifted away on dragon wings to a time before... when I wore pink stretch pants with stirrups on the bottom & saddle shoes & thought I would grow up to be a dentist/singer (or as my parents liked to call it: a singing dentist!) & my hair was still down the middle of my back & I wanted nothing more from fashion that spiky heels & red lipstick (neither of which do I really wear... at least, almost never).
Anyway, what all of this has resulted in is the strong desire for me to use the phrase "What it is..." I never did know what it meant-- some kind of greeting? Like "what's up"? Or, is it just something you say... like filler?
Either way, it doesn't bring me any closer to red lipstick & spike heels. But maybe someday I'll be a real dragon.
Like Rhiana, who is apparently slated to be in The Last Dragon remake. Wtf?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Something for a Rainy Day
I also wish to share this alongside my blogpost, along with some words of wisdom: So maybe you watch the beginning and then skip to the grand finale (and it IS grand). But I would treat this like a mixtape instead of a cd. You don't want to skip...it's all about the narrative.
ONE MORE SONG
I was at Starbucks this morning--hey, it’s right by my office and I have a gift card--and the barista asked me whether I wanted Pike’s Place blend or Kimodo Dragon blend. (I think it was Kimodo? I so want it to be).
“DRAGON! OF COURSE DRAGON!” I yelled. “DRAGON!”
I was by myself. These baristas have no idea how I feel about dragons, though one could assume that they appreciate the general majesty of them. My point: I do this sort of thing all the time. For example, AmberN and I have, somehow, become preoccupied with the concept of the “date vest.” The concept of the date vest deserves its own post, to be sure, but I find myself asking people if they’ve been wearing their date vests as if they have the context for it.
My point: Isn’t this all the textbook definition of a bag lady? They make sense in their minds, but not to the general public, and then they get really upset and hit you with their pocket book/throw a cat at you if you don’t understand them. Hello, future.
My pity point: I’m at the point in the semester where I prop myself up on coffee/energy drinks.
My main point: Dragon starbucks coffee reminded me of dragons, which reminded me of this here blog.
Regarding the latter….Over the past month, I’ve said, “I’ve got a blog post brewing inside me” approximately 412 times. This has resulted in approximately zero blog posts, which leads me to believe that the phrase “brewing inside me” is probably linked to my annoyingly rampant biological clock (because, you know, babies brew inside you?) that I have dubbed “Big Ben(nett).”
It was my dragon birthday last Thursday, and the festivities spilled into the weekend. Because I’m secretly on a quest for a baby in my bjorn and a minivan, I have sort of stopped going out as I once did. I'm also writing a thesis, but perhaps more importantly, I am going through a phase where I really want restaurant hot chocolate--the kind from the packet, with some reddi whip--instead of PBR. I've never not wanted PBR before.
However. One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to make my life more like the Jersey Shore. Mission Accomplished. I don’t really remember accomplishing this mission, but witnesses claim I stormed a dancing platform, claimed it for the MFA program, and may or may not have knocked an orange girl with a corset, hair bump, and a penchant for air humping off of said platform. There was also a pole involved, but I think what happens in places-that-I-vowed-I-would-never-go-for-fear-of-date-rape-but-went-to-anyway should stay in those very places. There is nothing like stumbling home while receiving text messages that contain way too many acronyms (Fyi, lol) from someone you have saved in your phone as "dude from bar," and knowing that you have to wake up at 4:30am to put stickers on things at Target.
Hot chocolate is better than fist pumps and hair bumps: my new maxim.
“DRAGON! OF COURSE DRAGON!” I yelled. “DRAGON!”
I was by myself. These baristas have no idea how I feel about dragons, though one could assume that they appreciate the general majesty of them. My point: I do this sort of thing all the time. For example, AmberN and I have, somehow, become preoccupied with the concept of the “date vest.” The concept of the date vest deserves its own post, to be sure, but I find myself asking people if they’ve been wearing their date vests as if they have the context for it.
