Sunday, November 27, 2011

No Country for Old Men

Every time I have honor of seeing No Country for Old Men I can't believe what I am seeing. It is rare to see something so completely perfect. It is beyond bizarre that a movie such as this would evoke a response like this, but honestly, as I watched it this afternoon, I could not help but think what a delight it was. Lovely! Beautiful! Dear!

I admit this is sick and wrong. It is wrong! Yet, have you seen this movie? There is as much humor and homedown charm as there is blood, guts, and terror. The Coen brothers have well established themselves as weirdos with a fine sense of the macabre balanced against the endless hilarity of the human condition (see Raising Arizona, Fargo) but they took it to a new, completely sublime level with No Country for Old Men. It is impossible to gauge how fiercely I love this movie, despite whatever nihilistic, pessimistic, sadsack haters are out there in the reviewersphere. It IS a dark movie. More shocking, it is a movie set in 1980, in Texas. How could it be? Nihilism in Texas? This is certainly a new thing.

It isn't. Ask any movie buff, historian...or, let's face it, human, and you know that while grim, it's not a lie. It's what happens. Happened. Will happen. The obvious and sickening point is that this is the human condition, still braining each other with a mammoth bone. It is a bummer. But it is the truth. If you've gone to sleep to the sound of gunfire, you have to know this is just the way it goes. Duck.

I love that Texas patios. It is both authentic and prestinely conveyed in this small capsule of a movie. Having lived in Kansas for my formative years, even in Texas for one of them, I know the familiar chatter, asking where you're from, what you're hauling, who your fambly might be. This exchange bit me to the bone:

Everyone celebrates Javiar Badem, and I agree, but I truly believe Tommy Lee, Javier, and Josh Brolin should have won joint awards for best actor that year. I know there was a nomination for Tommy Lee Jones for another role he played during that Academy Award season, but GOD, did you see him?? Watch the gd movie again, please. PLEASE. His performance was beautiful, nuanced, and special. Even if he didn't walk away with the biggest honors, he surely must know what a fine job he did on that film. Perfection.

Nihilism. Sure. Whatever. Read The Road and I assure you that tops it on the scale of nihilism and negativity. You'll cry your heart out while wanting to stab yourself in the face. At least in the world of No Country for Old Men you can stand back, watch the backsplash, and hope you aren't one of the unfortunate few standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the very least, you have to learn that your life is worth more than 2 million dollars. Seems sweet in the short term, turns sour in the longterm. Have you found a satchel of cash? Leave it! Put a trip to Las Vegas on your Visa card and GO. Bet the minimum, drink the maximum, sun in the merciless light of the desert and be glad you got away with -$200 in the bank and a pink nose.

Ain't no Sugar casing your joint.

Saturday, November 19, 2011


I first wanted to know more about this after seeing Hellboy...the only part of the movie that moved me in any real way was the sight of those tentacles descending out of the storm clouds. Because think about it: Is there anything more alien than an octopus? And a Sky Octopus Filled with Evil? Mein Gott.

It is rare that anything really gets to me in a movie...and certainly not a movie in the "action" genre (exceptions, see: Independence Day, President's speech). The entire scene made my skin crawl; I felt it down to my bones. Terrifying.

I know who H.P. Lovecraft is, but I never read him. I was too busy reading all of my Stephen King books 15, 20 times. Like you do. So it is now, in what I like to call "The Extreme" part of my adulthood (so almost 40, yyyyyeah extreme!!) the Cthulhu has become a part of our workspeak, whenever we can manage to work him (she? it?) into a conversation. Cthulhu orders you to use spell check in your work emails, muthatruckas. Big Boss Cthulhu only signs invoices on 11/11/11.

After a Facebook friend linked an article about octopuses (not octopi, it turns out, see word origins!) I knew I had to face my fears. I read the article and found myself completely charmed. I wanted to immediately go out and let one grab my finger with a tentacle. Just one finger, one tentacle. Because c'mon: Baby steps. Baby. Steps.

So of course I perused the YouTube for cool octopus videos. This is the best one of all (read the description):

Per the article, it turns out that octopuses are freaking brilliant. They are escape artists and unapologetic pigs, globulating around to find munchies wherever they can.

Ever wondered how you say "Cthulhu"? Here you go:

Ever wondered how you say "Cthulhu" awesomely? Here you go:

Feel free to enjoy more mispronunciations via Pronunciation Manual. So wrong, so right.

It is too bad that I'll never really get the chance to have a real encounter with a real, live octopus, primarily due to my complete terror of depths. However, if someone were to throw in the chance to encounter a blue whale...well, OK then. OK OK OK. I'll be vomiting nonstop and you'll have to pry me off the ceiling to jam me in the wetsuit and throw me in the ocean, screaming, but I will make myself available for that show.

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Thursday, November 17, 2011


I was trying to remember some of the obscure songs I loved in the 80s. The first song below was the one I got hung up on...I remembered something about space, one clip of lyrics that contained none of the hook, and something with a "K." Amazing how the brain works as each piece of information brought on another weird bit. Of course, I needed to get home to the internets to hunt down the rest. All of my dorky clues somehow got me here!

