Friday, October 31, 2008

Twee Faces of Hope

If you want to have a complete hysterical breakdown, why don't you go here?

Everything that has happened up to this point has basically put just about everyone on a thin edge; we're all a little raw by now, so I suppose it's kind of a sweet relief to see something this simple. Does it pander? Yeah, but it isn't something either of the candidates can escape. You gotta kiss those slobbery babies. For some reason, though, I trust this guy. He seems like he might actually see the baby. Like, hey, you are a person and I don't want to do things that destroy your wee future.

Maybe I'm just being a pushover. Sue me.

There are lots of little doofs in there, all drooling and clueless to the posterity of the event: "I am being held by the Future President." It's the kids that get to me. You can go the cynical route and believe that it is all just starstruck simplicity, but look at the complicated little face below. How many emotions and thoughts can you read? Anxiety, adoration, struck, sure...but there's more, too, don't you think? See what you want, I guess, but it is a look that deserves some consideration. It's loaded with meaning, whatever nuances you may fine, and dare I say hope? You betcha, real America.

Which, I must say, is ALL of America. Not that it needs to be said. Some political missteps are simply described: Persistent Idiocy. Shame on you, McCain campaign.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

Streaming Tears

Of Joy.

Thanks, Will, for enabling me to permanently honor that crazyass video. When the zombies come, I will totally step in and take chomp for you.

Look to the right, my mutton chops.

Friday, October 24, 2008

Is It Just Me, Or...

Are these two related?

Or at least meant for each other?

Top Design's resident "Sad-Chick-Trying-to-Be-Cool-Except-in-1994"

The Ultimate Douche (also sad, I sense an LC!) claiming to be some sort of Pick Up Artist. Egh.


I *wish* I could dance this good.

Precious Gifts from God

After what can only be described as a harrowing week (long, stressful, depressing) it was a relief to leave work at 5:30 today. Most of the train ride was fine, but somewhere around 36th street, someone’s hideous spawn boarded the train.

Look. Children are wonderful. God, they are just so freaking amazing and adorable. We should all just fall to our knees and thank Christ in heaven for the sweet joy of being in proximity of them. I should be so lucky to breed with a male of my species one day to produce a miraculous little jewel of my own.

But can we admit that maybe, perhaps, and oh-so-possibly there might be some pure-bred little shits out there? Can we? Okay, good.

The oldest one was somewhere in the 10-11 range, quite the little chunk. The little one (mini-chunk) was probably 8. They were unaccompanied, of course, and by their beastly behavior it was pretty clear that they’d most likely been unattended their whole lives. They shrieked, cavorted, held the doors open, flung themselves against them, and tried prying the doors open while the train was trucking along at full speed.

I realize I am not the most patient person when it comes to kids, but perhaps the objections of my fellow passengers will give me some legitimacy here. Several different people told them to “Stop that” and “Cut that out” and “Let go of the doors” and “Whachoo wanna die, brat?” but each protestation was only met by the flat, lizard eyes of an already ruined kid. At one point, the older one even seemed to challenge an adult twice his size (“Can I help you?” he says.) which just about floored me.

It makes one wonder what blank, slack-faced mother type awaits them at home…or doesn’t, who knows? I could only imagine the first of many times the cops come to visit, her greasy tears, listless sniveling, practiced and blandly pleading to go easy on her, she’s just a single mom, raising them herself, please don’t take away her “boys.” I’m projecting, of course, and overflowing with coarse cruelty and a complete lack of sympathy. I would ask, though, that after acknowledging the hardships of life, might we also take some responsibility?

Git off my lawn you damn kids! I’ve become Old Man Poopface, I guess. But of course I tried—I DID—to understand their evil little minds. I recalled all the stories the ex told me of his misspent youth—and while I have vast reservations about him in all the ways that count (to me, at least), I can say that underneath it all he is capable of great kindness, thoughtfulness, and love. So, perhaps the boogers will grow up to be flawed but generally redeemable men. Can’t say. In the meantime, I cling to my cloudy memories of yore, when I, too, was a loud-mouthed, hyperactive, supersensitive, screechy preteen. It was a miracle I got out of it alive.