My point: Isn’t this all the textbook definition of a bag lady? They make sense in their minds, but not to the general public, and then they get really upset and hit you with their pocket book/throw a cat at you if you don’t understand them. Hello, future.
My pity point: I’m at the point in the semester where I prop myself up on coffee/energy drinks.
My main point: Dragon starbucks coffee reminded me of dragons, which reminded me of this here blog.
Regarding the latter….Over the past month, I’ve said, “I’ve got a blog post brewing inside me” approximately 412 times. This has resulted in approximately zero blog posts, which leads me to believe that the phrase “brewing inside me” is probably linked to my annoyingly rampant biological clock (because, you know, babies brew inside you?) that I have dubbed “Big Ben(nett).”
It was my dragon birthday last Thursday, and the festivities spilled into the weekend. Because I’m secretly on a quest for a baby in my bjorn and a minivan, I have sort of stopped going out as I once did. I'm also writing a thesis, but perhaps more importantly, I am going through a phase where I really want restaurant hot chocolate--the kind from the packet, with some reddi whip--instead of PBR. I've never not wanted PBR before.
However. One of my New Year’s Resolutions was to make my life more like the Jersey Shore. Mission Accomplished. I don’t really remember accomplishing this mission, but witnesses claim I stormed a dancing platform, claimed it for the MFA program, and may or may not have knocked an orange girl with a corset, hair bump, and a penchant for air humping off of said platform. There was also a pole involved, but I think what happens in places-that-I-vowed-I-would-never-go-for-fear-of-date-rape-but-went-to-anyway should stay in those very places. There is nothing like stumbling home while receiving text messages that contain way too many acronyms (Fyi, lol) from someone you have saved in your phone as "dude from bar," and knowing that you have to wake up at 4:30am to put stickers on things at Target.
Hot chocolate is better than fist pumps and hair bumps: my new maxim.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
...delivered by a friend...
...as it turns out, not a Pop It, rather, a Booty Pop... but/t observe...
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
I Know I Owe...
You'd think with 3 weeks off school I'd manage to write at least one blog post... but truth be told? I spent the last 3 weeks spending as little time on the internet as I possibly could. I spent time with, like, you know... real people. In person. Like, really in person. It was kind of refreshing to talk to people without intermediary devices such as computers, phones, time...
Of course, spending time with real, live people led to new and glorious discoveries, like the Pop-It (at least this is what I was told it was called-- unfortunately, common phrasing didn't allow me to find a glorious picture to include). The Pop-It, (like it's twin in Hair the "Bump-It", responsible for making countless women's heads look like baby aliens), is a beauty enhancing tool. But what the "Bump-It" does for hair, the "Pop-It" does for booty. The goal? Giving countless white girls the opportunity to fill out them apple bottom jeans:
I also had the opportunity to watch movies with my Mom-- always a pleasure. Without her, I'd miss out on gems like IT'S COMPLICATED or SHERLOCK HOLMES or NEW MOON. Even my closest of bad movie companions might scoff at the idea of seeing any one of these oh-so-enjoyable flicks, especially at full theater pricing. But no no no, not my Mom.
Which brings me to my point. Many people are aware of the current "vampire mania." If you walk to your nearest Borders or Barnes & Noble you are likely to discover an entire aisle devoted to "young adult" vampire novels with lusty vampire covers-- sort of gothic remakes of old Fabio romance novel covers. Having maintained a life in Joss Whedon crazed Buffydom, I can understand the vampire appeal and have continued to follow this popular trend, usually less impressed than with Buffy, obviously. But then there's something like TRUE BLOOD-- which is soooo good. It's dark & twisted & often funny or surprising and kind of kitschy, though probably unintentionally. And as I was home, watching Season 1 of TRUE BLOOD, having just seen NEW MOON in the theater, something dawned on me. TRUE BLOOD is essentially TWILIGHT... it's just that TRUE BLOOD is actually good. But when you get down to the brass tacks of it all, they both have this sort of neurotic female heroine. There is the mind reading connection with the exception (with TWILIGHT, the vampire reads minds and can read all minds except the mortal lover, with TRUE BLOOD, the girl can read all minds except her immortal beloved). They also both have the other guy, the shapeshifting wolf/dog man, who is also in love with our female heroine-- though she is unable to return said feelings because of her insipid obsession with brooding, moody male vampire guy. Vampire feeding frenzy commence. At least Joss poked fun at Angel.