And more...because it is time for a nice music montage to soothe the book fatigued brain. No moar bookz kay??? Btw these songs are so 80s!!!

Disclaimer: I realize some of these songs would not be considered "obscure" to some (or many), but in Wichita, Kansas, they all were. In 7th grade a girl asked me what my favorite song was and, having just watched a mind-blowing Mtv Video Music awards I said "Like a Virgin" by some chick named "Madonna." You'd have thought I'd just spit on a painting of the Holy Mother. Whorish sacrilege! But that Madonna woman finally did break through, even in Wichita. The songs above? far as I knew, I was the only lonely geek who liked them in all the state of Kansas.

PS. Isn't that performance phenomenal? I remember a sort of shocked pause before the applause. You could almost see the future unspooling for her to superstardom, no?


Wednesday, November 16, 2011

F*ck It, We Gettin Outta This Joint

New favorite thing via Dlisted, a site only some can deal with because it is completely without shame. Whenever I judge myself for not being my true, evil self via the Internet or life, I look to Dlisted and laugh. Because A.) He's mean but he's funny and B.) he's just being truthful, y'all. Even if you didn't say it, you know you thought it about...all the things!

So this is the Hot Slut of the Day....

This is a deserving Hot Slut, let me tell you. Who hasn't muttered the same thing:

  • In a meeting
  • On a subway
  • At a birthday party
  • In an incubator
  • Ina club
  • At the Family Thanksgiving Dinner
  • Ina relationship
  • To Yo Mama

Kidding about the last one. Shall you slap yourself silly for even thinking it. Go ahead, ima wait. Slap yourself.

In unrelated related news, I had completely HORRIBLE dreams last night. One in particular was completely mundane. It was just life, at my apartment, doing dishes and cleaning house...yet at some point it seemed I had a flashback revelation. A really, really JACKED UP revelation. I remembered murdering someone.

Now, let's set this scene: It was total normal life, full of dull moments of nothingness: No one was chasing me, there were no bullets flying nor vampires swooping in to bite my face. It was daylight and boring. Yet I remembered killing a guy a few years ago in California. I chose him at random and shot him in a supermarket parking lot. Then I started to remember that I'd actually killed three to five men, all in the same way. And, as I remembered it, I remembered that I did it because I wanted to know what it felt like to kill someone. Apparently three to five times.

What was insane was the fact that I'm thinking about this and feeling sick to my stomach, not believing that I did such a thing, yet knowing for a fact that I did. I was torturing myself over whether or not to turn myself in (I done kilt someone!) but then peevishly whining that I DIDN'T MEAN IT and waaaaah can't I just feel real sorry about it and move on? It even got to the point of wondering if the families of the dead would never stop until they found me. It was very, very real.


The Internet dream definers say this (via "Dream Moods Dictionary"): "To dream that you have committed a murder indicates that you are putting an end to an old habit and a former way of thinking. This could also refer to an end to an addiction. Alternatively, the dream indicates that you have some repressed aggression or rage at yourself or at someone. Note also that dreams of murder occur frequently during periods of depression."

Well, thank God it didn't say, Bitch, you crazay.

The most horrible part of the dream? In the first few moments of waking up, lurching to the alarm clock, asking myself, WAIT, did I? Did I? When was a last in California?? There were solid, too-long moments when I doubted everything I have ever known about myself. I did think it might have happened. Now, what the HELL does that mean, Dream Moods Dictionary??

F*ck it, we gettin outta this joint.

Whoa, is that me?

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Thursday, November 10, 2011

How You Doin'?

Why do they say Oh Lemmy? I say, Was Yo Numbah, yo?

This reminds me--weirdly--of our Gentle Lamb of Romance, JHoward, linked forever at the right. Why are there not more romantic larpers clad in sweaty leather and raggedy pony tails, ay? When I see gents like the foxy Lemmy I think only of the original yearning cry of all lace-clad, white witch, femme fatales...I Need A Hero!!! Lemmy is your man, ladies.

I am transported back to college when I was briefly pursued by a real, live Wiccan. I remember a brief moment in a dingy, college apartment complex foyer where said Wiccan sniffed my neck and complimented me on my intoxicating scent, that being the perfume Colors by Benetton. Lllllame. For both of us. He was all like, here are my sessay runes, aren't you impressed? And I was all like, SATANNNNNNN! I was kind of scared of everything.

But now that I am old(er), I totally don't care! Bring on your runes, your warlock costumes, your intimate knowledge of Klingon. I love it! Lemmy, where you at?

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Sunday, November 06, 2011

What about the Chicken, Jack?

I am not going to tell you how much time I spent watching David Letterman/Jack Hanna videos yesterday. A small empire could have been built in that time, no doubt, but which is more rewarding? Empire building or adorable baby animals? Duuuuhhhh.

The most wonderful one of course featured A CHICKEN, and one of those magical furry ones to boot. This makes me scrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee with happiness.