Which of course led me here, eventually, because I used to have the second verse down like a clown, Charlie Brown. By the way, has Will Smith aged at ALL?

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Yaaaaaayyeee, Darkness!

If you haven't seen it yet, Yasmin, this one is tailor made for you, too.

Bokkity Bok Bok

I won't lie, I've watched this 147 times.

Monday, October 20, 2008

Bow to My Awesomeness, Human

This is what I am going as for Halloween. I plan to trick or treat in my apartment building with a big Coach purse, a flashlight, and a shark-on-a-stick for motivational purposes. I will do it all in heels.

I found this wondrous thing while surfing Yahoo. Do they still make these garbage bag costumes? Ya know, I consider myself lucky -- Mom always made time to do it up right. The gypsy costume was the best executed, but the R2D2 made out of cardboard and duct tape was by far the most ambitious. Go Mom!

PS. Thanks to the Adairest of Devils for inviting me out for a drink or four on Friday. I needed the cheering up, no doubt, and the chatty time was most appreciated.

Nom nom nom nom.

Friday, October 17, 2008

Having a Really Bad Day

A rubber chicken kind of day.

Therapy is really good, except when it is, then it blows. Hard. Like the wind through my brain canals. When the worst stuff comes to the surface and you have to turn it around and around, analyzing all the fissures and ugly black depths of your own inner workings, it's hard not to let the hideousness overwhelm. Whatever. Bad day.

No Daniel Powter (or Powder, or Powerpuff, or whatever he is called), either. Because I will seriously sock the universe in the eye.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Babelfish says it is "su gato no tiene ninguna bola"

But my informant tells me it is really "su gato no tiene huevos"

Trust your informant every time.

(Thx Trodas via flickr--mad props to the most shocked kitty evars.)

Friday, October 10, 2008

Dr. Tran

Thanks, McBucketpants.

Yeah, this is, like, PG-13...or more like PG-17. But worth all 7+ minutes.

Even More Scary

The night this first aired, I was living on the ranch in Texas with my mom and grandparents. I was alone with some other kid and I remember being absolutely terrified by the Hulk. Those eyes! RAAAAAAR!

Of course, I had to watch it again. This time with the protection of my grandpa. I would sit in his lap and cling to his neck whenever the Hulk would appear. And, better still, we would yell "ewwwww" together whenever Bill Bixby and some dumb love interest would smooch. To this day, I still do that. Kissing in movies. I mean really, ew.

They Can Rebuild Him

This used to scare the crap out of me. I didn't like the part where the music reeled up, when he's running on the track? After his body is skinned alive and pulverized? Even as a small child, I understood that it was the was the machines, Sarah! And they will not stop, ever! Until we are dead. Cyborgs bad!

Monday, October 06, 2008


Everyone else is loving the new season of Heroes. I am growing increasingly annoyed. Maybe I just miss the good old days when it was all so new – to us, to them – and Sylar was the wackadoodle crazy that struck fear in the hearts of the extraordinary. The powers seemed genuine, logical, and compelling for each character introduced – even those with short life spans – but now? They just seem jammed on, shoved through, and used up faster than you can say Milo Ventimiglia. Speaking of:

  • Milo Ventimiglia x 2 is annoying. Yay, they shot one. Now we only have to listen to the Kirk-y delivery once. I miss the sweet doof of season 1.
  • The new Nikki plotline annoys. Triplets, bah.
  • Matt Parkman’s story is contrived beyond contrived. Do all “artists of the future times” create only graphic art? This seems constrictive in a lazy way, not in a cool way.
  • Linderman is the New Number 6? Why is Nathan Petrelli haunted by this ghosty fool? I wonder, too, when Linderman will start growling seductively in Nathan’s ear, trying to sex him up. Even the divine providence mimics Battlestar Gallactica – shame!
  • Ugh, Daphne. I want to lawnmow that ridiculous hair. She’s a 3rd rate, meet cute, bad Lifetime movie sub character. Try. Harder. Writers.
  • Why does Bad Claire have to have brown hair? Because that hasn’t been done before? They should have put a discreet little mustachio on her.

