They have moments where they look like they actually enjoy each other’s company.
Caribbean Vacash Video
A quick and dirty video of our winter trip to the Caribbean via New Jersey and New York. It’s long. There aren’t any “Crying Game” moments in it, it just is.
Straight Girls! No! Stop it!
What is this New Jersey you hu-mans speak of?
Ladies! Stop doing this to yourselves! (Watch the auto-load video!)
Seriously! If I wanted to look at Worf from Star Trek I’d pop in a DVD, not sit beside you on the subway.
Just What Do You Sell?
I’m at the Laird and Eglington FutureShop buying my hubby a new Bluetooth headset for his iPhone. I also picked up Season 7 of The Golden Girls. Because I love him and will suffer and embarrassment for him. The smarmy clerk scans my purchases. When he gets to the DVD of wrinkly comedy, I ask my standard purchase question:
“Do you judge people on which DVDs they buy?”
“No. I use to work in the game section. I’ve seen some pretty wierd purchases there, let me tell you.”
What… ?
I imagine that there’s a director’s cut version of “Se7en” for the Wii back there. “A button to see what’s in the box! A button the box!!!”
Jeans
I’m afraid this rant is going to sound a lot like “Hey you kids, get out of that Jello Tree” but I can not keep silent any more.
Jeans these days are fucking ugly.
I said it. I meant it. I prove it.
This morning I witnessed a feckless metrosexual in front of me on the subway wearing jeans that defied description, but here I go anyway:
- Appliques: on his outer left thigh was an embroidered final scroll sewn into and across the seam. A finial on a guy’s jean. If you had asked the cowboys from Brokeback Mountain to try these jaunty foppish leg pantaloons on they would have said “GaaaaaAAAAAaay!”
- Flappy back pockets: I don’t mind these so much but if you’re going to choose this kind of fashion statement then you HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF THEM. By that I mean IRON them DOWN when you take them out of the wash. Especially if the flaps are longer than 2 inches. Otherwise you look sloppy. SLOPPY!
- Buckles: This dude had a jean strap and buckle horizontally across the top of his ass, just under the waistband. What the fuck, dude? Are we a pirate now? A swashbuckling denim dragoon that over accessorizes? Or did you think it looked like something from Hellraiser? Like a Village People version of Hellraiser?
- And the last: One inch leather cuffs. Serious. Leather cuffs on the bottom of his jeans. Someone took the time to sit at a machine and add one inch leather cuffs onto a pair of perfectly good jeans. Can we get the Brokeback cowboys in here again for a moment? “GaaaaAAAAaay!” In hindsight, these jeans were so hideous that the leather was probably “pleather”. Or vinyl. Or tanned seal hide. Who knows. Who cares. STOP IT.
Thankfully he was wearing these jeans up around his waist, no underwear showing above the rim (Whale Tail – for ladies, Jailin’ for the men). The other day I saw a guy with his jeans just covering his pelvic bone and NO JEANS AT ALL covering his wicked ugly Giant Tiger cheap as fuck underwear covered ass. Why? WHY? WHY!?! Oh I know it’s origins are from making a gangsta statement but come on. Public, dude! Oh look at me! I’m all naughty! Look at my undies!
I bet this is the same kind of guy that wears his underwear into the showers at the gym.
I didn’t want to rant about that stupid trend but I did. See what you made me do?
When I was a kid (oh here we go), the worst I did was rip the knees out of some (popular again, I see) and in some cases I painted Warner Bros cartoon characters in acrylic paint on the thigh of a couple jeans. Last month, when I was in NYC, I noted that jeans are still distressed in style but have sparse sprays of paint on them, like you just came from your studio after working on a 10×24 foot canvas and had 5 Red Bulls to get you through.
My point is that jean fashion is cyclic. Like Battlestar says “All this has happened before and will happen again”
I can’t wait until we get back into the really tight sprayed on Mamel-toe jeans for guys. That rocked.
Saturn 3
Buddy, I've battled a 60 rubber squid. You don't scare me
At 14, I was a slightly overweight (as opposed to now, being even more slightly overweight) child who bloomed years early. This granted me the opportunity to sneak into a plethora of “restricted” films as a kid.
From the genre of Hitchcockian Lifeboat-esque style of movies where everyone is a killer’s target in some isolated situation comes Saturn 3. The story of two remote geological station scientists living in a happy bubble of remote, blissful sex and science-y research in cool jumpsuits : non-Earth borne Farah Fawcett Majors (Alex) and getting-on-in-life Kirk Douglas (Adam) are Adam and Eve Alex (see what they did there?). Far out in space, their life together is perfect without constant interruptions from cesspooly Earth (yet for some reason decide to assist in maintaining Earth through SCIENCE!). Adam pounds home to Alex (Douglas appears nude a few times… yikes) of Earth’s dirty, dirty ways yet fears she’s becoming curious to see it. Enter Harvey Keitel as Benson (his voice was dubbed out for someone with a creepier tone (!)) bringing the horrors of Earth to Alex and Adam’s secluded paradise in the form of automated help and snappy dialogue:
Alex (Farrah): Haven’t you even had a dog?
