...delivered by a friend...

...as it turns out, not a Pop It, rather, a Booty Pop... but/t observe...

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...

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?!