I may have posted this before, I can’t remember. I’m getting on in years, and the melon ain’t what it used to be. But the closer I get to my reward, the more Sonseed’s message makes me smile.
Archive for August, 2009
The wildfires in California are creating some real horror stories and tragic losses, but it’s nice to know Darwin’s still doin’ his thing.
I get a little shiver down my leg.
I’m so glad T-Mobile has finally grown a pair after years of using Catherine Zeta Jones as their spokeslady. The new round of spots showcases her equity as a hot piece of trophy face. The one with the kid who tries to get it on with her is adorable, but the one with the husband who basically admits he would roll over his wife on a cement mixer to get at the T-Mobile lady is genius:
In light of this not-at-all-over-exposed case, I fully expect Nancy Grace to come out and insist on all young, nubile girls get breast implants.
I love everything about this, including the broken English VO.
There are two main problems with Rock, Paper, Scissors. First problem: how does paper beat a rock? Yes, it can wrap it up, but does that make it any less of a rock? Second problem: not enough Star Wars.
A pretty girl I know is catching up on her classic films. But is she catching up on the right ones?
The barrage of promotion for the new season of Mad Men has started, with the viral avatars that are taking over the Facebook, and the AMC app on the iPhone (APPS! Gotta get your APPS!), and I have to admit I am looking forward to it. But mostly it reminds me of last season, and last summer, and Julie.
It was our ritual. I say â€œourâ€ even though it was really just â€œmy,â€ as I know she had better things to do, but she was kind enough to spend the time with me. Sunday evenings we would visit, and sometimes weâ€™d go out to eat, or run an errand, or sometimes weâ€™d just hang out, walk the dogs and then weâ€™d watch Mad Men. Usually weâ€™d be knee deep in some conversation and lose track of time or forget when it started, or start talking about some tangent in the middle of it, and then have to sit there and watch it again when AMC would repeat it (often times, as I was TiVoing it at home, Iâ€™d watch it a third time just to make sure I didnâ€™t miss anything).
We talked about a lot of stuff on Sundays. It was fascinating to me, because she always seemed genuinely interested in my opinion, even if it was clear we didnâ€™t quite see eye to eye on something. It was as if she respected me, which was something I was not used to and found quite novel. The fact is she had great respect for everyone she ever came into contact with, probably to a fault, but it was certainly refreshing.
We talked about the universe and God and Radiohead and meat. She had been a vegetarian for years, but had started eating meat recently. I think Fox Bros. banana pudding made me one of her favorite people. We talked about a lot of things that I still think about every day. Iâ€™m sure Iâ€™ll get around to talking about it on here eventually.
As the summer went on, she started having trouble getting around, and I started walking the dogs by myself, and we didnâ€™t go out to eat as much. Turns out you can get a wheelchair in the backseat of a Dodge, though. By the end of the season, Julie couldnâ€™t do much but lay in bed, so weâ€™d watch TV in her room and munch on organic crackers and giggle at the crazy bitches on Snapped and wait for Don Draper.
After the Mad Men season was over, I still came over on Sundays, but we didnâ€™t have an agenda. It was just time to talk. It was pretty clear by then what was going on, and our conversations became more reflective, and even more esoteric than I had had thought I was capable of. While we had had very, very different lives, it was pretty shocking that we had actually started out in the same place (turns out we had lived in the same suburban subdivision as children in northern Virginia). And we had both come to the conclusion that it hadnâ€™t turned out the way we wanted. Julie spent that summer getting ok with that, and I spent that summer trying, but secretly convinced I couldnâ€™t.
The fall wasnâ€™t as easy, and we had to pack up Julieâ€™s house so she could move back in with her parents. I tried to talk to her on the phone most days, and she is today one of the four numbers I have on speed dial (along with my parents and my office), and the texts I donâ€™t dare erase make me smile, but it wasnâ€™t the same as getting in the car and heading down Memorial Drive on a Sunday evening.
Itâ€™s been almost eight months now since she died, and Mad Men is starting back up this weekend. Iâ€™ve gotten back to being used to being alone on Sundays. Iâ€™ll be watching the season premiere, and Iâ€™m sure Iâ€™ll have some lively conversations, even if she doesnâ€™t answer.
