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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notable dialogue:

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

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

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



Dragon News:

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

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


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

Much love!

you have to straddle the ball, mandy!

Post title courtesy of my mother.

While playing mini golf. That seems important.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Idaho tomorrow. Dragon high five!

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

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

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

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

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

Some Dragon Haiku

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

imagine dragons
in cars, parallel parking
tearing the leather.

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

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

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

O to Be a Dragon

by Marianne Moore

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

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

Don't Squish My Squash

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

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

Portland: dragons with goatees and slightly askew hipster hats.

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

Enough of that. Here are some dragon puns:

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

I once dated a slutty dragon and I got BURNED!

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

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

You Never Sausage a Place!

Say it out loud!

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

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

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

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

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

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

What new adventure can I come up with next?