The things I do like, sadly, fit in two bullet points:

  • Sweeeeeeeeeeeet, Mohinder is a spookity.
  • Sylar is my favorite forevers. I am so glad he is Spock.


SIDE NOTE: For those still emotionally invested in the heretofore unnamed historical building, they’ve been digging and soldering and basically jacking up the basement for a month or more. I believe they may be digging a hole to Hell – thank you, construction crew, for bringing the Amityville Horror straight to 5th avenue – so sometimes the smell of burnt sulfur lilts up the staircase and permeates the building like a hot cheese poop bomb. Yay, burning hair! I was visiting the Mythical, Odor Challenged 3rd Floor Bathroom when I overheard one of the mailroom guys yell, “Do you smell that? What should we do? You know what the sign says? ‘If you smell something, say something.’” Sorry, mailroom dude, but the MTA don’t give a flip. Those that dig Satan’s canal will not be stopped. Nice try, tho. (PS. If you are confused, go here. This ad campaign has been going on ever since 9/11. It’s safe to say that it’s well embedded in the NYC psyche now.)


PS, Super Side Note:

Quote of the Decade: “Shut up, Ray, before I stomp you dead in your juicy big lips!” – Bridezillas

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Tears of Screaming Laughter

This one is for my sister: When in need, nothing delivers quite like Grease 2. The entire movie is on You Tube, but the most therapeutic links are as follows…

The set up: Stephanie is a Pink Lady, Michael is a Hot Nerd, Johnny is a T-Bird and also a homunculi. Michael learns to ride a motorcycle and goes around town doing wild wheelies and stunts, thereby bewitching Stephanie, who has only ever wanted a Cool Rider. She falls in love with him without knowing his name or even seeing a full third of his face. The homunculus and his unattractive T-Bird posse chase Michael (the aforementioned “Cool Rider”) off of a cliff and they all believe he is dead. Nevertheless, the talent show must go on (it MUST!), and in the midst of delivering a shattering performance of “Girl for All Seasons,” Stephanie goes bonkers and starts singing a song to her lost love, who now resides in Motorcycle Heaven.

Skip to 4:10 to experience “Girl for All Seasons”
Skip to 6:40 to see Stephanie Start to Lose It
Skip to 7:12 to begin experiencing the most awesome psychotic break captured on film evar

For reasons I can’t imagine, they cut it just as the most wonderful part happens, so click here for the most dramatic crescendo of lost love in cinematic history.

I recommend a viewing of the entire movie if you haven’t seen it already. It is some kind of transcendent.

They Were Old Enough to Know Better, But Too Young to CARE!

Thanks, Toby, for reminding me of the movie that scared the hell out of me when I saw it back in the bad ol' 80s. Just one of the many inappropriate viewings of my youth.

Two wonderful factoids:

--That Swiss cheese jungle gym monstrosity was also at the park we frequented when we were wee twits. Riverside Park, wasn't it, Liesl?
--Any trailer featuring "Surrender" is phenomenal. Is it not the quintessential, late-70s/early 80's teen angsty anthem?

The earmark of a great anarchy scene usually involves blowing up a car with a single gunshot. Mission accomplished, good sirs.

Thursday, October 02, 2008

Best. Movie. Ever. In 1984. According to Me.

I saw "Untraceable" last week via Netflix -- it was fine and all, but whatever, who cares. I couldn't help but remember Diane Lane in “Streets of Fire”...seriously, how could you not love her hot ass? Have a look at the recently released “Ladies and Gentlemen, the Fabulous Stains.” You can’t deny.

Also, the angsty angst of mini-teenhood has been on my mind lately, specifically due to my niece and her woes, and it would be hard for me not to think of "Streets of Fire" and my near-mad obsession with it back in the day. It's been, what, forty years since it came out, but ask me to sing the soundtrack and don't doubt that I can sing it, beginning to end. *Twinkling eyes of reminiscence!*