Shipping Sept. 10th, just in time for your soft-core femme porn season finale, you can drink your very own Tru Blood Beverage.
The thing I like about Olivia Munn is that she is more than happy to admit that yes, she is hot, and doesn’t really give a crap about poor, ugly folks, but she also has absolutely no shame about getting the laugh. Unlike most spokesmodels, she is going to be big.
Running Man had it right all those years ago, and Brazil seems to know. There’s a TV show down there that kills drug dealers and then shows it on the TV. Brilliant.
If my Tweets occasionally make no sense, or seem bizarrely racist, there is a reason.
Do not like. Spinal Tap and Lego cannot be mad at each other. I WILL NOT ALLOW IT.
When you have Julianne Moore, Billy Crudup, Zach Galifianakis, Henry Rollins and at least 10 more huge ass stars show up for a parody music video based on the 80′s cartoon, something weird is going on.
p.s. could someone explain how this stuff gets monetized?
Not those elitist Fraggles. The real ones.
If you love them as much as you should, and have 45 minutes or so, you could do worse than spend them watching this fantastic BBC documentary.
Obviously, that post title is meant to be sung.
In an effort to show I appreciate how important John Hughes was to a certain generation, I think this is really fantastic, and proves that he was not only an extremely talented filmmaker, but also a hell of a nice guy.
John Hughes died today. He was only 59, which is too young. Clearly he knew how to make successful movies for his time â€“ movies that resonate with a bunch of people. I know Iâ€™m supposed to love â€œJohn Hughes movies.â€ And by that I mean the handful of teen dramas he directed. The dude could write the hell out of some dialog and he wrote some fantastic movies – Mr. Mom, Vacation, â€¦ uhâ€¦ Christmas Vacationâ€¦ – but those teen movies that by definition were supposed to be transcendental elements of my youth? The Hughes Trinity of Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, and Ferris Beullerâ€™s Day Off? I donâ€™t get it. Never understood the hoopla. Frankly, theyâ€™re dangerous manifestos on individualism that in reality are recipes for disaster and disappointment. Iâ€™m supposed to believe a loser can win? Iâ€™m supposed to believe you get a happy ending? Worst of all, Iâ€™m supposed to believe someone that looks like Molly Ringwald is a loser? Sorry. Canâ€™t do it. By far, the best Hughes movie was Planes, Trains & Automobiles, because itâ€™s the only one that ever had a character that I could relate to in any way â€“ John Candy. Of course, the arc of his character â€“ fat, middle aged annoying nebbish to quixotic optimist to pathetic object of pity â€“ even as a 16-year-old, it was like I was looking in the mirror. It almost made up for the bucket of horrors that was Pretty In Pink.
(I don’t want to sound like I’m slamming a dead guy – if you haven’t seen it, check out the Hughes-penned Nate & Hayes. It out-pirates Pirates of the Caribbean, plus it has Tommy Lee Jones and Caddyshack‘s Michael O’Keefe with swords and pistols, the whole thing is smothered in awesome sauce, and Anthony Michael Hall is nowhere to be found.)
Sadly, the Jimmy Fallon crowd just doesn’t get it.
This is ingenious, and mildly disturbing. But nearly as disturbing as it sounds: Russian Haired Sausage.
I was born in Manassas, Va. Howard Stern used to call us Manassholes. Now it’s where cops tase pregnant women. Which sounds like the origin story of a superhero from The Boondocks.
I give Courtney Cox’s new sitcom 5 episodes before it’s dumped like the tired old hag it pretends to empower. And that’s giving it an extra one because it’s got Courtney Cox in it. If only all stereotypes were suitable for the single camera comedy treatment. I have an excellent spec script for Roughiesburg lying around here somewhere.
To hug the mountain.
So some right thinking Christians have taken it upon themselves to point out that in a little book called The Bible, Jesus uses the words “Baraq” and “Bahmah” to describe the place where Satan fell from, giving us a helpful hint as to who may be the Anti-Christ. As they say in the video, it’s a fact. Or, as one of my favorite comic book writers would say…