Anyway... now I'm back in Boise, back to life, back to reality, and back to really thinking about dragons. I have also returned with what I think will be a beautiful entree into the wild and fascinating world of this blog. This is called Spirited Killer a trilogy of kung fu films-- one which includes zombies!-- from Thailand starring Tony Jaa of Ong Bak. This dvd is surely badly dubbed, which will magically result in brilliantly bad dialogue with which to litter this blog. Plus, Tony Jaa really is a dragon. I mean, people were saying he was going to be the next Bruce Lee, who was the original dragon. How can this trilogy fail me?
Until next time...
Of course, spending time with real, live people led to new and glorious discoveries, like the Pop-It (at least this is what I was told it was called-- unfortunately, common phrasing didn't allow me to find a glorious picture to include). The Pop-It, (like it's twin in Hair the "Bump-It", responsible for making countless women's heads look like baby aliens), is a beauty enhancing tool. But what the "Bump-It" does for hair, the "Pop-It" does for booty. The goal? Giving countless white girls the opportunity to fill out them apple bottom jeans:
I also had the opportunity to watch movies with my Mom-- always a pleasure. Without her, I'd miss out on gems like IT'S COMPLICATED or SHERLOCK HOLMES or NEW MOON. Even my closest of bad movie companions might scoff at the idea of seeing any one of these oh-so-enjoyable flicks, especially at full theater pricing. But no no no, not my Mom.
Which brings me to my point. Many people are aware of the current "vampire mania." If you walk to your nearest Borders or Barnes & Noble you are likely to discover an entire aisle devoted to "young adult" vampire novels with lusty vampire covers-- sort of gothic remakes of old Fabio romance novel covers. Having maintained a life in Joss Whedon crazed Buffydom, I can understand the vampire appeal and have continued to follow this popular trend, usually less impressed than with Buffy, obviously. But then there's something like TRUE BLOOD-- which is soooo good. It's dark & twisted & often funny or surprising and kind of kitschy, though probably unintentionally. And as I was home, watching Season 1 of TRUE BLOOD, having just seen NEW MOON in the theater, something dawned on me. TRUE BLOOD is essentially TWILIGHT... it's just that TRUE BLOOD is actually good. But when you get down to the brass tacks of it all, they both have this sort of neurotic female heroine. There is the mind reading connection with the exception (with TWILIGHT, the vampire reads minds and can read all minds except the mortal lover, with TRUE BLOOD, the girl can read all minds except her immortal beloved). They also both have the other guy, the shapeshifting wolf/dog man, who is also in love with our female heroine-- though she is unable to return said feelings because of her insipid obsession with brooding, moody male vampire guy. Vampire feeding frenzy commence. At least Joss poked fun at Angel.
Anyway... now I'm back in Boise, back to life, back to reality, and back to really thinking about dragons. I have also returned with what I think will be a beautiful entree into the wild and fascinating world of this blog. This is called Spirited Killer a trilogy of kung fu films-- one which includes zombies!-- from Thailand starring Tony Jaa of Ong Bak. This dvd is surely badly dubbed, which will magically result in brilliantly bad dialogue with which to litter this blog. Plus, Tony Jaa really is a dragon. I mean, people were saying he was going to be the next Bruce Lee, who was the original dragon. How can this trilogy fail me?
Until next time...
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