Benson (Harvey): A few times.
Alex: Well, didn’t they have names?
Benson: Just something to eat.
Benson isn’t as he seems, however, as the opening sequence reveals him killing the actual delivery man/pilot of the new experimental automated help/robot to Saturn 3. Why does Benson murder the delivery boy so he can bring a killer robot to a remote block of rock in the outer reaches of our solar system? Why question madness? Enter the robot Hector – the MacGuffin star/special effect/monster that promises to put ol’ Adam out of a job. This robot’s beautiful design, based on a few Leonardo DiVinci drawings (think Schwarzenegger’s Mr Freeze outfit without the idiotic goof inside) steals the show. Even though it has little dialogue it manages to deliver creepy in little head/eye stalk angles and turns (assisted with a great audio effect). If Hector/Saturn 3 were to be created today the robot would most certainly be a CGI effect and would have had the life (ironically) sucked from it.
Some science-y jibberjabber is introduced where psychotic Benson’s essence is transferred into the robot’s living brain (say that with a theramin playing behind you) to make it more efficient and humanly helpful. Unfortunately this only succeeds in making Hector a stronger, more psychotic robot monster. Of course Benson’s lust for Alex has been transferred over to Hector via this science-y jibberjabber and the robot can’t help himself and we’re treated to shots of longing photoelectric sensor glances from across the lab, etc. Which makes Adam even more incensed that his paradise has been infiltrated. Which makes Alex more curious about how shitty Earth really is.
SPOILERS! Look Away!
Madness wins out and people get robotically gouged. The beauty is chased through icy passages. Severed heads are stuffed onto articulated robot necks. Hector is thwarted, comes back and thwarted again. After all is chopped up and bled out, beautiful Alex survives the robot attack and makes her way to decadent Earth, fulfilling her desire to see just how shitty Earth really is, pretty much negating her love and respect for Adam’s wishes to remain pure of heart.
Going Without
“Venti Earl Grey Tea, one tea bag, room for milk, please!”
Yes. I’m back at Starbucks because I seriously cannot handle Tim Hortons service, their staff or even their patrons. It’s like the words “Please” and “Thank you” have been outlawed and replaced with rabid dog-like snarling. I’d rather drink overly strong tea and have a pleasant exchange than deal with the inept dolts at Tim Hortons. Call me un-Canadian and I’ll remind you that “being Canadian” mean’s we’re suppose to be polite to each other.
“Buddy? Excuse me.”
I turn towards the voice and there is a handsome chap behind me in line. His eyes look a bit hound dog and he shyly asks: “I’m not a tea drinker, what did you just order?”
“Earl Grey?” I say. Internally I’m thinking “Captain Picard’s favorite drink… How the fuck did you miss 7 seasons of Star Trek?”
“I’ve been told I can’t drink coffee anymore. Does it have a lot of caffeine?”
“More than coffee, but you have to take out the bag after 5 minutes or it get’s really nasty.”
“What do you put into it?”
“Just like coffee – milk, sugar, steamed milk, lemon. Some do honey.”
“Okay cool. I really can’t do dairy anymore. Been told to stay off it.”
“Dude,” I offer with a downturn inflection, as condolences.
Meanwhile my internal database flips through the reasons you can’t have dairy and come up with syphilis medication. Also, bad cramping and gas. I need to update that database.
Take That Knife Out Of My Leg
2am. I’m woken by a loud snort. My husband has rolled over onto his back and is creating a little night music with his nasal/throat cavities.
Me: Hey. HEY. SharkBoy.
SharkBoy: murh.
Me: Roll over.
SharkBoy: I need the machine gun.
Me: Wha –
SharkBoy: Maybe later you can tell me what I just said. (Rolls, falls asleep)
I stayed awake just a few minutes longer than I needed.
Moongina
Via BoingBoing. It’s why I love the web.
Knock Knock… Housekeeping
I just went through my blogroll and cleaned out a few Celeb blogs I stopped reading (bye, Thomas Dolby) and added a couple more. I blame Twitter for the waning list.
If I’ve removed yours you’ve either haven’t updated in 3 months or I have a shaky hand and deleted it by mistake.
And whoever signed me up for a Topsy feed… Sorry. I’ve classified you as trackback spam. Get a real RSS feed.
Oh and HOLY CRAP! Someone Gmail me now and you’ll be MR/MRS 10,000!
